Bright orange flames raged inside her apartment window above the clinic.
GIL OPENED HIS FRONT DOOR AND WAS GREETED BY A HANDFUL OF his teammates on the stoop.
“Hey buddy, you can’t spend the first night of your retirement cooped up by yourself.” Johnson, one of his favorite running backs, pressed in through the doorway, followed by his best friend Charlie and a few more players.
Gil glanced at his pocket watch. “It’s nine o’clock. Shouldn’t you guys be in bed?”
“Not tonight. We have reservations,” Johnson said and a couple of the men chuckled.
This aroused Gil’s suspicions. “Why don’t you fellows come in, and we’ll put a movie on? We could study the clips from our playoff game with Green Bay.” He awaited their reaction, anticipating it to be loud.
“Our friend thinks he’s a comedian.” Johnson latched on to Gil’s shoulders and steered him to the door. “Grab your jacket. We’re taking you out for a fine culinary experience.”
Again, the guys snickered. Gil had a hunch it wasn’t because they were hungry.
Half an hour later, he sat at a long table crammed with twelve or more hulking football players on plush pillowed benches. Smoke hung in the dark canopied room, as four costumed musicians created intoxicating rhythms on their stringed instruments. One man passed between the tables with his violin, followed by a scantily dressed woman with a tambourine.
Gil figured the guys would take him to one of their favorite spots in the Marina District but never guessed they’d end up at a fancy Moroccan restaurant. “Which one of you dreamed up this wild idea?”
Johnson’s lips formed a cocky grin. “Me and my girlfriend tried this place out a few weeks ago. I thought bringing you here would be worth a few laughs. A man only retires once.”
Gil nodded, able to read between the lines. The guys intended to get him drunk and embarrass him with a belly dancer.
Not gonna happen, guys.
He laughed with them and studied the luxurious tapestries on the wall until a waiter, his outfit complete with a red felt hat and black tassels, approached their table.
“Welcome, I am your personal servant, Niko. I understand you’re here for a kutlama — a celebracíon.” His thick accent flowed from his mouth like honey. “For your dining pleasure, we are preparing for you, Kuzu Tandir, a succulent roast lamb on a spit, served with grilled vegetables and an onion salad, sprinkled with only the finest herbs.” The satin-dressed attendant clapped his hands and a veiled woman in a harem outfit brought an ornamented jug of wine to their table. She poured the dark liquid into everyone’s glasses, then proceeded to sway her arms and hips to the sultry music of the harpsichord and mandolin.
Uncomfortable with the dancer’s undulations, so close he could smell her musky perfume, Gil steered his eyes away from the curvaceous legs and bosom and trained his vision instead on the exotic features of her face, her eyes, the flashing jewels on her ears entangled in long spirals of thick, black hair.
Though half a continent apart, he couldn’t help but compare the dancer to Dr. Evans. Mattie was spirited but nothing like the woman before him. The doc’s innocence shown in her bright eyes and sweet smile, and he much preferred her soft red curls and petite frame to the lush figure that circled their table. Could he have been wrong about Mattie’s relationship with his father?
Nearing his chair once again, the dancer tapped her fingers and a tinny succession of jingles echoed in his ears. The guys beside him whooped and whistled, and Gil became exceedingly uneasy from her attention. In an effort to ignore her and get away from the noise, he withdrew to the men’s bathroom. When he returned, their red-capped waiter met him at the table with a tray of appetizers.
“And now for your Saganaki, a mild Kasseri cheese soaked with cognac.” He took out his lighter and dipped it above the amber liquid, igniting a slow blaze, which eventually engulfed the entire creation.
“Opa!” he said, and those at the table echoed his exclamation.
Gil stared at the golden-blue flames, entranced by the seductive way the fire danced and flickered over the cheese delicacy, his thoughts drifting back to Kansas.
THIRTEEN
MATTIE STOOD TRANSFIXED BY THE BLAZING FIRE SHOOTING OUT her apartment window. Her body filled with terror. Worried about her patients in the clinic below, she dropped Dusty’s lead rope and rushed the thirty yards from the barn to the house.