he would go. He works with me. But he told me today he couldn’t make it. And I’ve got to show up with a date for her friend or I’m up shit’s creek.”
“You want me to go with you?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m a little old for that sort of thing.”
“It’s not a big deal. All you’ve got to do is talk to the other girl. Dance with her a few times, if you feel like it. You and I won’t be leaving together: I’m sure of that.”
“I guess you deserve your reputation, huh?”
Joey basked in the thought: “I guess I do.”
“How old are these girls?”
“Well, they’re not teenagers. Shit, no. Early thirties. How about it?”
Lucas said, “Yes,” but he wasn’t sure why.
I suppose I can learn more about Joey. But there isn’t really much to know about him. Do I just want a night out?
“Thanks,” Joey said. “I appreciate it.”
He turned away, then back. “You better take your own car, right?”
“Right.”
On Saturday night, following Joey’s shiny Ford, Lucas drove east on Route Forty-Six to the next town, Fulton, which was bigger, newer, and flashier than Pennington. In the crowded town center, branches of major chain stores invited shoppers to come in. Past the shopping district, on the eastern edge, restaurants and bars flanked the highway. They stopped at a dimly lit place called Memory Lane.
Lucas parked his car next to Joey’s.
Live music swirled into the parking lot. Amplified guitars twanged a monotonous rock melody while a bass guitar pounded out a throbbing, bone-deep rhythm.
“Thanks, again,” Joey said.
Memory Lane was divided into three sections. To the left, a long bar ran along the wall. In the middle, there were ten or twelve tables. To the right was a huge dance floor, with the bandstand—a raised platform—against the far wall.
The bar, the tables and the dance floor were crowded. Joey pointed to one of the tables, where two women were sitting. One of them, a plump blonde in a red dress, was watching the door. She waved at Joey. He smiled and waved back.
The women stood up as they approached the table.
Joey put his arm around the blonde and kissed her on the cheek.
“Jill, this is my friend, Lucas Murdoch.”
Jill smiled at Lucas. “Nice to meet you.”
The other woman introduced herself to Lucas, “I’m Margot Sinclair.”
Her voice was so soft the music almost obliterated it.
Jill added, “That’s Margot with a ‘t’ at the end. French Canadian.”
Margot extended her hand.
Lucas shook it.
“Hi. I promise not to pronounce the ‘t’.”
Margot smiled and whispered a polite “Thanks.”
They sat down. Joey moved his chair closer to Jill and put his arm around her waist. She didn’t seem to mind.
Margot was a slender, petite brunette with a face he would have turned to look at even if she were a stranger he saw at a restaurant or a cocktail party.
She has a beautiful mouth, beautiful eyes.
From her already weary expression, Lucas sensed she was there for the same reason that he was.
He leaned toward her so he could be heard, and asked, “Do you live in Fulton?”
“Yes. Not far from here.”
“Margot and I work together,” Jill said.
He could hear her voice easily over the music.
“What do you do?”
“We’re executive assistants at a law firm in town.”
Executive assistants. We used to call them secretaries.
Joey grabbed a waitress going by and ordered beer for the table.
“I haven’t finished the one I got,” Jill said.
Joey kissed her again. He whispered something to her. She laughed.
Lucas asked Margot, “When did you come here from Canada?”
She shook her head.
“I’m American born. My father was French Canadian.”
“Sinclair is English, isn’t it?”
“His real name was St. Claire. But he anglicized it.”
“Anglicize.” Nice word.
The beer arrived.
Joey kept nuzzling Jill as he drank his beer. Kept whispering to her.
“How long have you known Joey?” Margot asked.
“About a week.”
She seemed surprised.
Lucas explained, “I’m a substitute for the original double date. It was supposed to be a younger man.”
She looked at the dance floor, at the band, at Lucas, but not at Joey and Jill.
“I haven’t had much practice at this for a long time,” Lucas said.
“Neither have I.”
She raised her glass in a toast to him, but the gesture was more resigned than friendly, as if she were saying, “We’d both rather be somewhere else.”
He returned the gesture.
“See you later,” Joey said, and led Jill onto the dance floor.
“Are you a car salesman, too?”
“No. I’m renting a room at Joey’s house. That’s how he knows me.”
“What do you do?”
“Actually, I’m retired.”
“What did you do?”
“I worked for a big company. Did what I was told. Made a living. Left with a pension. An early retirement package.”
“And settled down in Pennington,
