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An image of Craig in a yukata flashed in David’s head and those hairs on his neck stood to attention again. Not that he cared, even if she’d seen him stark naked … except that he did, dammit! It was too soon. And Craig wasn’t … wasn’t worthy. He should have put a stop to Craig at the gallery the minute he’d assessed the sleaze quotient. ‘Yes, it matters,’ he said, and could tell from the snap in his voice that his temper was on a leash.
‘Black pants. White shirt. Green vest.’
And relax.Not naked.
‘And a fedora,’ she added as an afterthought.
‘A what?’
‘A fedora. It’s a hat.’
David bent his head down, and started sketching. ‘Yes, I know what a fedora is.’
‘Are you laughing?’
‘I’m trying, manfully, not to.’
‘Then maybe control your dimples.’
‘They’re a law unto themselves.’
‘Oh, they so are not. But come on, what else do you need to know?’
‘Did he pick you up?’
‘No. I live across the Bridge. I never expect to be picked up from home. It’s too inconvenient. Even though Adam says anyone who doesn’t want to come and pick you up for a date isn’t worth the effort.’
‘I don’t care what your brother says, you don’t let a new guy know where you live. So your answer is right, but your motivation is wrong: it’s not about what’s convenient for the guy, it’s about weeding out the psychos and stalkers for the girl. Rulebook moment.’
‘Weed out psychos. Check.’
‘Big check, or I’ll be the one going psycho. Okay?’
‘Okay. Although Adam seems to think the threat of him beating the living daylights out of any guy who lays a finger on me is enough to keep them in check.’
‘Violence is never the answer. Avoidance is the key.’
‘And then of course, I live in a granny flat out the back of my mother’s house, so she’s usually in screaming distance in an emergency.’
‘Usually?’
‘Well, she’s jaunting around the Mediterranean at the moment before heading to Italy with her new boyfriend Massimo, so she’ll be away for a few months.’
‘Now there, you see? You just rattled that off to me without giving it a second thought. If we were at your flat, any curb on my behaviour your mother’s proximity may have had would be instantly negated.’
‘Oh. Yes. I see. Should I not have told you that?’
‘You can tell me anything. It’s everyone else you need to be cautious about. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
He sighed. ‘So you met him at the bar …’
‘Yes.’
‘And, presumably, he bought you a drink before he took to the stage.’
‘Yes.’
‘Sheesh, it’s like getting blood out of a stone,’ he said, and stopped sketching to fix her with a no-nonsense look. ‘What did he buy you?’
Pause. Long.
‘Sarah?’
‘All right. Passion Pop. A bottle. For us to share.’
‘What the actual fuck! Did you drink it?’
‘Um … yes?’ she squeaked.
‘Um … no! Unless a guy knows you very well, he shouldn’t order a drink for you without asking what you like. Especially an abomination like Passion Pop—Jesus H Christ!—but not even a bottle of Cristal—which, incidentally, only a poser would buy for you on the first date.’
‘You poured me a glass of wine without asking what I wanted, and this is only the second time we’ve met.’
He bent his head forward to the sketch again. ‘Ah, but that just happened to be the wine I’d opened for myself, and this is my apartment not a wanky jazz bar, and we’re not on a date.’ He stopped suddenly, looked up. ‘And you can tell me—right now—if you don’t like it, and I’ll get you something else.’
‘I like it.’
‘You’re blushing. And to prove to you how well I know women, I’ll tell you that I worked out the first time you blushed that you do that when you lie.’
‘You did?’
‘I did. Now, for rulebook: hanging out with girls who agree with everything you say and like everything you like is boring. Don’t ever do that unless you really do agree with everything a guy says and like everything he likes. And if you do truthfully agree with everything he says and like everything he likes, dump him anyway. I’m telling you—boring!’
‘Fine. You found me out. I don’t like the wine. I don’t like Pinot Noir at all. Happy?’
‘Fine. I’ll get you something else.’
‘Fine. But am I supposed to like Pinot Noir?’
‘Fine. Hang on! What?’
‘I mean, is it unsophisticated to dislike an entire grape varietal?’
‘Who the hell cares?’
‘I do.’
‘Well, Sarah,’ he said, ‘I could bang on about their being Pinot Noirs and Pinot Noirs, but that would make me an insufferable prick. So why don’t you just tell me what wine you actually like? Or do you hate wine, and I need to mix you a cocktail?’
‘Fine. In white wine, I like Chardonnay, as long as it’s super cold. In red, Shiraz.’
David laid his sketchbook on the coffee table. ‘I don’t have any Chardonnay quite that cold, so Shiraz it is.’
***
As David disappeared through the doorway Sarah presumed led to the kitchen, she contemplated getting up to re-examine his paintings for clues about his ‘brutal frame of mind’. Why brutal? What had happened? It was a mystery. He was a mystery. And she was intrigued—almost enough to not care if he caught her snooping.
But before she could give in to curiosity, David was back with a decanter and two glasses. He poured a glass for Sarah and one for himself, and as she sipped, he picked up his sketchbook and started drawing again.
Silence.
And then he sighed and put down his sketchbook again. ‘Why can’t you sit still?’
‘Drinking wine requires movement.’
‘It’s not the wine. It’s this …’ He squirmed, demonstrator-style. ‘You’re fidgeting.’
‘Maybe I’d better top up my wine. That might help me relax.’
‘Drink away. But if you slide into a drunken stupor and I have to book you in for AA meetings at the end of this, I won’t be impressed.’
‘Do not slide into drunken stupor. Check.’
‘Brat,’ David said, and went back to drawing.
While he sketched, Sarah pondered the idea of being still. She’d never thought of herself as either still or not still—she just was. ‘Is it a good thing?’ she asked.
‘What?’
‘Stillness.’
‘It’s neither good nor bad. Like Pinot Noir.’
‘But you like it, right?’
‘Yes.’ He raised his eyebrows meaningfully at her. ‘Especially when I’m sketching.’
‘Oh, you! Seriously, is it an attractive quality in a woman?’
‘It suggests a certain confidence, to be still. And confidence is always attractive.
‘So, yes.’
‘So, yes, I guess. Now, back to Craig. What happened post-Passion Pop?’
‘We talked.’
‘About?’
‘Music.’
‘And what did he think of your preference for pop music?’
Sarah did the foot tap thing again.
‘Saaaaraaaah? You did tell him, right?’
‘It didn’t come up.’
‘Blushing.’
Her hand came up to her cheek. ‘Oh, but it’s not a lie. Not really.’
‘You were at a bar, where he was scheduled to perform, talking about music, and he never asked you what kind of music you liked?’ He shook his head. ‘Not buying it. I mean, he’s a moron but not that much of a moron.’
‘If he’s a moron, why did you introduce me to him?’
‘Because I’m a moron.’
She started laughing. ‘Oh, you!’
‘It’s true. I’ll choose better next time. Now come on, spit it out. Music.’
‘The subject really didn’t come up, because …’ Her eyes squeezed shut. ‘Because I told him jazz was my favourite type of music before he could ask me and that was the end of that.’
‘I see,’ David said.
Sarah opened one cautious eye, then the other, biting her bottom lip.
‘Stand up and go over to the glass doors, will you?’ David said.
‘Why? Are you going to make me jump off the balcony?’ she asked with a nervous half-laugh, clutching her wineglass like a lifeline.
‘Yes, if you do something like that again. But for now, just move. Okay, stop … right … theeere, good. Turn side-on.’ Sketch, sketch, sketch. ‘What else did you and Craig talk about?’
‘Golf.’
‘And?’
‘Football.’
‘Okay, I think I can see what went down. You talked about everything that interests him, and nothing that interests you.’
‘But I told you, I can talk about—’
‘Anything, yep, got it, PR girl. Face me.’ Pause while he drew. ‘And then he sang.’
