Finally he nods. “Very well, do things your way. Like I said, just keep him happy. If I hear from him that you’re not, there are going to be problems. Not just from me but from the higher-ups.” I notice that Tom’s smile is harder now. I hit a nerve with my outburst.
“You really should stop crossing your arms in front of your chest like that,” he adds.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s just that it reminds me of when you crossed your arms in Dave’s kitchen. You do remember that, don’t you? When you were trying to hide how hard your nipples were but then the gesture accidently gave me a glimpse of your . . . contact point.”
I feel my face burning. I get what he’s doing. He’s angry. He wants me self-conscious, less righteous.
But he also doesn’t want to waste any more of his time. Without another word he turns and leaves.
I sit back down, try to wipe out the last few minutes of the conversation from my mind. Tom is wrong. Robert doesn’t hold all the cards, and, yes, I will handle Dave after work.
But now Dave’s only one of many enemies. The war has emboldened the terrorists, and despite the confidence I felt this morning, I still don’t have enough weapons in my arsenal to fight them all.
CHAPTER 12
THE DAY MOVES SLOWLY. The phone call I missed while talking to Tom was from Simone. From my recent silence she can sense that something’s off. I send her a text promising to call tomorrow. I know I can’t talk to her now, while I’m still reeling from Tom’s audacity. I get through the meeting with my team. Once again Asha is on her best behavior. She gains nothing by antagonizing me and prefers to wait for her moment. Will it come soon? Will she find an angle that works for her?
But such thoughts are as useless as a straw hat in a rainstorm. I’m in the rain, I’m going to get wet, so what use is it to think about the sun?
I get through the day, get to the restaurant, and immediately spot Dave at a table in the back. I can see he ordered us each a glass of white wine and a calamari appetizer. We’ll probably drink the former, ignore the latter.
I can see he’s worried, sending furtive glances to the left and the right as if he expects an ambush to come in from the window rather than the main entrance. He acknowledges me with a sheepish nod as I sit across from him and offers an almost grateful smile.
“You’re alone,” he says. His relief shoots out of him like steam from a kettle.
“For the moment.” I sip my wine. It’s dry with hints of citrus. Dave looks a little ill.
“I-I went too far last night,” he stutters. “I overreacted.”
The words sound familiar. Not long ago I had tried to be a bit more aggressive with Dave, sexually, that is. I had behaved spontaneously, straddled him as he finished his wine, asked him to take me in words much rougher than the soft enticements he approved of. He had balked. Rejected me completely.
Then he apologized the next day. He told me he had overreacted because my behavior was so out of character. He didn’t want me to change.
I see now how absurd that explanation had been. Everything changes. Everything. And really, all I had done was try to mix it up in the bedroom. If that’s not change we can believe in, then what the hell is?
But there was something sinister there, too. He had walked out when I overtly tried to seduce him. He walked away the moment I tried to propose a new idea, as playful and inconsequential as it may have been. Dave has always tried to control me.
And it had been his controlling nature that had attracted me to him. I was afraid of freedom, scared of my own impulses.
I’ve changed.
“Kasie, did you hear me? I went too far.”
“I heard you,” I say mildly. At the corner table is a woman sitting alone, giggling. It takes me a moment to spot the cell phone she holds against her ear.
Dave gestures toward another table, this one closer to the front. Three men who appear to be wheeling and dealing over drinks. “They’re members of my club,” he says. “I would prefer we not make a scene here.”
“Would you?” I ask. “I didn’t come here to make a scene, but I do find it interesting that you would think I would care about what you prefer.”
His eyes snap back to me. “You cheated on me. You betrayed me. I gave you everything. I got you that job—”
“You got me an interview.”
“Which was more than you could have done for yourself! I bought you white roses, I gave you that ruby that you still wear on your finger! I cherished you!”
I shake my head. Clangs from the kitchen, a car honking outside. “You never cherished me. You cherished the idea of me.”