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She’d told her across-the-hall neighbor, Wanda, about her date that night. And had laughed off her friend’s concerns. The media reports about the murdered women didn’t apply to her. Hadn’t Sebastian brought them up himself, hadn’t he said he’d understand completely if she didn’t feel comfortable meeting him tonight?
As she’d told Wanda, he’d hardly have brought the matter up if he was a dangerous individual.
He was a wonderful man, intelligent, erudite, exciting. And so very different from all the boys back home. Most of them hadn’t known Chaucer from Chesterfield. But Sebastian knew all about poetry and plays. He’d traveled all over the world, had attended performances in all the great theaters.
She’d read his e-mails over and over until she could recite them by heart. No one who could write such lovely things could be anything but wonderful.
And he was meeting her at Jean-Luc’s, one of the most exclusive clubs in the city.
She made the dress herself, patterning it after a gown worn by the actress Helena Grey when she’d acc
epted her Tony the previous year. The deep midnight blue material was synthetic rather than silk, but it had a lovely drape. With it she wore the pearl earrings her grandmother had given her on her twenty-first birthday in November. They looked almost real dripping from her lobes.
The shoes and the bag had been snagged on sale at Macy’s.
She did a quick, laughing twirl. “How do I look?”
“You look mag, Mel, but I wish you wouldn’t go.”
“Stop being such a worrywart, Wanda. Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
Wanda bit her lip. She looked at Melissa and saw a little woolly lamb who’d bah cheerfully as she was led to the slaughter. “Maybe I’ll call in sick, hang out here in your place until you get home.”
“Don’t be silly. You need the money. Go on, go get ready for work.” Melissa draped an arm around Wanda’s shoulders and walked her to the door. “If it makes you feel better I’ll call you when I get back.”
“Promise.”
“Scout’s honor. I think I’m going to order a martini. I’ve always wanted to try one. Which do you think is more sophisticated? Gin or vodka? Vodka,” she decided before Wanda could weigh in. “A vodka martini, very dry, with a twist.”
“You call me, the minute you get back. And don’t you bring him up here, no matter what.”
“I won’t.” Melissa twirled herself to the stairs. “Wish me luck.”
“I do. Be careful.”
Melissa dashed down all three flights, feeling very glamorous. She called out greetings to neighbors, struck a pose at the wolf whistle delivered by Mr. Tidings in 102. When she rushed out on the sidewalk, her cheeks were flushed and rosy.
She thought about taking a cab, but since she had more time than money thought it best to take the subway uptown.
She joined the hordes on the underground platform, humming to herself as she anticipated the evening. She squeezed on the train and stood, propped up by bodies.
Crowds didn’t bother her; she thrived on them. If she hadn’t been so busy writing the script for her meeting with Sebastian, she’d have struck up any number of conversations with her fellow passengers.
It was only with one-to-one encounters with men she found herself shy and tongue-tied. But she was sure, she was positive, she’d be neither with Sebastian.
It was as if they were made for each other.
When the train jerked to an abrupt halt, and the lights dimmed, she was tossed unceremoniously against the burly black man wedged in beside her.
“Excuse me.”
“That’s cool, sister. Ain’t enough to you to put a dent in.”
“I wonder what’s wrong.” She tried to see through people, over them in the greenish wash of emergency lighting.
“Always some mess with this uptown train. Don’t know why they don’t fix the sumbitch.” He skimmed his gaze down her and up again. “You got you some date, doncha?”
“Yes. I hope we’re not delayed long or I’ll be late. I hate being late.”
