Perfect on Paper (23 page)

Of course I knew I should say no. And, as I’m sure we both knew, any brainstorming could be accomplished on our respective computers.

But Hank and I were on hiatus.

Or were Hank and I on hiatus because I’d known it was just a matter of time before Billy turned up?

The way I looked at it, there was only one way to find out.

I’d never patronized the establishment, but it looked appropriately low-key from the outside. Its main selling point was its relative remoteness from my apartment—and Hank’s brownstone. Northeast was the least likely direction in which he would wander if out for an evening stroll.

And on this particular evening, only a masochist would be out wandering. The temperature had plummeted to the low teens and the wind had buffeted my hair into Southern-beauty-queen dimensions by the time I arrived at my destination.

Billy was out front with his head down, shifting his weight from foot to foot with his back to the entrance, when I walked up and tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped roughly twelve feet, then turned to face me.

“Yow! You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Weren’t you expecting me?”

“Well, yeah, but—uh, have you ever been to this place before?”

“No. Why?”

“I didn’t think so. It’s, uh…” He began to smile and looked into my eyes. “I’ll explain in a minute. Hey, Dana.” He leaned me against the wall and kissed me, and instantly I forgot about my hair and the suitability of the bar and the arctic chill and kissed him back.

I would have happily spent the next hour or so risking frostbite, but the door swung open and two patrons exited the premises.

“Breeders,”
one of them hissed when they passed by.

“Ohhh,”
I said to Billy.

He chuckled. “Yeah. Oh.”

“I didn’t realize it was that kind of bar.”

“I didn’t think so.” He picked up a shopping bag that I surmised held my Christmas present, took my hand, and started up the avenue. “There’s a place right around the corner on Fourteenth. It’ll be full of old geezers, but they won’t object to having us there.”

He was right. None of the customers even looked up when we walked in, presumably because they were too loaded to lift their heads.

Billy hesitated after closing the front door. “Hope the ambience isn’t too… louche for you.”

“Are you kidding? It’s perfect.”

Ray and I had never rendezvoused at this particular establishment, but I felt right at home. All the dives in Manhattan seemed to have identical feng shui. I’d been immediately transported back in time the instant I spotted the scuffed, red and black linoleum floor tiles and breathed in the familiar combination of ancient beer and wet wool.

There were a few battered booths in the back of the room. I slid into one, taking the side that faced away from the action—if guzzling boilermakers could be construed as action. Billy slid in next to me after he returned from the bar with our drinks and immediately resumed kissing me.

I’d expected this, and I had a plan to shut him down after a minute or so—ten, tops—but my brain just couldn’t seem to manage to send the correct signals to my body. Man, this kid was talented.

He was the one who ultimately backed away. “Are you sure that guy you were telling me about is your boyfriend? Because you’re kind of acting like you like me, Dana.”

Like, schmike,
I thought.
Let’s hop a red-eye to Rio.

But now was no time for dangerous fantasy. Did I really want to throw Hank over for a kid?

“Yeah, I like you. Obviously. But you’re just not… tenable.”

“And this boyfriend guy is?”

“He’s the right age, and he’s devoted, and he isn’t too young for me, and he’s decent, and we were both born in the same decade, and he has a pet pig.”

“Whoa. Why didn’t you tell me he had a pig? That explains everything.”

He put his arms around me and was nuzzling my neck before I could think of a single preventative action. “I’m an old soul,” he murmured in my ear.

“And kissing you is as addictive as opiates,” I said,
finally
backing away. “But I’m serious. This guy’s good for me. I mean it.” Why was I so unwilling to say “this guy” ’s name? Hank. Hank Hank Hank Hank Hank.

“I guess you spent Christmas with him, huh?”

“I did. And he met my big brother.”

“Oh. In-law stuff. Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“I’ll back off.”

I was much too sad to hear him say it, but I commanded myself to feel relieved.

And I was, in a way. But oh, how I wished we had never stopped kissing.

“On one condition,” he added.

I raised my eyebrows.

“We continue to collaborate.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

“Oh—and one other thing,” he said, reaching across the booth to retrieve the paper bag he’d been carrying. “You have to let me give you your present.”

I’d been dying of curiosity from the moment I’d laid eyes on the bag, but Billy had managed to make me forget all about it over the course of half a drink. Now, as he pulled out a flat rectangular package, I began to speculate anew: Was it a picture? A mirror? One of his framed puzzles? That would be a bit gauche, actually.

I untied the ribbon and fumbled with the tape on the wrapping paper. “This was really sweet of you,” I said, hoping the contents inside were nice, just not
too
nice.

Then again, what could compete with the key to the brownstone?

“It’s kinda strange,” he said. “I saw that in the window of this antique shop in Allentown, and I just—I don’t know, thought it would appeal to you. Don’t ask me why, though.”

I pulled the last piece of tape off the paper. It was a picture; I was looking at the back of a framed canvas. I turned it around and gasped, nearly dropping it from shock.

“Oh my god,” I said. “How did you know?”

“Know what?”

I redirected my gaze to the portrait in my hands: a spectacularly one-dimensional, very badly wrought beagle.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
PLAN C

“H
e must have seen that German shepherd painting you brought home at Thanksgiving,” Elinor Ann said.

“That’s just it. He didn’t see it. Before I got on the bus, I slid it down the inside of my duffel bag, which I never opened in his presence—and
no
, I didn’t use the bathroom during the ride, and you’ve got a lot of nerve suggesting he’d go through my luggage!”

“I didn’t say a thing about him snooping!”

“But you were thinking it, weren’t you?”

“Well, kind of,” she admitted. “But what other explanation could there possibly be?”

According to Billy Moody, innate compatibility. I was so transfixed by his Christmas gift that he had to wave his hand in front of my face to get me to look up.

“I have over a dozen dog primitives hanging on my bedroom wall,” I said once he got my attention.

“No way.”

“This is… astonishing. What made you buy it?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. It just… looked like you.”

I gave the painting a quizzical glance. The beagle was so flattened, it appeared to have been run over by a tank. And its ears had been embellished with purple smudges to create a shadow effect, which one should never attempt unless one is Francis Bacon. “Gee. Thanks a lot,” I said.

“That’s not what I meant. For whatever reason, it seemed like the kind of thing you’d appreciate. And based on what you just told me, that’s true.” He grinned and edged closer. “Maybe it’s proof.”

“Of what?”

“Of how instinctively well I understand you. You know, I’d really like to see those other dog paintings sometime.”

“What a surprise.”

“As a matter of fact, I’m free all evening.”

I pushed up my sleeve and carefully inspected my watch. “You don’t have a very good memory, do you? I seem to recall your saying something about backing off less than five minutes ago.”

“Changed my mind.” He kissed me again. “Come on. Let’s go over to your place.”

It would be so easy to say yes, to take this beautiful boy home for a test drive. And if I were still Billy’s age, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it.

But I hadn’t been his age in a chillingly long time. “You know how I’m going to answer that.” I stood and reached across the table for my jacket.

Billy reached for his. “Tell you what—New Year’s Eve is just a couple of days away. How about then?”

“I have plans.”

“I had a feeling you were going to say that.” He kissed me for what I swore would be the last time that night—no, ever. “Well, you know how to reach me if your plans fall through.”

If I were a more religious person, I might have concluded it was God’s decree that Billy and I get together when my New Year’s plans fell through.

Hank called the morning of December 31. “We got a problem,” he said.

Panic set in immediately. Had he seen me kissing Billy in front of the gay bar? If so, what was he doing out on the coldest night of the year—and, more important, would I be able to convince him I had a doppelgänger who lived somewhere in the vicinity of Thirteenth Street and Avenue B?

“It’s Dinner,” he said. I covered the receiver to mask my sigh of relief—and then the meaning of his words sank in.

“What’s the matter?”

“He ain’t eating. He wouldn’t touch his apple last night. I got up early to give him breakfast, but he wouldn’t have nothing to do with that, neither.”

“Maybe he’s just… going through a finicky phase?”

“That ain’t how it works,” Hank explained. “Pigs don’t not eat. Pigs eat till they explode, long as you keep feedin’ ’em.”

I had a roommate like that sophomore year. “So what do you do now?”

“He’s probably got pneumonia—it’s real common in winter. I hate to have to cancel our plans tonight, but I’m heading down to Mullica Hill, New Jersey. That’s the closest vet I’ve found who can work on livestock.”

It sounded strange to hear Hank refer to his pet as livestock. By now I’d come to regard Dinner as a morbidly obese puppy. “Do you need me to help you get him in the truck? I can be there in ten minutes.”

“It’s real sweet of you to offer, but I can walk him in. And I really got to leave right away. The sooner he’s medicated, the better. I sure am sorry about messing up New Year’s.”

He must be telling me the truth,
I thought.
It’s been nearly a week since we’ve seen each other. Or is this yet another lie?

I shrugged. For the time being, all I could do was believe him.

“Just make sure Dinner gets better,” I said.

“We been through this before. I reckon he’ll come out of it in a day or so.”

“That’s a relief. So… I guess we’ll just have to celebrate the new year when the two of you get back home.”

“Sounds good. And thanks for understanding. I’ll miss you, Dana.”

“It won’t be long.”

Just long enough for thoughts of Billy Moody to gambol unchecked through the treacherous fields of my subconscious,
I silently added before hanging up.

Not that I had any intention of getting in touch with Billy Moody. Of course I didn’t. I would spend my evening painting. What a creative, self-sufficient—dare I say feminist?—way to start the new year.

“You are
not
getting in touch with Billy Moody,” Elinor Ann said.

“Of course I’m not!” Even though I
had
come up with several brilliant clues for our color-blind-themed puzzle, and it was probably imperative he receive them immediately. “What makes you think I would do such a thing?”

She just laughed. “So, what are you doing instead?”

“Staying in. You?”

“Going out.”

“That’s fantastic!”

“Not really. I’ve got a chauffeur. Eddie’s soccer coach and his wife are having an open house over in Macungie, and Cal thought it sounded like fun.”