When Hell Freezes Over. Rick Blechta
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“Yes, it was. I came here to get back a measure of self-respect!”
I rubbed my cheek reflectively. “You certainly made your point.”
“Good! You damn well deserved it.”
I sighed, knowing that this was my just desserts for letting my gonads make decisions for me.
Checking my watch, I said, “Let’s get the hell out of here. Can I, ah, take you to dinner or something?”
I didn’t know why I’d said that last bit—probably another pang of guilt—but it slipped out before my brain got hold of it, and once said, it wasn’t in the realm of possibility to take it back. My only hope was that she’d decline.
She didn’t.
“That’s the least you can do,” Regina responded primly. “I haven’t eaten anything all day.”
“Okay, I know just the place. Great food, and we don’t have to be dressed up.”
“That’s good, because I don’t have much more than I did when I jumped into your car. I did a little shopping at the Glasgow airport, but that was basically just to get a few necessities.”
The lads were in the entry room and fell silent when they heard our footsteps crossing the warehouse.
“I have some things to take care of,” I told them as we came through, “but I’ll be here first thing in the morning. Kevin, could you pull the file of what we rented to the jazz festival last year? We need to come up with a quote, and I low-balled it to help them out. This year they’ll have to pay the full freight. Hamed, could you take a look at that Twin Reverb amp that isn’t working right? It may just need a new valve—”
“Tube, boss,” he grinned. “They’re called tubes on this side of theAtlantic.”
“You know what I mean, so there’s no need to correct me!” I shot back. “We’ll need to get it fixed immediately if it’s something more.”
Regina had been standing by the door looking amused. While I was giving orders, I noticed the lads’ eyes flicking in her direction speculatively. Certainly, they were eager to know if their obvious suppositions were true, but that being the case, they’d need to get used to disappointment.
Regina kept her distance as we walked to my car. She wasn’t about to make this any easier.
***
I took her to a nearby steak house where I often dine. During the drive over, I commented that I hoped this ride wouldn’t turn out like the last one. She made a sour face, which put an abrupt halt to any attempt at making small talk.
Dinner continued in the same stiff manner, and I began to wonder why Regina had agreed to let me take her out. All of my conversational attempts were met with minimal answers.
Finally, after the table had been cleared but coffee hadn’t yet arrived, I made one last stab. “So where are you staying?”
Regina looked at me and yawned. “Excuse me! I guess the jet lag is catching up. I also didn’t get much sleep last night.” She yawned again. “When I got into Toronto this afternoon, I just told the cabbie to take me to the nearest hotel. I’m afraid I don’t remember which one.”
If that was an overture, I wasn’t having any. “Fortunately, the ones near the airport are pretty well along one road, so we shouldn’t have much trouble finding it.”
During coffee, she actually asked a few polite questions about my business, but because of her continued yawning, I gave short answers and got us out of the restaurant as quickly as possible. I’d done my chivalrous duty, and now was the time to see her to her door, then get the hell out while the getting was good. I did not want her to do something silly like ask if she could stay with me. One mistake was enough for this week, thank you.
The drive to her hotel was more relaxed than the earlier one to the restaurant. Regina actually began talking about having visited Toronto one summer eight years earlier to spend time with a school chum.
“I’ve been thinking about trying to look her up, but we lost touch when we both went to university, and her parents were getting on in years. They may have retired to Florida by now.”
“What are your long-range plans, though?”
“I wish I knew.” Regina was silent for a couple of minutes. “I quit my job in Paris. It wouldn’t have been fair to make them sit around, waiting for me to come back—even if they would have. I don’t think I want to work there anyway, since it was my father who got me the job. They probably are aware of who he is, and I couldn’t stand being around them, knowing that they know.” I could see from the corner of my eye that Regina was shaking her head. “I don’t think he’d leave me alone anyway, especially after what happened back in Birmingham.” She suddenly pointed. “Oh, look! There’s my hotel.”
The Constellation. I pulled in and stopped at the front entrance. The doorman was nowhere to be seen, and Regina suddenly seemed reluctant to get out of the car. “Michael...”
Not wanting to give her a chance to say something I didn’t want to hear, I interrupted. “Regina, I can’t say that it hasn’t been interesting. We met under the most bizarre circumstances imaginable.”
She smiled for the first time that evening. “Relax. I just wanted to thank you for the meal—and what you did for me in Birmingham.”
“Yes. Of course.”
She leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Thank you for everything, Michael. You’re a good man.”
“I’m sorry for what happened between us.”
“Well, I’m certainly not!” Another smile flitted across Regina’s face. “You must be wondering what you did to deserve all this.”
She got out of the car, and I watched her slim form as she disappeared through the doors.
That thought had crossed my mind once or twice.
***
The ringing of the telephone felt like a quarter-inch drill bit going directly into my right ear. Rolling over, I groped around on the bedside table and only succeeded in knocking the cordless off its stand. With a colourful oath or two, I got out of bed and began feeling around for it on the floor more by sound than anything else, longing to put it out of its misery. I might have thought of turning on the light if I hadn’t been so soundly asleep when it had gone off.
Finally, I located it halfway under the bed. “Hello?”
“Michael?”
“Yes, this is Michael,” I said very patiently.
“It’s Regina. Look, I’m sorry to be calling at such an ungodly hour—”
“Just for the record,” I interrupted, “what time is it?”
“Four