11—

"Do you have to be anywhere?" Josh asked her, when they had finished their coffees and she'd come back from the bathroom.

"Nowhere at all. I told Karena I didn't know when I'd be back. They're going out on the town again, I think; they won't be sitting around waiting for me, anyway."

He grinned at her, flashing his dimples. "Do you think you might want to get some dinner sometime, then? If you left any room in there, after all those lobster rolls and fries."

"There were only two lobster rolls, and the rolls were small."

"There was lots of lobster, and you had my fries."

"I think," Donna said with dignity, "that I could find a little room for dinner, in a little while."

"How little a while? I made a reservation for 8:00; would that do?"

"You made a reservation?" She looked at him with wonder; she hardly recognized him today.

"Yeah." He was coloring up a lot like that this afternoon, too. Maybe he was just too warm; it was chilly outside, but the coffeeshop was stuffy, and his coffee had been black and hot. "I figured it was better to play it safe; restaurants fill up fast around here this time of year, and this one might be popular. I haven't tried it yet," he added. "I don't know if it's really any good or not."

"Well, let's find out. What kind of place is it?"

"Kind of a country inn sort of place; if it's anything like I've heard, you'll like it. The owner is French, married to a local girl; it's supposed to be a sort of cross between French country cooking and really good down-east food. And they say the atmosphere is nice."

"It sounds wonderful. Where is it? Would I be able to go back to Karena's and change first? Someone put sand down my back this afternoon; I'm still itchy. And I'd like a sweater."

"It's up the coast a bit, maybe half an hour's drive, but there's time. Come on, we'll go now."

oooooo

It was only a few minutes to Karena's father's cottage. Donna figured she had time for a quick shower and a change; after a day spent eating blueberries and sitting on the sand in the sun, she needed one. She wondered what the dress code around here was for dining out at a place like the one Josh had described; it sounded nice, though probably not unduly elegant. She realized now why he'd worn such dressy casual clothes today, and took her cue from him, coming downstairs in her best pair of black slacks and a brilliantly colored tank top. She was still wearing her new necklace, of course, and strappy sandals with more of a heel than was probably wise; she'd taken the bandage off to get them on. Josh looked at her appreciatively, but didn't say anything except, "Did you bring a sweater?"

'It's right here." She was carrying it over her arm, with her purse.

"That's good. I'm afraid I'm kind of a mess." He was looking down at his light pants. He'd emptied her shell collection out of the pockets, but the material had wrinkled and seemed to have collected some saltwater stains, not to mention spots of what was probably blueberry.

"Well," Donna said, trying to look severe and not bringing it off very well, "I've seen you look worse, I suppose. Of course, I've seen you when you haven't changed your shirt in three days, or shaved."

"I always shaved!"

"No you didn't. I have photographic proof. It's just as well the camera couldn't capture the smell, too."

"Do I need to shower now?" he asked, sounding suddenly anxious. Donna nearly burst out laughing; his expression was so comical she couldn't keep her own straight, so she relented.

"No, you're fine. And I don't think anyone will notice the stains on your pants; they're mostly pretty light. Though we probably have time to stop by your house on the way if you wanted to change, don't we? You said you lived north of here; the restaurant's in the same direction, isn't it?"

"It's a bit out of the way," Josh said. "We'd better just go, if you don't mind. I'm sorry about the pants," he added, grinning ruefully. "I might have known I'd make a mess, wearing these all day."

"It was predictable, all right, but it was me who made you put the shells in your pockets, so I'll take responsibility for the worst of it. Unless we're going to dine under spotlights, I really don't think anyone will see."

"I think candles are more likely."

"Let's go, then."

"If I can get this car started, we'll make like a Mazda."

"Zoom, zoom, zoom?"

"Zoom, zoom, zoom."

"You know, I'll bet you were just like that boy when you were his age."

"Why?"

"The jacket, the tie, the smug expression."

"Please, we wore better-looking blazers than that at my school."

"Preppy."

"Yup. Could have been worse, though."

"How could it have been worse?"

"One of my best friends had to go to Eton."

"You're kidding."

"Not. Have you ever seen the outfits they wear there?"

"Very aristocratic. Top hats, tails . . ."

"Very ridiculous, you mean. Oh, hang on, I think I've got it."

"It's going!"

"I tell you, she knows her master."

"That sounds a bit off."

"Kinky?"

"Yes, Josh. If you and your car have that kind of relationship, I don't want to know about it."

"Zoom, zoom, zoom."

oooooo

He was definitely in a mood, Donna thought. His grin was bigger and his dimples deeper than she'd seen them in a long time—a very long time. Not just the past two days or the past two years; maybe the two years before that, even. There was a kind of reckless glitter in his eyes that she associated with Josh on the eve of an important vote, when he was pulling all the strings and turning all the screws and was about to try something really big that would either put it in the bag or bring the whole house of cards tumbling down on him. Or Josh when he'd had a couple of glasses of champagne and was working on a third; if she hadn't been with him all day, she'd have suspected him of being a bit drunk. If he'd been walking he'd have had his best cock-of-the-walk swing in his hips. Instead he was driving fast and whistling under his breath. It took her a while to recognize the tune: "Blueberry Hill."

Thirty minutes later as the sun was starting to set they pulled up in front of a long, low building nestled among pines; there were carriage lamps on either side of the front door that had already been lit. Josh got out of the car and whipped around the front to open her door while she was still getting her belt off, which amazed her—that kind of courtesy had never been his long suit. Gravel crunched under her feet as she stepped onto the driveway; she wobbled a little in her heels and Josh put an arm around her to steady her. She glanced up at the building. It had freshly-painted white clapboard siding and a grey shingled roof with dormer windows peeking out of it; something about the shape of the windows and the number of chimneys and the way the roof sagged just a little along its peak made her think it must be quite old—early nineteenth century probably, maybe older. There were boxes under the windows overflowing with a brilliant array of flowers, and more in big tubs by the door.

"This looks charming," she said.

"I thought you'd like it," Josh answered, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. She glanced sideways. Yes, he was definitely swaggering. He kept his arm around her waist as he led her towards the door.

When he opened it, Donna actually gasped. They were in an entryway but she could see through an arch into the dining room, and beyond that through what looked like a whole wall of French windows to a terrace and then to the sea beyond. She was getting used to beautiful views everywhere, but this was the most spectacular she'd seen yet, perhaps because they seemed to be very high above the water and the view was very wide, or perhaps because of the time of day. The sun was setting behind them, turning the water to beaten silver washed with pink; the horizon was piled with little pink clouds. The inevitable boats looked as if they were sailing across the sky.

"Lyman," Josh was saying. "I have a reservation for two for eight o'clock. I asked for a window table, by the fireplace."

"Oh yes, I have you right here. You called yesterday, didn't you? I was so glad I could get it for you; most of our seats have been booked for weeks, but the other people didn't say anything about the fireplace; I guess they don't realize what the nights are like here now." The hostess, a surprisingly young-looking girl, led them through the arch into the dining room, which was unexpectedly small and intimate. The ceiling was low and crossed by dark beams, the walls were hung with brass and copper cooking ware, and a huge old pine sideboard stood against one wall, its shelves filled with red-and-yellow antique china. At one end a fire was burning brightly in a big stone fireplace, its light dancing off all the polished wood and copper around the room. Donna looked at it gratefully; August nights in Maine get chilly, and she had been shivering even in her sweater.

"Where is everybody?" she asked. Except for the antiques, the room was empty.

"Oh, they should be coming shortly. It's a big party, they've booked most of our tables for the same time. They were actually supposed to be here an hour ago—we couldn't do an earlier seating because of them—but the man has been on the phone to my dad, and said they'd be here soon." She seemed very friendly; Donna liked her. She looked about eighteen.

She pulled out a chair for Donna at the table closest to the fireplace, by the window, and gave her a hand-written card with the menu on it. The prices were lower than they would have been in Washington, but they were far from cheap. "This looks wonderful," Donna said, studying the card. "I thought you'd like it," Josh said again. He was looking decidedly smug, and still had that reckless glitter in his eyes.

Donna decided to start with a bowl of the clam chowder; she hadn't warmed up yet, and the thought of hot soup was irresistible. She almost didn't order it when Josh said he didn't want a starter, but he teased her until she did. After that she chose the scallops; Josh said he thought he'd have the chicken.

"The chicken?"

"Yeah, sure, why not?"

"It's a white meat."

"What's wrong with that? It's supposed to be good for me, isn't it? You're always saying I should eat more white meat."

"You never listen to me."

"I'm listening now."

"But I'm not saying it now. This is a special place; don't you want the steak? It sounds divine—braised with scallions and truffles in red wine, with rosemary and thyme."

"Nah, steak should be simple; I can get a good one at the Salty Dog any day. I'm in the mood for the chicken; look, it says it's cordon bleu."

"That means it's stuffed with ham and cheese."

"I know what it means, Donna."

"You don't like to eat ham."

"I eat ham!"

"You will, but you don't like to."

"I do too like ham."

"You like the way it tastes, but you don't like to eat it."

"The day after my bar mitzvah, I ate a ham sandwich."

"You were being rebellious. And you still feel guilty about it."

"I do not. I like ham. I want this ham. And look—they're using blue cheese; it sounds good."

"Not good for you. All that fat. And it says it's sauteed in herbed butter, and there's a hollandaise sauce."

"Better still, then. That settles it; I'm having the chicken. And we'll get a bottle of white wine."

"Do you really want white? You could probably do red with the chicken, when it's got the ham in it."

"White's what you like best, though."

"So it is."

"And it will go with both the chicken and the scallops, so we'll have white. The cellar's supposed to be good here. And did you see the dessert menu? It was at the bottom of the card."

"I did indeed."

"Make sure you save room for some."

"I'm counting on it."

oooooo

The chowder was even more delicious than Donna had been expecting. It was thick with clams, and had a smoky flavor she'd never tasted in chowder before. "This is amazing, Josh," she said. "Here, you have to try it," and she reached a spoonful across the table to him. He didn't tell her what his bar mitzvah rabbi would have said about clam chowder but let her put it in his mouth for him, waggling his eyebrows at her while he was swallowing.

"That is good," he said, wiping his mouth and smiling at her.

"Maybe you should get a bowl."

"Nah, I'll just eat yours. You had my fries."

"Let's ask for another spoon, then."

"I'm just kidding, Donna; you can have it. I don't need it. I'd get my own if I did."

"I don't need all this either, Josh; it's a huge bowl. Let's ask for another spoon. I won't have room for my main course if I eat all this, let alone dessert."

"Well, that would be a shame," he said, with a grin. "Look, there are spoons on that table over there; I'll grab one. We'll call it payback for the fries." So they sat sharing the big bowl of thick, hot, smoky chowder in front of the fire, talking and laughing, while the light faded outside and a misty darkness crept in from the sea.

Donna was just thinking that this was her idea of perfect when she heard cars pulling up outside, doors slamming, and people's voices talking loudly. A minute later the door from the hall opened, and the voices burst in. "What the hell?" a man's voice shouted.

"What—what's the matter, sir?" the eighteen-year-old hostess asked nervously.

"What's this? Who the hell are they? What the f- are they doing here?" He sounded as if he'd had quite a lot to drink.

"They're—they're just the other customers, sir."

"Well, why the f- are there any other customers? I thought I booked the whole place."

"You asked for tables for forty, sir. That's ten tables. We have eleven."

"Oh, f- it. I might have known that idiot assistant of mine would screw things up. Well look, they'll just have to leave. We've brought some extra guests anyway; we'll need their table too."

"I can't do that, sir. They have a reservation."

"Well, God damn it, I have a reservation too! I have a lot of reservations. I've had this f-ing room reserved for three weeks now. This is a private party, damn it; I don't want these f-ing people here."

The girl looked helplessly at Josh and Donna. Josh had pushed his chair back; now he got up and walked across the room. Donna recognized the expression he was wearing, and the walk; they were the ones he brought out to deal with the more unpleasant Republicans on the Hill.

"You can can it with the language," he said to the man. "I don't want my date to have to hear that, or this girl, either."

"What the f- do I care what you want?" the man said. His stomach bulged aggressively over his belt, and his face was scarlet. He looked Josh up and down contemptuously, obviously taking in the condition of his hands and his trousers, the scrape up his arm, and the fact that he wasn't wearing a coat and tie. "You've got no business in here; I've booked this place for a private party. I don't know how you got in, but you can just take your f-ing girlfriend and get your f-ing ass out again."

"I'm not going to," Josh was saying, when the door opened again and several more people burst in. One of them seemed to be the owner and, judging from his hat and apron, the chef. The fat man turned and started shouting at him; he listened, nodding and saying things that were obviously meant to be soothing. The man wasn't soothed.

"If you will just give us a minute," the owner/chef said. "Just a minute, please." He turned to Josh and looked at him pleadingly. "Sir, if I could just speak to you for a minute, please."

"Sure," Josh said. "I might not be able to hear you, though, over that."

"If you will just give us a minute," the man said to the angry customer again. He spluttered, but a woman who had come into the room took him by the elbow and pulled him aside. She was very tall and very blonde and very well dressed in an obvious way, wearing a lot of very large and very expensive-looking rings; she was the kind of blonde who made Donna wonder whether she didn't want to dye her hair brown. The owner moved towards the fireplace; Josh followed him.

"My apologies, sir, my apologies," the man began. "I'm afraid there has been a mistake."

"There certainly has," Josh said. "The first one was when that man's mother decided to keep him."

The owner looked startled, but pressed on. "I understand you made a reservation yesterday; my daughter tells me she took it." Josh nodded. "She is very young, as you can see, and inexperienced, and I am afraid she did not understand. These people booked their party several weeks ago; she should not have told you we had room tonight."

"She said they booked ten tables, and we're at the eleventh," Josh pointed out.

"I am very sorry, but this gentleman thought we had reserved the entire room for him. He is very angry, as you can see. If you would accept a—what is it you say? a check because of the rain—I would be happy to give you a table another night, and dinner on the house."

"You want us to leave?" Josh sounded astonished. Donna got up and walked over to stand next to him.

"I am very sorry," the man said again. "Please accept my apologies, and come back again, and I will cook you a beautiful dinner for nothing, but tonight, yes, I must ask you to leave."

"We've started eating," Josh said heatedly.

"That does not matter; do not worry about that; you will pay nothing, of course. That gentleman is a very good customer; he has been here before, bringing lots of people, and if he is happy he will come here and bring lots of people again. We lost our first seating tonight, because of this party; if he leaves, we will make nothing. You understand how it is; I have a business to run, and the costs here are high; we are just starting out; I cannot afford to offend him."

"It's all right, Josh," Donna said, putting her hand on his arm. "Let's go."

Josh looked absolutely furious. "But—"

"We can come back again another night," she pointed out.

"Yes, yes, come back again and your dinner will be on the house. Next week, perhaps? I am booked through the weekend, but next week there will be tables, and I will rearrange things and make sure you have this one, if this is what you want."

"You won't be here next week," Josh said bleakly, looking at Donna.

"It doesn't matter, Josh. Let's just go. We can't stay now; even if this man wanted us to, it would be horrible, being in the same room with that drunken idiot and his friends."

"Yeah," Josh said. "Okay." He watched Donna gather her sweater and her purse. "I'm sorry."

"Josh, it's fine. Let's go."

"If you come to the kitchen, I can give you your dessert to take with you," the owner was saying, when the tall blonde woman came through the door and across the room towards them. She was wearing six-inch heels and a very close-fitting red dress that Donna thought was probably Prada. She walked up to Josh and held out her hand.

"I'm sorry you have to leave," she said—assuming, Donna noticed with annoyance, that they were in fact about to leave. "My husband planned this party for my birthday, you see, and he wants it to be perfect; he reacts a bit strongly sometimes, if he thinks I'm going to be disappointed." She had what might almost have been an upper-class English accent, but Donna didn't think it sounded quite right. "You can have this for your trouble," and she turned her hand over to show two hundred-dollar bills.

Josh flushed from the base of his neck right up to the roots of his hair. Donna didn't think she had ever seen him look that angry. For a few seconds he just stared at the woman, his mouth a little open. Then he found his voice.

"Oh, no thanks," he said thickly. "You'd better keep it. You could use it to buy mouthwash for your husband; he needs a lot of it."

Then he took Donna's elbow and led her out the door.

oooooo

They walked out of the restaurant into a cold, wet fog. It was dripping off the boughs of the pine trees that lined the driveway, and hung down heavily over the road. Josh opened the door of the rusty little Civic, and handed Donna in. It took him eight tries to get the car started; the engine obviously didn't deal well with the damp. He pulled out around the Mercedes and Jaguars lining the driveway, and drove wordlessly down the drive and onto the road. His hands gripped the wheel tightly; Donna had a strong feeling that what he really wanted to do was to put his foot on the gas and tear down the road, screeching the tires on the corners, but because of the fog he had to drive more slowly and carefully than usual.

"That poor man," she said lightly, hoping to break his mood.

"Poor my ass," Josh said through his teeth. "The only thing that's poor about him is his vocabulary."

"I didn't mean him, you idiot," she said. "I meant the owner. Imagine having to deal with people like that, depending on them for your living. It would be ghastly."

"It's pretty common around here," Josh said, still in that tight voice. "You should see some of the morons Sid has to take out."

"As bad as that?"

"Pretty much. Sid won't put up with it, though. He told one jackass that if he didn't clean his mouth up, he'd throw him overboard and let the harbor do it for him. Joey was along," he added. "Sid doesn't want him picking it up."

"What happened?"

"The jackass shut up. I don't think the idea of ruining his Abercrombie and Fitch shirt and his Bill Blass pants appealed to him too much."

Josh was himself wearing Bill Blass pants. Donna didn't think it was a good idea to point that out, but it must have occurred to him, because he suddenly glanced down at them and then over at her, and started to laugh.

"Oh God, Donna, I'm sorry," he said. "I wanted you to have a nice evening, I really did."

"Well, the first part of it was wonderful," she said. "And it doesn't have to be over yet. I'm starving—can't we go somewhere else and get something to eat?"

"Yes, of course we can. I don't know where, though. I'd heard about that place from a customer on one of Sid's fishing trips; I don't have a list of other nice spots to go."

"It doesn't have to be a place like that. It doesn't even have to be a place; we could just go back to your house and heat something up, if you want."

"Do you really think I have any food there?" Josh said. "I don't even try to cook for myself most of the time; I eat out."

"Where do you eat?"

"The Salty Dog, usually."

"That would be fine with me; their food is good."

"The Salty Dog, then."

When they got to the Salty Dog, there was a line outside waiting to get in. Josh poked his head in the door and caught Betty's eye. She winked and nodded towards the back door, and he led Donna around that way. Betty was just seating them at a table for two in the corner when a woman's voice called out, "Hey, Donna!" over the crowd, and they looked over to see Karena waving wildly at them. She and Marie were at a table on the other side of the room, with another woman and some guys. "Come over here! Eat with us!" Donna glanced at Josh, who bit his lip but nodded, and they went over to join Donna's hostess and her friends. Out of the corner of her eye Donna saw Josh straighten his shoulders and swing into his master politician walk as they crossed the room. She and Karena made the introductions; Josh asked what everyone was drinking, and told Betty to bring another round of the same. When Betty brought their food, he told her to fill their glasses up again. By the time they were ready to leave, Karena and Marie had to pile into the back of the Civic; even Donna was a little tipsy. In spite of his sensitive system, Josh was still sober enough to drive—he'd nursed the same beer all evening. So he couldn't blame inebriation for the strange feeling he'd had most of the night that someone was watching them, though every time he turned around, he couldn't see anyone it could be.

oooooo