Two by Two(66)

 

"Oh, for God's sake. I'm just so sick and tired of your crap, I can't even tell you."

With that, she disconnected the call. It bothered me more than it should  have, but I noted with grim satisfaction that it bothered me less than  it would have had we still been together. In fact, it bothered me less  than it would have yesterday. Perhaps that was progress.





At work for the next two days, I hopped from one project to the next,  just like earlier in the week. I touched base with the patients that the  plastic surgeon had recommended, and scheduled times on October sixth  to get them on camera-that was going to be a long day.

On Friday I filmed the third commercial, making sure to place the camera  below desk level so we could shoot the young actress from below. This  way, her age was emphasized to comic effect.

The takes were so good that even members of the camera crew laughed. Perfect.





That evening, I brought London to dance class as usual.

Despite a clear lack of enthusiasm, she'd come downstairs dressed in her outfit and reminded me that we shouldn't be late.

I didn't ask again whether it was something she wanted to do; I'm sure  that Vivian had rebuked London just as she had me, and I had no desire  to put London in an awkward position. I, more than anyone, knew how  guilty Vivian could make someone feel.

Seeing her sitting on the couch in the family room with her shoulders slightly caved in, I took a seat beside her.

"What would you like to do after dance?" I asked.

"I don't know," she mumbled.

"Because I was thinking that maybe, just maybe, you and I could … "

I stopped. A couple of seconds passed before she looked over at me. "What could we do?"

"It's nothing," I said. "Never mind."

"What is it?"

"Well, the thing is, you might not want to do it … " I pretended to lose interest.

"Tell me!" she pressed.

I forced out a long exhale. "I was thinking that since Mommy isn't here, maybe you and I could have a date night."

London knew all about our date nights, even if she wasn't aware of all that transpired between Vivian and me.

Her expression was one of wonder. "A date night? Just you and me?"

"That's what I was thinking. After dance, we can get dressed up, and  cook dinner together, and then after that, we could either color or do  some finger painting or maybe even watch a movie. But only if you want  to," I said.

"I want to."

"You do, huh? What do you want to eat?"

She brought a finger to her chin. "I think I want chicken," she said, and I nodded.

"That sounds delicious. That's just what I wanted, too."

"But I don't want to finger paint. It might get on my dress."

"How about coloring? I'm not very good, but I can try."

She beamed. "It's okay that you're not very good, Daddy. You can practice."

"That sounds like a great idea."





For the first time since I'd started ferrying London to and from her  activities, she was in a good mood on the way to dance, though the class  had nothing to do with it. Instead, I listened to a constant stream of  ideas about what she could wear that evening. She debated which dress to  wear, and whether to pair it with a sparkly hairclip or bow, and what  shoes would match best.

Once inside, Ms. Hamshaw motioned for her to proceed to the floor, but  she suddenly turned around and ran back to envelop me in a hug before  dashing to the door. Ms. Hamshaw evinced no reaction, which I supposed  was as much as she could offer in the way of kindness.

While London was in class, I ran to the grocery store and picked up the  makings for dinner. Knowing that we had an early morning the following  day-we would meet at Emily's at eight-I opted for a rotisserie chicken  from the deli, canned corn, sliced pears, applesauce from a jar, and  clear grape juice. If we started eating at half past six, she could  still be in bed close to her normal bedtime.

What I hadn't factored in was that five year-olds can take a long time  to get dressed for date nights with their dads. At home after class,  London raced up the stairs and forbade me to help. I went to my closet  and got dressed up as well, even donning a blazer. I prepared dinner,  which took all of five minutes, and then set the table, using our good  china. Candles completed the picture once I poured the grape juice into  wine glasses. Then I leaned against the counter to wait.

I eventually moved to the table and sat.

After that, I wandered to the family room and turned on ESPN.

Every now and then, I would walk to the stairs and call up to her; she  would insist that I stay downstairs, that she was still getting ready.         

     



 

When she finally descended the stairs, I felt a prick of tears behind my  eyes. She'd chosen a blue skirt along with a blue and white checkered  top, white stockings and shoes, and a matching blue hairband. The grace  note was the imitation pearl necklace she'd put on. Whatever my  reservations about Vivian's frequent shopping expeditions with our  daughter, even London knew that she'd made an impression.

"You look beautiful," I said, rising from the couch. I shut off the television.

"Thank you, Daddy," she said as she carefully approached the dining room table. "The table looks really nice."

Her attempt to be as adult-like as possible struck me as almost unbearably adorable.

"I appreciate that, sweetie. Would you like to eat?"

"Yes, please."

I went around the table and pulled out her chair. When she was seated,  she reached for her glass of grape juice and took a sip. "This is very  tasty," she said.

I served and brought the plates to the table. London carefully spread her napkin in her lap and I did the same.

"How was school today?" I asked.

"It was fun," she said. "Bodhi said he wants to see the lions tomorrow at the zoo."

"I do, too. I like lions. But I hope they don't have any mean ones like  Scar." I was referring, of course, to the villain in the movie The Lion  King.

"They won't have any lions like Scar, Daddy. He's just a cartoon."

"Oh," I said. "That's right."

"You're silly."

I smiled as she daintily picked up her fork. "I've heard that."





After dinner, we colored. London happened to have a coloring book that  featured zoo animals, and we spent an hour at the kitchen table,  creating animals that could only have existed in rainbow-filtered  worlds.

Though she'd only been in school for a few weeks, I noticed that her  coloring had improved. She was able to stay inside the lines, and had  even taken to shading various parts of the pictures. Gone were the  smears and squiggles of only a year ago.

My little girl was slowly but surely growing up, which for some reason made my heart ache in places I didn't know even existed.





CHAPTER 18





It's Not a Date


A month after I graduated from college, I attended the wedding of a  former fraternity brother named Tom Gregory in Chapel Hill. Tom was the  son of two physicians, and his bride-to-be, a waifish brunette named  Claire DeVane, had a father who owned fifty-six Bojangles' restaurants,  fast-food places specializing in fried chicken and biscuits. The  business might not have the elite ring associated with investment  banking, but it minted money, and as a wedding gift, Claire's father had  already given the couple a mini-mansion, along with a Mercedes  convertible.

The wedding was, of course, a black-tie affair. I'd just started work at  the Peters Group and had yet to receive my first paycheck; it went  without saying that I was usually broke. While I had enough money to  rent a tuxedo, I had to crash at another fraternity brother's place. His  name was Liam Robertson, and he was about to start law school at UNC.  Though he was also from Charlotte, we'd never been particularly close-he  was the kind of guy who took delight in abusing the pledges and fed  Jell-O shots with Everclear to freshman girls-but Alpha Gamma Rhos stick  together.

To that point, I'd worn a tuxedo only once in my life. I'd rented a navy  blue tuxedo for my senior prom in high school and the photo of me and  my prom date graced the mantel of the fireplace at my parents' house  until I married. That tuxedo, however, had a clip-on bowtie, while the  tuxedo I'd rented for the wedding had one that I actually had to tie.

Unfortunately Liam Robertson had no more idea of how to tie the thing  than I did, and as our departure time drew near, I'd already made half a  dozen failed attempts. It was at that point that the front door to  Liam's house flew open and Emily walked in.

I'd seen her before but had never been introduced. She and Liam had  grown up in the same neighborhood and were supposedly just friends.  Nonetheless, she was going to the wedding as Liam's date-"so she can put  in a good word for me in case I meet someone." As soon as I saw her, I  did a double take.

It wasn't the Emily I'd seen in Liam's company before, the Bohemian with  long skirts and Birkenstocks, usually sans makeup. Instead, the woman  who stood before me was sheathed in a cocktail dress with a plunging  neckline and high-heeled black pumps, an elegant look accentuated by  tasteful diamond studs in both ears. The mascara she wore called  attention to her striking eye color, and her lips, accentuated with red  lipstick, were full and rich. Her hair fell in rippling waves well past  her shoulders.