11…Boat Whistles

I'm not regretting having changed into this cheongsam I bought in a stall in Wuhan on one of my market trips with Dragon. I just wasn't feeling the little black dress Em had chosen from my closet last night for me to wear to the dinner tonight. This is such a beautiful color, all silvery lavender with cranes embroidered on it and black trim and frog closures. I don't know if Em will find it dinner dress worthy, but I feel good in it.

Somehow, after putting on this dress, I actually became excited to go out tonight. It might be the fact that just before I came home to change, Henry ate the dinner Bea brought for him with a knife and fork at the table right in front of both of us. A small thing, I know, but it's a wonderful marker of his improvement. And, he has begun his speech therapy and is walking so much better. Everything is just more hopeful and this dress seemed to better match my attitude than the black one.

After giving my coat over to the coat check guy, I am ushered just a few feet into the bustling restaurant to the first table in a long line of them. Emory is snuggled into the corner made by a low wall separating the front entrance from the long banquette with tables. There is a young man nuzzling her neck—all I can really see of him is the back of his sandy brown head. They are engrossed in each other, not noticing me. I stand there for a few moments, a little embarrassed, before saying, "Um…This must be that British boy you've told me about." They both look up, blinking.

He scoots over the padded banquette to stand at the edge of our table, "Oh, you must be the Ellawyn I've heard so much about!" He has a plummy British accent and a huge smile as he extends his hand. "James Ransdell!"

I take his hand, but instead of shaking it, he pulls me into a hug, almost knocking me into the table next to ours, which luckily, doesn't have anyone sitting in it. I smell whiskey and expensive cologne.

"I'm so glad to finally meet my best girl's best friend!" he says affably. I briefly return his hug, looking over his shoulder at Em to see her blush a deep pink.

Wow! This is a kind of a new look for her—all smiley and sibilant. Also, James is not the usual type she goes for. In my heels I am taller than he is and can feel his thin shoulders through his gray suit when we hug. She has always gone for bigger he-man types.

Interesting. I raise an eyebrow at her.

James releases me then reaches over to pull out a chair, "Here, have a seat across from me, so I can better ply you with questions about your best friend."

I put the black bag I got from my professors over the back of the chair—I'm using it as a purse—and James scoots back onto the banquette, putting his arm around Emory as I sit down.

He looks at me expectantly. "So, Ellawyn…" he says with a sweet smile, green eyes so eager and the cutest dimples I've ever seen. "Please tell me more about this whole Emory-can't-stop-talking-about-me thing, unless of course, it was some other English boy she was speaking of."

Oh, I like him already—his handsome face so open and amicable, with none of that upright British-ness. Although maybe this unguarded quality is due to the alcohol.

"James, you know full well that there is only you," Em chides him sweetly. She's using her flirty and feminine Southern voice. Poor boy, he really doesn't stand a chance.

He practically beams at her before lifting his highball and downing most of the contents, his rosy cheeks getting rosier. He turns back to me. "Sorry! Where are my manners…Can I get you something to drink?"

Em says, "We were going to wait until everyone arrives to order a bottle of wine." To James she adds, "I think we've both had enough of the hard stuff, don't you?" She is Coordinating him.

"While we're waiting, try this." She pushes her near-full cocktail glass over to me. "It's called the Bee's Knees; I ordered it because I liked the name." I take a sip. "Yummy, huh? Do you want one?"

"Oh, it is good, honey and lemon, but it's too strong for me. I'll wait for the wine," I say, wondering how many of these she's had. She seems a little off—a little too bright—and she's never been a big drinker.

"You can have the rest of that one for now. I've not had the best day, or really, best week, but everything does seem better now after a few of those." She giggles. "Plus, you're both here and my beau is finally letting me meet his oldest friend!"

James holds up his whiskey glass to me, "I've already had a few, too." He lowers his voice conspiratorially, "I always get nervous introducing Leif to a girlfriend."

I glance over at a now-frowning Em. "Are you ashamed of me?" she asks forlornly.

Whoa! Where in the hell is that coming from? This is not like Em at all. She is always sure of her place in the world, always sure of her appeal. This is unsettling. She must've had an epically bad week.

"What? How could I be?" he replies, aghast. "You are the loveliest, most…"

She doesn't let him finish. "And have you had lots of girlfriends?" Her Southern honey voice is still there, but I can hear the hint of something else behind it. I am flabbergasted by this version of Em and wonder if I need to take her to the restroom to talk to her. She has asked the wrong question, too; she should've asked why—there's a story there for sure.

His pale English face gets redder seeing Em's expression. "Oh no! It's not that, it's just…"

He glances up and is saved from answering. "There he is!" James exclaims.

I follow his gaze over my left shoulder.

Life is just not fair.

My stomach drops into my shoes.

My mouth goes dry.

My mind screams every string of curse words I've ever known in every language.

It's the sea god. Of course it is.

Again, I picture water dripping off him, but clamp down on that mental image immediately.

He stands there, right next to my chair, in all his glory, looking even more compelling than he does in my memory of him from the elevator. He's in a dark, perfectly cut suit, white shirt and lavender tie that somehow makes his eyes even more arresting.

James scoots out of the banquette again and comes around behind me to hug him, which he returns. From somewhere in the back of my not-quite-firing, water-logged brain, I think this is a sweet show of friendship.

"Have a seat, man!" James says, gesturing to the chair next to me before he slides back onto the banquette, putting his arm back around Emory who has a watchful, expectant expression on her face.

"This is the girl I've been telling you about!" James says flushing again. "Emory, meet my great friend, Leif."

He extends his arm across the table to shake her outstretched hand. What with the roaring in my ears, I don't really hear their murmured greetings, but I see Em nod and smile.

When he pulls out the chair and takes his seat, it really hits me that I am going to be sitting next to him through dinner—through ordering, through eating and drinking. And talking! I don't know how I will do it. I take a deep breath, mustering my game face, numbing myself, wiping the breathless shock off my expression—at least I hope so. I aim for inscrutable.

James smiles over at me, "And this is her great friend, Ellawyn, who will start work at Falk Atlantic soon."

He fixes me with a smoldering gaze, reaching his hand the few inches between us; this is not a large table. I swallow, thinking, game face, game face, even as I feel my neck and face heat to boiling.I take his hand, shaking it, and want to yelp at the contact—this is like a riptide, all the blood in my entire body seems to go to my hand, pulling me toward him.

The tiniest corner of his perfect mouth turns up in…what? Wry amusement? A taunt? Sarcasm? Is he remembering the elevator? I can't tell.

"Ellawyn, is it?" he says smoothly, subtly emphasizing my name, but otherwise giving nothing away. "Very nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too, Leif," I say, emphasizing his. His uniform patch said Vince.

What's so weird, though, is that as soon as I say his name, as soon as it has passed my lips, it just feels so right. He looks like a Leif. And this Leif certainly never got beat up on any playground. I don't mean to, but I repeat it in a whisper… "Leif." It is like an oath. His eyes are fixed on my mouth.

I hear a woman's voice to my right. "I believe you were waiting for all your party to arrive to choose a bottle of wine. Should I send the sommelier over for questions?" I pull my eyes away from his to see a waitress whisking away James' empty cocktail glass. She is looking at all of us in turn, but her eyes keep going back appreciatively to the man next to me.

"That won't be necessary," Leif says authoritatively, as he picks up the wine list from the table. "Shall we start with a celebratory champagne?" he asks without looking up.

I hear a murmured assent from across the table.

"We'll have a bottle of the Pinot Noir La Cote Aux Enfants," he says decisively, snapping closed the leather War and Peace-sized tome that is the wine list, handing it to the fawning waitress. "And let's say two orders of the sea scallops to start, if they're still on the menu."

"Yes, they are. Very good choice," she says, dreamily to Leif. Seriously? Although, really, who could blame her?

She glances down at me askance and I know instantly what this means; I'm going to get carded. "I'm sorry, but I'll need to see some I.D. from the newcomers" she says, really only to me.

Maldito! I purposefully put my hair up in a kind of braided bun, hoping I would look older and more sophisticated than leaving it down or putting it in a ponytail. I reach around to get my wallet out of my bag and pull out Emory's cousin's driver's license, handing it to her, having hid my own California one.

She looks at it, then at me. It says I am Ashley Buford from Cumming, Georgia, age twenty-three.

When the sea-god…Leif, I mentally correct myself, hands up his, she dazedly puts mine down on the table, forgotten. I should be grateful it kept her from scrutinizing it further, but really.

I go to pick up the ID, but his long, beautiful artist's hand quickly covers it. He drags it along the table toward him then picks it up, examining it with just the tiniest flicker of bemusement in his eyes. Thankfully, he says nothing. He puts the license back down on the table in front of me before taking his own from the waitress who exclaims to him, "Great name!" She stands there for a beat too long before remembering herself. "I'll get your order right in."

After she leaves it is Em who speaks first. "So, what are we celebrating?"

Leif answers in his velvety voice, "That we are all meeting for the first time." He looks over at me.

Gulp! I pick up Em's cocktail and down it.

Em says, "Yes…about that…Leif, we were just about to start what I'm sure was to be an interesting line of conversation right before you arrived. James here was saying that he's always nervous introducing a girlfriend to you. That piqued my curiosity."

She might already have a few too many drinks under her belt, but I'm glad she brought it up; I can't wait to hear what he says.

It is James who pipes up. "Well look at him! Firstly, I think every girl who meets the two of us is sure to find me lacking." His unassuming candor is completely disarming. "It's just the way it is," he shrugs.

James is truly attractive, beautiful even, but just in a quieter, cuter way than Leif. Sweeter, too; he has no hint of that whole bad boy thing.

Em stops him, putting a delicate hand on his chest, looking up at Leif. "I hope you won't mind my saying that you are indeed a very good-looking man." James's face has fallen just a fraction. "But I've never seen a more handsome man in the world than your British friend here."

I don't know how she does that—making everyone feel so special in her perfect feminine way. She turns her face back to James, "You, my dear boy, are the bee's knees." She plants a kiss on his cheek and he visibly brightens, sitting up straighter.

The look that passes between them warms my heart.

"That's not really the reason I get nervous, though," James continues, smiling openly. "It's that Leif has ruined more than one of my relationships."

It is me who is sitting up straighter now, all ears.

"Do tell!" Em teases lightly, and clearly a bit alcohol-fueled. "Has he stolen your girlfriends away?"

That's exactly what I'm wondering.

"I would never disrespect my friend in that way," Leif replies sternly, sounding affronted. I quickly glance over, but all I can see is the side of his face; I would give anything to see the sea-g…no, I've got to stop that…Leif's expression right now.

"No, he would never do something so dishonorable to me!" James dismisses with a smile. "He would, however, go out with my girlfriend's friend, and then break her heart, making both of them so mad that my girlfriend breaks up with me!"

What?

Em gazes at Leif, giggling, "I do not normally wish heartbreak on any of my own gender, but in this case, may I say from the bottom of my heart, thank you for wrecking any or all of his prior relationships!" She reaches across the table to clutch one of Leif's hands and then looks over at me. "Sorry, Elle, but I have a new best friend now!"

James says, "We don't have to worry about it in this case because Leif has made a solemn vow not to do that this time because you are too important to me."

He pulls Em tighter to him then reaches his other hand across the table to take mine, mirroring Em holding Leif's. "Besides, he is all enamored of some new girl he just met at the company… Cindy or something, I think her name was? Something like that? He's spent the week calling around there to find her again."

Ohmigod! I stiffen. Surely he can't mean...

Okay, they have definitely both had way too much to drink. Em doesn't stop there. Still clutching Leif's hand she says "Even though I'm sad we won't be double-dating, that works out fine because Elle has met…"

And I know…I know what she's going to say next. I silently will her drunken ass to stop. My other hand clenches in my lap. Please no! Please!

"…some guy on an elevator at Falk that she is rapturous about…What did you nickname him, Elle?"

No!

"…The sea-god, was it? Right? Yes, that was it! Apparently, he was actually holding a trident!"

I want to kill her, throw up, and die, all at once.

Under the table, I feel a cool hand—Leif's hand—reach over to curl around my clenched fist. For just a moment, all four of us are touching, holding hands in a sort of square. I feel another jolt, but this time, strangely, the electricity is coming from both Leif and James's hands.

I'm not the only one who feels it.

Both Em and James quickly lift their hands off of Leif's and mine, Em with a little girlish squeal.

"Yikes! Someone's been rubbing their feet on the carpet!" she exclaims. "I just got shocked." There isn't actually any carpet in this restaurant that I can see.

Leif squeezes my hand under the table again, then releases it.

What the hell was all that! What did that mean? The hand under the table? The shock? Okay, this is so beyond weird—I have landed in the twilight zone of all dinners.

James and Em look perplexed. "Well, that was odd," James says in the understatement of the year.

There is a momentary silence between all of us before I feel movement next to our table. I gaze up to see a man placing a silver ice bucket on a stand next to me. I'm confused before I think, Oh, a sommelier. A sommelier with perfect timing!

He deftly uncorks the wine with a pop, then pours it into one of four champagne glasses he's placed on the table. "The Bollinger Coteaux Champenoix Pinot Noir!" he announces with a flourish. "A beautiful wine." Without asking, he hands the glass over to Leif, who takes a small sip.

"Indeed it is," Leif agrees, nodding.

As the sommelier fills the remaining glasses, placing them in front of each of us, he introduces himself, explaining that if we have any inquiries about wine choices for dinner, he will gladly be at our service. Immediately, I get busy trying to get Em's attention, so I can take her to the restroom with me and do some damage control.

I try pleading with my eyes first, but am hampered when James lifts his glass. "To what shall we toast?"

"To meeting for the first time. And to new and old friendships," Leif answers looking at me as I sit dumbly gaping, completely and utterly lost at sea.

"Elle?" Em prompts.

Oh. I come back to earth to see everyone is holding up their glasses, waiting for me. I quickly pick up mine, clinking it to theirs. I swear I feel another shock and my eyes dart around to see if anyone else noticed it, like last time. No one says anything.

Yep…definitely entered the twilight zone.

I cover my consternation by taking a huge gulp of the champagne, nearly draining my glass. As soon as I've put it down, James immediately reaches over to the ice bucket to refill it. I feel a dark pair of eyes on me and am compelled to glance up.

He raises a thick eyebrow, and I'm sure he's going to comment on the way I've swilled this fine wine as if it's a bar shot. I'm surprised when I hear him ask quietly, "Just how many names do you have?"

I know he's thinking, Cinda, Ellawyn, Ashley.

I'm equally surprised to hear myself reply, "Quite a few, Vince. And you?"

I actually sound kind of cool, even though I don't feel that way at all. In fact, I feel quite the opposite. I am conscious that the whole left side of my body—the side he is on—is warm, like I'm covered by an electric blanket, or rather, scorched by an atomic blast. His presence, his energy, looms large at the table, pulling at me, overwhelming me.

I turn away, asking, "Do we know what we want to order?"

As one, James and Em pick up their menus, as do I, grateful for something to do in the moment. Leif, I notice out of the corner of my eye, does not pick up his. As I'm pretending to peruse it, I remember that I need to spirit Em away so I can tell her who Leif is and to get her to ferme la bouche.

When we were at college, Em came up with a kind of secret sign in case one of us needed to get the other's attention to get away from a certain situation, using involving a guy. It is a line from her favorite movie that she picked out because it is unlikely to come up in normal conversation. I've never had to use it before, but Em has several times—at a fraternity party she's dragged me to, at a dinner once, at several bars. I decide to hold off for now because, for one, the worst of the damage is already done. And two, the subject of the elevator sea god is unlikely to come up again; at least I hope it isn't. Either way, before I invoke the signal, I really do need to decide what to order.

I try to concentrate on the menu and am aghast to see that the prices for everything are very high. I've been here before, but it was with my grandparents and I wasn't paying attention to the cost. I'm pretty thrifty normally, but lately have been hyper-conscious of money and spending, owing to the fact that my family's finances are in the red right now, probably for the first time ever.

Plus, these two are just about to graduate college and there might even be student loans to pay; I would feel guilty ordering something pricey. I decide to order the least expensive thing on the menu, a beet and goat cheese salad. And, when the bill comes, I will brave Em's apoplectic fit and offer to pay my share of the wine and food. She is wealthy and from the chivalrous South; in her world boys always pay.

I close the menu, placing it on the table. Almost immediately, my earlier hope of the sea-god subject being over and done with is proved wrong. But it is from an unlikely source.

"So, Ellawyn…" Leif says, again with the silken emphasis on my name, which sends tingles down my spine. "Tell us more about this…What was the term used?...Oh, yes…this…sea god you met."

I whip my head around to see his mouth lifted in a half smile, reminding me of his arrogant expression on the elevator when I was clutching on to him for dear life to keep from falling. I would've thought he would not want to bring this up again.

Pompous pendejo, I think to myself.

I don't know what to say, nor do I know what to do. I am drowning in a sea of mortification once again. Across the table I see James's expression of real concern and as he opens his mouth to speak, I pray he will provide some sort of a lifeline to keep me afloat. "Yes, please do. Emory has told me that you've not had a boyfriend before so perhaps Leif can check this fellow out to make sure he's a good sort."

No lifeline. Instead, it is as if he is pushing me under the water. But he is so sweetly sincere that I can't really be upset with him.

I shut my eyes, in a feeble attempt to shut everyone out. This can't possibly get any worse.

Em proves me wrong again. "You know, that's not a bad idea because I can tell you unequivocally that Elle is one step short of the porch regarding guys." I can feel her roll her eyes. "She has absolutely no game—not one ounce! She never gets it when boys are trying to put the moves on her and either way, she wouldn't know a hell's angel from a canonized saint. And from the sound of it, this guy is more the former than the latter!"

She is talking about me as if I'm not even here. And I wish so badly that I wasn't. I feel myself leave my body.

Leif says, mockingly, "I bet he's bad to the bone." Behind my closed eyes I can feel him watching me.

Em again, "I always had to look out for her at Stanford because she started college so young—she'd just turned sixteen. And she doesn't date. Like, at all. Ever!"

James mutters, "Leif looked after me at school, too, but in a different way."

Em giggles, lowering her voice, but not enough. "She's not really even old enough to drink legally yet."

Great! She's going to get me arrested for underage drinking. I come back to reality, opening my eyes and quickly scanning the area around our table. No one, thankfully, is near enough to overhear, although the hostess station is just over the wall behind Em and I can't see if anyone is at the desk. In this moment, though, the thought of being led away in handcuffs is almost preferable to this humiliating conversation taking place in this classic restaurant.

There is heat at my left ear, "Just when will you turn twenty-one?" That whole side of my head tingles, he has leaned so close to me.

I meet his eyes, but can't speak. He looks almost…mad.

It is Em who answers with another one of her girlish giggles, "A little over a year."

His brows knit together and I can see him doing the math, his look turns scathing.

"You're a teenager!?" he hisses, his whole face screwing up in anger and disgust.

I feel like I'm four.

Seeing this…this…loathing on his face makes me wish I was anywhere else but here. And the realization that I don't have to be here finally galvanizes me to action.

I bolt straight up off my chair, look pointedly at Em. "I don't like boat whistles!" I blurt out.

This is the secret signal that Em came up with; a line from An Affair to Remember. From somewhere outside by body, I hear how ridiculous this non sequitur sounds. Across the table, I see Emory get the signal, but she looks confused as to why I would invoke it. But the caustic look on my face causes her to practically shrink into her corner of the banquette. Then she does something I've never seen her do before.

She bursts into tears.

Honestly, I don't even care. Okay, I care a little. A lot. But I can't stay here. The last thing I see before I grab my bag off the back of my chair, throw down some money on the table, and stumble toward the door, is the shocked faces of the two men.