She gave a brief and mirthless laugh. "This town? Imbeciles passing through. Drunks trying to be clever. Losers wanting to keep you down."
"That's too bad," said Aaron.
"What's too bad," said Suki, "is that it makes you tough, leathery. Sun does it to your skin, the jerks do it to your heart."
Aaron wasn't sure if he should answer that. He was new here, didn't know the rules. But he heard himself saying, "Maybe not as tough as you think you have to be."
Suki looked down, hid her unlikely blue eyes behind their faintly dusted lids, as though by not seeing she could take a break from being seen. "Maybe not," she admitted. "Unless I really work at it. And sometimes I work at it too hard. Like when a nice guy offers me a plate of macaroni and I jump right down his throat."
Aaron had to laugh. "Plate of macaroni?"
"Hey," said Suki, "I'm from Jersey. Bowl of pasta— that's New York. Jersey they say plate of macaroni."
There was a pause. They looked at each other across the front desk counter. The look went on just long enough to be a little dangerous. Aaron remembered to inhale and the breath caught in his throat. He said, "I have a klutzy question, Suki. This Lazslo you had lunch with, you involved with him or not?"
The mention of the name brought a hardness back to Suki's face; her lips, which had been slightly parted, pressed together like the shells of a threatened oyster. "Involved?" she said. She seemed to think it over. "Funny word. Discreet. But vague."
Aaron said, "Look, you don't have to answer. I don't have any right to ask."
Suki said, "You might say I'm involved. You might say I'm getting more involved. It's anything but a romance, though."
Aaron ran his hand along the varnished surface of the counter, said, "Okay, I guess I deserve a riddle for an answer."
Suki bit her upper lip. "Aaron," she said, "I'm not playing games with you. It's just not something I can talk about. Not yet."
He pursed his lips and nodded. Jealousy pinched down again. It was idiotic but there it was. She saw his eyes receding.
She moved closer to the counter then. The move was sudden, headlong, like the dash of a scared kid on a diving board who wants to fly and fall and get it over with. Quick as a jab, her hand swung up above the polished wood. There was a piece of paper in it, warm and crinkled. "My numbers," she whispered. "Call me if you want to share a plate of macaroni."
She pushed the paper toward him and she smiled with relief. There; she'd done it She'd opened herself and didn't feel wounded, softened herself and it hadn't hurt at all. In fact she felt tickled and playful and new. Her boldness doubled back and made her braver, and she amazed herself by leaning across the counter and kissing Aaron on the cheek.
It happened so fast that he wasn't sure it had happened at all; the feel of her lips was so light that he couldn't quite tell if they had touched his skin or only charged some air between them.
In an instant she had pulled away. Her eyes slid off his and found respite in the silver bell between them on the counter. It was polished like an apple, attached like a trophy to a base of fine dark wood. Pleased with herself, she smartly rapped the little top hat of its ringer.
Long after she'd spun away and skipped along the porch, after she'd climbed onto her bike and ridden past the ragged man who held the parking sign, Aaron was still hearing the fugitive echoes of its high bright tone.
"You ask a lot of questions," said Lazslo Kalynin.
"I'm interested," said Suki. "I want to know you better."
It was well into the evening. They'd had a fancy dinner and now they were sitting in his Caddy. The car was parked on the promenade up near the airport, its front grille almost touching the seawall, facing out toward the flat, moonstruck waters of the Florida Straits. The weather was cool, too cool to put the top down, but Lazslo had the top down anyway. Wasn't that the whole point of an American convertible?
He gestured extravagantly so that the open collar of his shirt splayed wide, revealing wisps of chest hair. "You want to know me," he said, "you should know how I make love."
Suki let that pass. "The stores," she said. "You're so young to be in charge of all those stores."
Lazslo shrugged. It was something he'd seen people do when they wanted to look modest. On him it didn't work.
"And the rents," she said. "Eight locations in a five- block area. The volume has to be phenomenal."
Lazslo's arm was draped now over the white leather seat in back of Suki. He let it fall against her shoulder. Laconically, he said, "Everyone likes T-shirts."