—Damn him! He is infuriating. This isn’t going anything like I thought it would.
CHAPTER SIX
HIM
First he’d been surprised. Then angry. Then bemused. Now he was simply exhausted.
Since he’d made this date with Amanda, he’d been thinking about it. And Aloha. It had been his intention tonight to diplomatically tell Amanda that it wasn’t working and maybe sometime in the future he’d look her up again. Not hedging his bets, but simply stating the truth. He liked Amanda a great deal. However, he had a passion for Aloha, and only today on the flight line had he admitted that he was in love with her.
What was Aloha going to do? Should he suggest something so she could follow his lead? Nah. See what she’s made of.
Amanda returned to the table just as their salads arrived.
Out of habit, Rudd rose and held her chair.
Aloha shot him a knowing and challenging look. “I will accept your invite—invitation-to join you-all.” She motioned to the waiter. “My chef’s salad at the wall table?”
“Right.”
“And add a two-pound Porterhouse, rare, and baked potato with all the fixins. And I thank you.” She smiled and he nodded vigorously, anxious to do her bidding.
That answered that.
Amanda took on an uncertain look. Then she appeared to accept the situation. “Sometimes you sound Florida cracker, sometimes not. Where are you from, Aloha?”
“Tallahassee. My parents are the original hippies from Up North, but I’ve grown up in Leon County, which accounts for the dichotomy of my diction.”
Dichotomy of diction? Who was she trying to impress?
“Are you a student at FSU?”
Aloha paused. “No, ma’am.”
“Please don’t call me ma’am, it makes me feel old.”
“Yes, ma’am.” A glint of humor in Aloha’s green eyes.
Amanda ducked her head into a forkful of house salad.
“Well Mr. Kipling,” said Aloha, “what’d you do interesting today?”
“Went to work for a while.” Guarded.
“Fly any special missions?” That tough little broad.
She was leaping into the breech. “As a matter of fact, I did. It was real pilot fun. I flew some baggage around.”
“I hope you got paid well for working on a weekend?” said Aloha.
“Hell, I was overpaid,” he said, “darlin’.”
“Hey, I’m over here,” said Amanda with an uncertain smile.
Aloha seemed to notice Amanda. She shook her champagne hair about her shoulders. “She’s right, Rudd. We’ve been rude.” Aloha touched Amanda’s arm. “I’m sorry. We’ll mind our manners, won’t we, Rudd?” Her voice turned coy.
Aloha had taken charge.
“Tell me how you got your wonderful name,” Amanda said.
“It’s kind of personal and I’m not sure I like it; I change my mind on it a dozen times a year. I’d rather not say right now.”
“I don’t wish to pry.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s a natural question.” She chuckled. “Most of us have deep, dark secrets.” She didn’t look at Rudd. Statutory rape? Jesus.
Their food came, Rudd and Aloha had steaks, and Amanda chicken breast.
Aloha dug into her steak with gusto. That girl had an appetite tonight.
“I understand you’re a professor of English,” said Aloha.
“I don’t think there are any secrets around here,” said Amanda, watching Aloha eat with amazement.
Big steak for a growing girl, thought Rudd. She’s got to feed that indomitable energy.
“Denise told me,” said Aloha.
“I see. Now I understand why you and Rudd were so, ah, easy with each other. Er, I mean, friendly, considering your age difference and all—” Amanda tried to smile. “I kind of didn’t say that very well, did I?”
“It’s okay,” said Rudd. “Aloha’s got thick skin.”
“You wouldn’t know it, though,” snapped Aloha. She held her hand up without looking and the waiter appeared immediately. “Refill on the ginger ale, please.”
How did she do that? Rudd wondered.
“My tastes in literature are eclectic,” said Aloha cutting vigorously on her steak. She dipped a piece in the bloody juice and ate it enthusiastically. “The end of the nineteenth century in American lit doesn’t get the publicity other periods do. Frank Norris, Twain of course. William Dean Howells. Crane. I know he and Norris were naturalists. Most of the others come under the realist category. And I like Jack London a bunch. Horatio Alger made his characters work hard and they all come out winners. But it’s difficult not to like Blackmore’s Lorna Doone, even though the English have a dry and stilted manner of writing.”
“I like that book, too,” said Amanda.
Aloha nodded. “John Ridd goes through hell and thinks Carver Doone killed Lorna, but she was really alive. Sort of an early potboiling romance novel.”
“I never thought of it that way,” said Amanda. “Same for the Bronte sisters.”
“How about Rudyard Kipling?” Rudd asked.
Amanda said, “Well, he was all right.”
“His writing turned much better,” said Aloha, “after he married an American girl. Caroline Starr Balestier in 1892. ’Course, after that in 1907 he won the Nobel prize. Took her influence a few years to take hold.”
Rudd was astounded at Aloha.
Aloha finished her steak and pushed her plate away. “Sorry, folks, didn’t mean to monopolize the conversation.”
“Your insights are different,” Amanda said, picking at her uneaten chicken.
“Guess my date ain’t gonna show. Reckon I’ll see him later?”
“Beats me,” said Rudd.
“Boy I sure hope so. ‘Bye, Amanda. Maybe we can visit again sometime.” Aloha stuck her hand out.
Amanda took it. “If you go to college, and it’s FSU, I’d like you to be in my
