Split Second - Catherine Coulter [59]
She found herself telling him she’d very nearly been engaged, but that wasn’t going to happen now, because Lenny was a jerk with an addiction she hadn’t even known about. Yeah, a jerk who was in Atlantic City gambling right now.
Genny wanted to work up a mad, but the mojitos were making her mellow instead. “I trucked over to Morrie’s after work to meet Lenny for dinner, only he never showed. I finally called his mother, and do you know what she said?” And Genny, an accomplished mimic, recited in a soft, sad voice, with a hint of a whine, ‘Since he stole four hundred dollars out of my purse, dear, I’ll bet he’s in Atlantic City again. I guess he hasn’t told you about his little problem?’
“His little problem? I mean, which one? He was a thief and a gambler, right? Well, I couldn’t take it in, and so I hung up. I don’t think she ever liked me much, and now it doesn’t matter, does it? She calls it a little problem?”
“My brother gambles,” Thomas said. “Our parents finally kicked him out.”
“He never told me,” Genny said, and stared into the mirror behind the bar, watching herself drink the rest of her third mojito. “Time to powder my nose, Thomas,” she said, and headed off to the women’s room.
Five minutes later, when she slid back onto her stool, her lipstick new and shiny, her hair freshly combed, Thomas said, “Okay, Genny, you know I’m a poet who’s wasting his youth flinging high-priced spaghetti to yuppies on the Upper East Side. What do you do?”
She was staring at herself again in the mirror, but this time she saw only a distorted outline of her face. She raised her fingers to touch her cheek, to make sure it was really there. “What I do is financial analysis,” she said. “I review companies’ sales trends and projections, stuff so boring I bet I could out-scuttle a gerbil on a treadmill.” She looked around. “I don’t see anybody I know tonight, though Enrico’s is a favorite booze trough for the financial crowd I’m in.” He handed her another drink, and she took a gulp, hiccupped, and giggled. “Would you look at me—all pissy-faced, and I don’t give a crap. The jerk—he wanted to gamble so much he totally forgot me.”
Thomas eyed her, then broke into song again. “Do you know this one? ‘From the halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli—’”
Everyone joined in with him this time; even Big Ed sang along with them while he sparkled up a glass.
“I met Mr. Montezuma once, but I did lose ten pounds doing it.” She didn’t realize Thomas was more or less holding her up on her bar stool. He laughed. “You know, sweetie, it’s late, and I’m thinking it’s time for you to meet your date with destiny.”
“What destiny?”
“Popping down a half dozen aspirin kind of destiny, but don’t worry, I’ll see you get home and leave you alone to enjoy your hangover all by yourself.”
“With my luck, it’s going to be bad.” She realized she was slurring her words a bit. She sloshed around the mojito left in the glass, thought about a stranger walking her home—he seemed like a real sweetheart, but still, she’d met him only tonight. Genny pulled together arguments as clearly as she could, both pros and cons, and finally nodded. “Yeah, I guess I’d better hang it up.” She gave him a sloppy hug. “Thanks for making me feel better, Thomas.”
He patted her shoulder. “Anytime, babe.”
There was applause for Thomas on their way out the door. He grinned, gave a little wave, and steered her outside. Once on the sidewalk, a cold wind whipped against her face and made her eyes tear up. That’s all she needed was to cry, only these tears were just from the biting wind, thank heaven. She looked around for a taxi, slurred a couple of curses because there was nary a soul to