Chapter 4

“Oh. Hello, is Brent there?”

“Yep.” Long pause.

“Oh. Is this Brent?”

“Yep.”

“Hi, this is Lexi from RTX.” Another long pause. “The one who liked your bag?”

“Aw, yeah. How’s it going?”

“Great, actually. I’m calling to thank you. I have an interview with Rita, the designer, on Monday.”

“Oh, cool. That’s great.”

“Yeah. So, uh, my roommate and I are throwing a cocktail party on Saturday night. I’d love it if you could come. Like a thank you of sorts. We live right by Fenway.”

“Cool. Uh, yeah, I might be able to make it.”

“Great. I’ll give you directions tomorrow. 10 am, right?”

“Yep.”

“Alright. Take care, Brent.”

“Yep.”

Not the worst way the call could have gone. But I could tell that if anything ever happened between us (who am I, Joan?), phone calls would not be of the “talk philosophy for hours” variety. Not that I’m complaining.

* * *

Friday at work, I rushed through my purchasing agreements, and spent the rest of my morning planning the menu for Saturday’s cocktail party. While I considered the cliché factor of cucumber sandwiches, Allison and hundreds of formerly-known-as-junior-associate-buyer-trainees analyzed the hipness factor of cut-off sleeves. Man, this design job needed to come through.

Just as I found the perfect on-line recipe for baba ganoush, I noticed it was 10:02. How could I have forgotten courier boy? I mean, Brent. I rushed downstairs and stood outside the main entrance. I was relieved to see the familiar Schwinn locked onto the bike rack.

Wanting an excuse for loitering outside the building (besides waiting for Brent, of course), I analyzed my options. Bum a cigarette from the ladies in accounting? Too risky. He could really hate smoking. Grab a cup of coffee? Might miss him leaving the building. Still looking around for anything to cover my guard, I was too late. Brent ran out of the building.

“Hey, uh, Lexi? What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing. You know, just, uh… waiting for a friend.”

“Oh, cool.”

“Here’s the directions for the party. And please come. No one really knows each other, so you’ll fit right in. Everyone’s a stranger.” I immediately felt guilty for saying this. Like I couldn’t give him the benefit of the doubt that he knows how to interact with people at a party. Then again, Brent didn’t seem like a chit chat kind of guy.

“Yeah, cool. I’ll be there.”

“And bring a friend.” I said as he got on his bike.

“Cool.”

I hope he doesn’t bring a girl.

* * *

After work, Keith and I went grocery shopping and prepared appetizers for Saturday’s party. We were both pretty excited about the party, since it was our first at the loft. I was a bit nervous about meeting his friends, though, and wondered if he felt the same way about me, considering the only friend of mine he had met was Joan, who is admittedly “on the eccentric side”.

Bill at work claims he went to college with Keith, and that Keith got his money (money, like, bought the loft in cash, money) from a university health center malpractice suit. According to Bill, the center mistreated a burn he claimed was from a toaster, but was really from a drinking game. I don’t know if Bill’s the most reliable source. I mean, he’s never once looked at me above my neck. But that’s a pretty bizarre story to make up.

Of course we all do things we regret in college. I once thought it was a good idea to wear fishnet stockings and three coats of eyeliner. And Keith has proven to be a pretty nice guy. I just couldn’t help but picture beer-pong drownings and flip-cup chokings at my otherwise classy cocktail party.

Not that my guest list was that impressive. I had:

- Joan (who was bringing three friends I kind of remember meeting at a party)
- Sarah from yoga class (who heads up the Boston chapter of the Wham fan club – love her!
- Ori from the office (who although complains all day at work is a surprisingly happy drunk and is a fabulous story teller
- Two college friends (not even good friends. I’m talkin’ work-study in the library friends)
- Brent

Nevertheless, I was looking forward to Saturday night. Besides, if the company wasn’t good, I still had my fabulous crab dip. Plus, the fact that I had actually invited a stranger (and a boy!) to a party was pretty exciting.

* * *

Saturday morning, like every Saturday morning, I volunteered to walk dogs from the SPCA at Jamaica Pond. That morning, I had Frankie, an old, tired-looking collie, with a face so sad and wise, he looked like an embittered war veteran. On our first lap around the pond, I caught myself feeling annoyed that Frankie wouldn’t talk to me. Wouldn’t share his wisdom that could bring clarity to my life.

As Frankie and I began our second lap around the pond, I heard a man yell behind us, “Maggie! Stop!”. Shortly thereafter, a Dalmatian, who I assumed was the sought after Maggie, sprinted ahead of us, abruptly stopped, turned, and sprinted right back in the direction of my Frankie. Frankie was not pleased. He hid behind my legs, and as Maggie ran behind me to meet the cowering Frankie, both dogs did two laps around my legs before Frankie broke out of his leash, and ran off to the neighboring field, with Maggie not far behind.

During this showdown, I managed to fall over, both legs tangled up in the leash, unable to stand up. Shocked that Frankie had the strength to get out of the leash, and further shocked that I could miserably fail at seemingly easy volunteer work, I sat on the pavement, helpless.

“Are you OK? I’m so sorry. My dog’s crazy.” I looked up, and in the confusion of the moment, saw a tall man hovering over me. As I gained my composure, the man came more into focus: his deep brown skin, deeper brown eyes, defined cheekbones, and wide, warm smile.

“I guess so. I’m just shocked my dog could do that.” I smiled at him, trying not to wince at the pain of my bleeding knee.

He gave a deep and soft laugh. “You’re really tangled up there.” He kneeled down next to me, and worked at the knot that held my legs together. I thought I had never seen hands as large and commanding as his. The light touch of them on my skin made my stomach flutter with nerves.

“Here you go,” he said, as he handed me the broken leash. “I’m so sorry. This dog, Maggie, is my nephew’s. She’s a crazy puppy, and I’m just terrible with animals.” I loved that he said that. Who says they’re terrible with animals? It’s the social equivalent of saying you don’t like babies.

He offered me a hand, and I took it, along with his forearm, to help me stand up.

“It’s fine. This dog’s not mine, either. He’s with the SPCA. I just volunteer to walk dogs on the weekend.”

“Oh, you must know Maria then, the director.”

“Yea, I’ve met her a few times.”

“We’re old friends.” I wondered what it would be like to be “old friends” with this man. I pictured myself with him and with our other “old friends”, having beers at Doyle’s after work. Playing cards at Maria’s on a Saturday night.

“How did you meet?”

“Oh, she was a client of mine awhile back. I run a non-profit immigration law firm in the area. I’m Jackson, by the way.” Not just a beautiful man. A beautiful man with a conscious!

As I introduced myself, Maggie and Frankie ran back down from the field and joined us on the pavement. Jackson tied the broken leash around Frankie’s neck and handed him over to me. “That should at least get him back to the center. Sorry again.” Jackson and Maggie walked ahead, with Jackson giving a farewell nod as if to say, “Good-bye Lexi. We could’ve had a great life together, but there’s nothing more to talk about now that the two escapees are back.” Damn dogs.

Not wanting to end our conversation, I tried my best flirting techniques. I could do this, right? In the past 24 hours, flirting had given me a sort-of date and an interview for a dream job.

“You know, I feel bad taking Frankie away from his new friend. The poor dog’s in a cage all day. He probably doesn’t make friends a lot.” [read: Please don’t leave me. I’m stuck in a cubicle all day and never make friends, let alone gorgeous, socially conscious ones.]

Jackson offered a slow, directed smile. “Well, I guess I have one more lap in me before Maggie tires me out.” My stomach fluttered again, as we, the four unlikely friends, started our walk together.

Energized by meeting a likely interesting (did I mention beautiful?) man, I fired a dozen questions at him. Did he live around here? How long had he practiced immigration law? Was he single? [Well, I didn’t really ask him that, but no ring…]

“So what about you, Lexi? What brings you to the area, besides walking dogs around the pond.”

“Well, I went to school in Boston, did some traveling, and I’ve been back in the city now for over six months. I’m kind of stuck in a bad job, but I’m searching around. I have a good feeling, though, that I'll be around shere for awhile.” Unless, you move somewhere, and then I’ll be around there for awhile. “This city’s just so transient. I’m trying to fight that instinct to leave and instead make it work here somehow.”

Jackson stopped and pointed to the skyline behind us. “You see that building over there? The tallest one of the three? When I first moved to Boston, I was a legal secretary for 18 grueling months there, typing up car accident reports for a man who seemed so heartless he could probably make babies cry just by looking at them.” He looked directly into my eyes and gave his now familiar slow, thoughtful smile. “You have to suffer through the bad jobs to appreciate the good ones, y’know?”

He could’ve said “You have to eat the bread-and-butter pickles to appreciate the dill ones” and I would’ve lovingly sighed, but even so, it was a nice thing to say.

We continued walking, talking about our favorite parts of the city and about good bookstores and restaurants in the neighborhood. When we arrived back at the beginning of the pond loop, I knew it was the end of my short time with Jackson. “It was nice meeting you, Lexi. Say hi to Maria for me. Who knows, maybe I’ll see you here next Saturday. Next time I’ll try not to lose Maggie and maybe you shouldn’t pick such a strong dog.” One more wide smile.

Next Saturday was too far away for me. “Y’know, If you’re not busy tonight, my roommate and I are having a casual get-together…”

Feedback questions from Chapter 4:

Is the meeting with Jackson way too corny?
Do you like how the two new men in Lexi's life are very different?