Sundays at Tiffany's - James Patterson [28]
Hugh’s face had gone cold and stony. “Jane, you’re making a huge mistake in judgment. Maybe you should check with Vivienne.”
I’d thought I couldn’t be more stunned, but I was sadly mistaken. I was now officially more stunned. “Oh, Hugh” was all I could manage, starting to choke up. “Get me out of here. Take me home. Right now.”
Hugh looked at me for several long moments, disbelief marring his handsome face. As if he couldn’t imagine what I was so upset about. Finally he shifted his body back toward the steering wheel. He turned the key in the ignition.
“Then I’ll see you around.” He leaned across me, flicked my door open, then popped my seat belt loose. He leaned against his seat and waited, disdain oozing out of every pore.
“Whaaaat?”
“Get out.” His tone was icy, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. When I didn’t immediately move, he turned and started yelling. “Get out of my fucking car!”
My face burning, I jumped out of the car. He was throwing me out? And he was doing it in Brooklyn.
Without waiting for me to close the door, Hugh peeled out backward and sped away, kicking up gravel that hit my legs.
He had done it. He’d taken me to the middle of Brooklyn and then kicked me out with no ride home.
Strangely, I didn’t shed a tear.
Not for the first six and a half seconds, anyway.
Thirty
HE HAD NOTHING but time. It was a beautiful day, and he was trying to kick his Jane habit, so Michael was headed out for a walk, maybe a movie. On his way out, he met Owen on his way in, coming up the stairs of the brownstone — with Patty, the waitress from the Olympia. Oh, no. What have I done? Owen and Patty?
They were a cute enough couple, except that Michael didn’t trust Owen as far as he could throw him, and he really liked Patty. He didn’t want to see her hurt by a confirmed womanizer.
“Hi, Michael.” Patty beamed, as she always did at the restaurant. “I was hoping I would see you. I wanted to thank you for bringing Owen to the Olympia that morning.”
“Oh, it was nothing. Best pancakes around, right? How are you guys?” He tried to send Owen a warning glance, like, Hurt this girl and I’ll kill you, but Owen didn’t meet his eyes.
Patty continued to smile and did seem happy. “I’m great. But this one, he’s a diamond in the rough. He’s funny. Another Dane Cook.”
“I am not,” Owen said, looking offended. “How could you think that? And who’s Dane Cook?”
“See?” said Patty affectionately. “He knows Dane Cook’s a comedian.”
“Yeah, Owen’s a card, all right,” Michael said, wanting to come right out and warn Patty. Owen wasn’t deliberately cruel, but Michael didn’t see how this could end well. “Okay, see you guys.”
“Bye!” Patty said, and Michael sighed and continued downstairs. He was nervous for Patty — and her little girl. Owen had flat out told him that every woman he’d ever known had been a sex object to him, even his wife. Great, that was great. Well, maybe Patty would save him from himself.
He looked back up the stairs at the two of them, and there it was, Owen’s get-away-with-anything smile. Great. “Don’t be judging, Mikey!” Owen called out, and grinned.
And God, he had brought them together. Some friend he’d been to Patty.
Once Michael was out on the street, he didn’t know what he wanted to do. He’d decided not to go near Jane again, so that was out. It was the weekend, so the streets weren’t as crowded, which was always nice. But the sight of Patty going up to Owen’s had gotten to him, ruined his day before it had begun. Plus, in general he hadn’t really recovered from seeing Jane in the first place.
Then he had an idea, he hoped not inspired by Owen. Maybe it was just the ticket to save the day.
He gave Claire de Lune a call, and she was home on this beautiful Sunday, and yes, she’d love to see him.
Thirty-one
I MUST HAVE EVENTUALLY found a cab in Brooklyn. It must have gone back over the Brooklyn Bridge. And it must have dropped me off at my apartment on 75th Street.
It must have happened, but I don’t remember any of it very