Summertime Guests - Wendy Francis Page 0,69

spark there used to be between the two of them has been extinguished. While they sat across from each other at Bricco, she’d sensed something was off. The only time the man’s face had truly lit up was when he spoke of his daughters. Claire had searched his voice for that same radiance when he remembered their time together, but then it dawned on her that he’d already slotted her into another category: a fond memory. Tied to a particular space and time. When they’d both been younger, much different people.

She steps off the elevator, smooths her dress and crosses the foyer to the bar. The dark wood makes it seem even darker in the nighttime. Table or counter seating? she debates. Her eyes slide across the room to see if anyone famous might be lurking in the corners, remembering Marty’s encounter with Jennifer Lopez. Maybe Robert De Niro or Meryl Streep, someone Claire would actually recognize. But there’s no one notable, save for a youngish, attractive man in a sharp blue blazer and khaki pants sitting at the bar. When she plops down one seat over, he glances her way and offers a small smile. It takes her a second to determine where she’s seen him before, but then it comes to her—he’s the same young man who was playing tennis with his girlfriend yesterday morning.

“Oh, hello, there,” she says and orders herself a martini. “I almost didn’t recognize you. You clean up nicely.”

He laughs, says, “Thanks. I think?”

And it’s the beginning of a conversation that, given their disastrous nights thus far, neither of them could have predicted.

* * *

Jason doesn’t know what to make of the woman who sits down next to him, who looks old enough to be his mother. For a second, he worries she might be hitting on him but then realizes she seems in need of a drink as badly as he is. Her eyes are red and puffy underneath the makeup. She’s pretty, like she might have been a catch back in the day. Her ash-blond hair is cut to shoulder-length, and she’s wearing a blue polka-dot summer dress, maybe back from a fancy dinner or the theater. Jason doesn’t feel like striking up a conversation but finds himself in that awkward position of not being able to switch to a table without risking offending her. Plus, she seems vaguely familiar. She surprises him when she says hello, tells him he cleans up nicely.

“So, how was your tennis match?” she asks, which is when it clicks. It’s the lady from the elevator yesterday. From her martini, she plucks out the olive and slides it off the toothpick into her mouth. That she does this in such a matter-of-fact way, without a hint of seduction, intrigues him.

“I got my butt kicked,” he says with a laugh. “Serves me right.”

Her gaze settles on him for a long moment, so long, in fact, that Jason shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He wonders if he’s offended her. But she sips her martini thoughtfully and finally says, “No offense, but I figured that might happen. Your girlfriend—or at least I assumed she was your girlfriend—looked much better prepared than you did.”

“Yeah, that applies to pretty much everything we do. Although, she definitely has a leg up on me in tennis. She almost went pro.”

“Really?” It’s clear that she’s impressed. “Well, good for her. I come from a generation where when the gym teacher told us to run around the track once, we all looked at each other like he was crazy.” Jason laughs. “I’m Claire, by the way,” she says and extends her hand, her slender fingers studded with rings.

“Jason,” he says, taking it. “Nice to meet you.”

“So, I don’t mean to pry...” she begins. “Or, maybe I do.” She smiles gamely. “But where is your girlfriend? Already turn in for the night?”

“Yeah, unfortunately, the sunset cruise we went on turned out to be more like the sunset blues. The water was a little choppy.” He’d been surprised, especially because when they’d set sail the harbor had been exceedingly calm. But halfway into their three-hour excursion, the wind had picked up enough to start rocking the boat to and fro. Gwen and a few other passengers headed into the cabin to rest their heads on a table. When the captain turned the boat around for shore, she’d vomited all over the floor. Which prompted another passenger to get sick. It was, Jason thought, a little like being trapped