“He still gets mad about that.” We both laughed, and Helen glanced down at her notebook. “I think we’re probably done here. I already know everything about you, so I’m not sure we have anything to talk about unless you have any questions.”
“Not right now.”
“If you think of any, we can talk about them during Sunday’s luncheon.”
After the round of interviews and introductions to the only two board members I hadn’t known since I was twelve, Dad took me to the room that would become my office. I met three women there and ended up interviewing each of them as my potential secretary. I met so many people and talked so much small talk, I was about to scream. Besides, my thoughts kept meandering outside.
I wondered if Ethan was really out there, waiting for me. I wondered if I should maybe go out the back door and avoid the whole situation, but that would be exceedingly rude, wouldn’t it? I had already told him I would look for him, and if he really did spend his whole afternoon waiting for me, I couldn’t decline his dinner invitation, could I?
Did I even want to?
One thing was certain: I wasn’t about to tell my father that I had a date because he’d insist on meeting the guy. I could just imagine how that would go! Dad would throw a fit when he found out I didn’t really know Ethan, and then if he actually saw him—all pierced and tattooed and riding a freaking bicycle—yeah, let’s just say it wouldn’t go over very well. I forced myself to focus on a little more corporate talk before Dad said he needed to leave to get ready for a dinner engagement.
“One thing about Vanessa,” Dad said to an aging board member, “she doesn’t care if you forget a birthday or anniversary, but dinner engagements with her sister and brother-in-law are not to be taken lightly!”
They both chuckled, and I wondered if Dad’s third wife had actually ever become angry about anything. I couldn’t see it. I gave Dad a quick kiss on the cheek and told him I would see him next weekend, and then I rushed down the hallway to get outside as quickly as I could. I pushed the elevator button for the lobby level about thirty times, just in case it really did make the door close faster. Once the doors opened again, I stepped out of the elevator, trying to decide if I was going to feel relieved or devastated if I did not find Ethan on the sidewalk outside the building.
The sun was peering out between two skyscrapers, and I could see the light shining through the spokes of the bicycle’s wheels and the faint glow of Ethan’s cigarette. I walked slowly towards him.
“Hey,” he said casually. He tossed the butt of the cigarette into the gutter and held out a small shopping bag towards me.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Shoes,” he said with a shrug. He pointed down at the heels still squashing my toes. “You don’t want to wear those anymore.”
I peered into the little, unmarked black bag and found a pair of pink Converse high-tops with small, black, cartoon kittens all over them.
“What am I supposed to do with these?” I asked.
“Put them on, obviously,” he said. “You wear a seven and a half, right?”
“Yes…how did you know that?”
That smile came back, this time with both sides of his mouth turning up and his teeth rubbing against the thin metal rings
in his lip.
“I have a thing for feet,” he said and then blushed. He actually blushed. “Put them on—they’re really comfortable. Here…”
He moved off the bike and held it steady, indicating that I should sit on the seat to change my shoes. As ridiculous as it was, my feet were killing me, and getting out of the heels sounded blissful. I looked at the ridiculous shoes in the bag, then at my $1500 executive-wear designer skirt and blouse.
“I don’t think they match my outfit,” I told him.
“Who gives a shit?” he asked, looking at me quizzically. “We’re not going to the fucking Candelabra downtown. No one is going to be looking at your shoes, and you’ll feel better.”
I couldn’t really argue with his logic but found myself looking around for anyone I might know exiting the building. When I didn’t see anyone, I sat down on the bike and pulled off the heels. Once I had the Converse laced up, I dropped my dress shoes in the bag.
“What’s wrong?” I asked when I noticed Ethan glowering at the bag in my hand.
“I don’t suppose you would let me burn those fuckers, would you?”
“The shoes?” I asked, incredulous. I thought of the look that would be on Presley’s face if her shoes were about to be tossed into a fire. “No! Of course not!”
“I figured,” he grumbled.
“Why would you want to do that?”
He looked up at my face again and gave me the same questioning look he had before.