young and … virile …’ Her ill-disguised survey of just how young and virile Jake was left him reeling and he mumbled something unintelligible to make his escape.
This place is nuts! How had his good intentions towards Ed brought him into the minefield he now found himself in? He looked up to the apartment’s mezzanine where his brother and Rosie were looking happy and relaxed, sharing conversation with friends. At least they were enjoying tonight. This was their night, Jake reminded himself, not his. It would have to be his mantra for the rest of the party. That, and bourbon …
He remembered a client he had worked with back in his Russian Hill practice in San Francisco, who went to every social occasion convinced the rest of the guests knew his deepest, most secret thoughts.
‘They watch me, Dr Steinmann. They say pleasant things, but I can feel them scrutinising me. Like a bug.’
‘Why do you think they would want to do that, Ray?’
‘Are you kidding me? Do you know what I’m capable of thinking? They know it all, Doc. I can’t hide.’
Jake had spent months assuring Ray that small talk was a way to pass the time and socialise without asking too much of either party; that everyone had their own set of hang-ups and insecurities to deal with; and that it was impossible to see anyone’s innermost thoughts, however obvious they may seem to be. But even on their last session before Jake packed up his San Franciscan life, Jake hadn’t been entirely assured that Ray had accepted it.
Now, surrounded by familiar faces that did know Jake’s business and were making valiant attempts to guess his innermost thoughts, he felt a new affinity with his former client’s predicament.
‘Jake …’ Chef Henri was wringing his hands beside him. ‘I am so sorry, but …’
‘The bar?’
‘There is a considerable queue. Do you mind?’
Heart lifting, Jake could have kissed the apologetic chef but resisted, settling instead for slapping him amiably on the back. ‘I’m there.’
Swinging his jacket over one arm, he rolled up his shirt sleeves and strode through the guests towards the bar, which had been set up beneath the mezzanine, next to a floor-to-ceiling window looking out towards the beautiful night-time cityscape. Seeing the buildings and lights of the Upper West Side comforted Jake: while he’d loved his adopted city of San Francisco, he had always carried a secret longing for New York. His father’s favourite saying was true: Steinmanns were born with Big-Apple-shaped hearts.
‘Hey, New York,’ he smiled, pausing for a moment to take in the view. ‘Looking good.’ Taking a deep breath for the first time that evening, he turned towards the bar and jumped into the fray.
‘Scotch straight up, no ice.’
‘Manhattan – one olive.’
‘Red wine for me and a white for the lady …’
It had been years since Jake last worked a bar, but he quickly found his rhythm. It was good to find he hadn’t lost the skills he’d acquired during his last year at Yale and the distraction it gave him was priceless. Finally, he could lose himself in an activity that required no deeper thought than which bottle and glass to select. Maybe this was the ideal career for him, he mused as he worked. Psychiatry was far too introspective for his current state of mind …
The next hour flew by, Jake relishing the almost constant stream of thirsty guests vying for his attention. But as ten o’clock neared, the queue dwindled until the bar was almost empty. He helped himself to a long drink of cola, realising how thirsty his efforts had made him, and once again his eyes strayed from the bar to the night view from the huge window. There was much to do to re-establish his life in the city, but Jake knew he could make it a success here. This was his home: always had been. And that counted for a lot. Frank Sinatra had it pegged: if he could make it in the city that never sleeps, he could pretty much make it anywhere. He had spent too long feeling as if he was skulking back home, defeated. This had to stop – and tonight was as good a time as any.
‘White wine, please.’
Turning back to the bar, Jake smiled at the pretty redhead with eyes the colour of the winter sea. ‘Sure. Any preference?’
She stared at him, a weariness that didn’t seem to belong to her claiming her expression. ‘Large glass?’
He suppressed the urge to laugh. ‘I’m sorry, I meant French? Australian?’
‘Alcoholic.’ She dropped her gaze to the empty glass on the bar. ‘Please.’
Intrigued, Jake pulled a fresh glass from the box behind the makeshift bar and gave it a quick polish with a tea towel. ‘Tough night?’
‘You could say so.’
‘Ah. I see.’ He poured wine almost to the brim. ‘That enough?’
She raised her gaze, the smallest trace of a smile appearing. ‘Perfect.’
‘Enjoy.’
The woman gave a quick glance over her shoulder. ‘Actually, mind if I hang out here for a while?’ Her accent was difficult to place: the characteristic New York inflection was there, but something else lay beneath it. Boston, maybe? No. Washington?
‘Be my guest.’
Smiling her thanks, she pulled up a stool and sat down, hunched over her drink like the old men at Harry’s sports bar where Jake and Ed had wasted so many of their Saturday afternoons before Jake met Jessica. Was she hiding from someone? An overbearing partner, maybe? That didn’t seem likely. She didn’t look like the kind of woman to be subservient to anybody … Maybe her guy was of the too-intense ilk, smothering her with his affection?
Realising what he was doing, Jake pulled his thoughts to a halt. He knew nothing about this woman, but her muted demeanour told him she didn’t need the psychoanalysis of a total stranger tonight.
‘How’s the wine? Doing its job?’
‘Seems to be.’
‘Good.’
Did she even want to talk? Jake hesitated to ask another question – but to his surprise, the woman stared directly at him.
‘Everyone here is in a couple. I mean, everyone. Nobody told me. If they’d told me I wouldn’t be here.’
‘It’s not surprising, considering the occasion.’
The woman shook her head. ‘Of course. But the thing is, I didn’t know what the occasion was. I thought it was just a party. My brother’s partner omitted the key point of who the party was for.’ She let out a long sigh. ‘And now I feel like an idiot for not asking. I just thought it was a normal, Friday night party in the Upper West Side. How was I to know it was going to be the Couple Centre of the universe?’
English! That was the clipped note in her voice! Jake congratulated himself for identifying it. ‘If it helps, I didn’t figure on there being so many couples here, either.’
‘Well, there you are! I should be happy you’re
