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“To our tiny place?” I looked with dismay at the carnage of bobby pins and takeout containers. “Really?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Yes.”
I pressed the buzzer. “Come on up.”
When he entered, he stopped in his tracks. “Wow.” He took me in in an extremely gratifying manner. “You look amazing.”
I felt a little giddy. “Thank you, Abraham. You look quite dashing, yourself.” He wore a proper suit and tie, his curly hair brushed into place. I stepped over and gave him a little hug of greeting. Unlike my high school and college friends, he wrapped his arms around me in a very delicate manner. I wasn’t sure if it was because he was more aware of his own strength, or because I currently looked particularly breakable. “This is my roommate, Eva, and our friend Mattie.”
He charmed them with jokes about Brooklyn apartments and the proper appreciation for their acting credentials. When we left, both girls were beaming.
Abe held the passenger door open for me when we reached his car, and then chuckled as we pulled into traffic. “You know, Ryan is going to kill me when he sees us together.”
I thought about saying, “Now, why would he do that?” and then decided that qualified as coy. “Yeah. It’s a possibility.”
Abe laughed. “I’m going to run in the opposite direction.”
“And leave me all by myself?”
He gave me a wide-eyed, overly innocent look. “No. I’ll be leaving you with Ryan.”
Chapter Sixteen
The Museum of American Culture held its Children’s Society Gala every year, and its attendees cut a wide swath through the rich and elite of New York. Old Manhattan money rubbed shoulders with young Hollywood actors, Wall Street tycoons, and a smattering of local athletes. Artwork by the children of the five boroughs hung between Old Master paintings, and a silent auction raised additional money for the twenty thousand homeless children in the city.
The Museum was located in the high nineties of the Upper East Side, and while the miniature columns and entablature were much smaller than the Met’s, it still put me in mind of the grander buildings. The area would have felt private and peaceful, if the traffic hadn’t morphed into taxis and sports cars.
“Who’s going to be here?” I asked a little nervously as the car slowed.
“Oh, I dunno. A couple movie stars. A couple business moguls. It’s pretty classy.”
“How were you able to get me in in such short order?”
He grinned. “You think they were gonna tell me no? When I’m a Mike? Hell no.”
Confused, I tried to parse through his words, wondering if he’d just compared himself to ginger Mike. “You’re like Mike?”
“No, I am a Mike.”
“Wait—is that a nickname?”
He laughed. “No, it’s my position.” When I stayed silent, he tilted his head. “You know, middle linebacker?” He adopted a deep, sports announcer voice. “Quarterback of the defense?” He sighed good-naturedly at my blank face. “You thought I was talking about Irish.”
“You guys have too many nicknames.” Then, unable to help myself, I asked, “Does Ryan have a nickname?”
Abe grinned. “’Course he does. The General.”
I tilted my head, Dispatch instantly streaming through my head on auto-repeat, where it would stay firmly lodged for the next hour. There was a decorated general with a heart of gold... “Where’d that come from?”
“The way he fires off commands. And since he studied military history, of course.”
Shock spread through me. “He did what?”
“Military history,” Abe repeated, pulling the car over to the side. “At Michigan. Didn’t you know that?”
I stared after him for a second as he climbed out of the car and handed a uniformed valet his keys, then pushed my door open and came around to his side. “No. No, I didn’t.”
He rolled his eyes at me. “You know, I would have opened your door.”
