A Different Kind of Forever(11)
“Yes, unless you’d like to have dinner.”
She felt suddenly off balance. “What do you mean, dinner?”
“Dinner. It’s a meal. With food, plates and silverware. Sound familiar?”
She smiled. “Isn’t that from a movie?”
“Probably. I’m usually not very glib. So, how about dinner? With me. Friday night?”
“Yes, that sounds great. No, wait. I have a meeting at six. I’m teaching a graduate class next year. I have to go, and it might run late.” She chewed her lip. “I could meet you somewhere?”
“Sure. How about Marcos, about eight?”
“I love Marco’s. But if I’m late, we’d lose the table.”
“Don’t worry. Friday then?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
And she hung up, thinking that maybe she had fallen for him after all.
She did not tell anyone she had a dinner date with him. The girls certainly did not need to know. Sue Griffen casually mentioned her seeing a movie Friday night, but she begged off, using her meeting as an excuse.
The meeting ran long. Marianne Thomas kept pushing the other faculty members from other issues to Diane’s problem, but it was a tough sell. When the room finally began to clear, Marianne sat by her friend as Diane began gathering her files into her briefcase.
“What the hell is wrong with these people?” Diane muttered to Marianne. “It’s Friday night, for God’s sake. Don’t they have anything better to do than argue about copy paper?”
“Of course not,” Marianne said mildly. ‘They’re academics. They don’t have a life. Why would they agree to a Friday evening meeting in the first place if they had someplace else to be? You, on the other hand, have got a hot date.”
Diane glanced at her friend. “And how can you tell that? Crystal ball?”
“You’re wearing a silk pantsuit on a Friday. You look fabulous in that color, and you know it, and your perfume is fresh. I don’t have fifty-two different degrees for nothing.”
“Fifty-two?”
“Whatever. Where are you going?”
“Out to dinner.”
“Anyone I know?”
“He’s a musician.”
“That’s interesting. What kind of places does he play?”
“Oh, you know. Arenas, stadiums,” Diane shrugged. “Madison Square Garden. I’m going to be late. See you Monday.”
“I want details,” Marianne called after her. “Serious details.”
She was late after all. It was after eight-thirty when she walked in to the restaurant. It was packed, as always on a Friday night, and the bar was full of patrons waiting for a table. She looked for Michael, but could not see him seated in the dining area. Her shoulders slumped. She fought her way to the front desk, where the maitre’d looked up expectantly.
“I’m late. I was meeting somebody.” She paused. Would he have made the reservation under Mickey Flynn? Maybe not. The maitre’d looked at her closely.
“Are you Diane?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered, surprised.
“Come,” he said courteously, and led her through the bar.
Michael was sitting toward the back of the restaurant, at a small, corner table, an older man sitting across from him. They stood up as she approached, and Michael took her arm, kissing her lightly on the cheek.
“Hello. Diane, this is my uncle, Marco Carlucci.”
Diane held out her hand with a smile. “Of course, I’ve often seen you here. I love your food.” She turned to Michael. “A Grammy may be a big deal where you come from, but holding a table at Marco’s on a Friday night? Now I’m impressed.”
Michael grinned and Marco bowed and kissed her hand. “That is the ultimate compliment. Please,” he held his chair for her and she sat down. “What would you like, my dear?”
Diane thought “Vodka martini please. Straight up, with an olive.”
Marco nodded graciously. “I’ll have it sent over. Michael usually trusts me with his meal, but would you like a menu?”
“No. I’ll take my chances. I’m sure I’m in good hands.”
“The best.” Marco bowed again and turned to Michael. “Tell Denise my Noelle will call her, yes?” Michael nodded, and Marco gave him a hug. “It was a pleasure meeting you. I’ll check in later,” he said graciously to Diane, then left.