March 31, 2015
PAMELA
FROM THE PREVIOUS PAGE
“Are you working?” Seth said puzzled. “A receptionist answered the phone.”
“Yes. I’m a senior financial analyst. I’ll explain later.”
“Are we still on for Saturday?” Seth asked.”
“For sure. Sweetheart, be prepared. Dusty isn’t a happy girl.”
“Let’s see what she says after she has met me.”
****
Smiling broadly, the Bond 45 maî·tre d' said. “Ms. Brighton, so nice to see you again. And I see you brought your lovely daughter with you.” Smiling while his brain raced for a name, he finally said, “Dusty.”
“Yes,” Dusty said meekly as he gave her a limp handshake. She crinkled her nose at her mother, signaling he had remembered her name.
“Seth,” Pamela said, “I’d like to introduce you to the maî·tre d', Gavino.”
Seth’s large thick hand engulfed Gavino’s long bony fingers. Shaking hands without squeezing, Seth avoided crushing the maî·tre d's hand.
“Gavino, this is my friend, Seth Collins.”
Caught by Gavino but missed by Pamela, Dusty rolled her eyes.
Offering a slight nod of acknowledgment and clearly intimidated by Seth’s strength, Gavino said, curtly, “Sir.” He dismissed any further attention of Seth, who’s dress shirt with no tie and sport jacket mismatched the elegantly tailored, rich, and beautiful after-theatre patrons. With a polite smile he said, “Ms. Brighton, if you will follow me, I have the best table waiting for you.”
Dinner was a struggle as Seth and Pamela traded mindless small talk while soliciting Dusty to join in their conversation. Seth asked and Dusty politely answered each of his questions. Disquieted with Seth sitting at the table, there was no enthusiasm in her answers nor did she explicate her responses. “Yes,” she enjoyed school and the play Wicked was “Okay.” Another “yes” affirmed she enjoyed riding horses. “She’s lame” critiqued Taylor Swift’s music.
Seth and Pamela finally surrendered to Dusty’s mood and slipped into silence while playing with their wine glasses with an occasional break to glance the festive theatre crowd surrounding them.
Pamela and Seth’s stolen glances confirmed their worst fears. The evening was a disaster giving little, if any, hope of sharing their lives together. Pamela was despondent while Seth looked grim. Dusty’s mood suddenly began to sparkle with sudden outbursts on her selection to play on the Lacrosse team at school and the new foal at her grandparents’ farm. Clearly exuberant, her victory on sealing Seth’s fate was at hand.
Poised in a proper eating position with her back straight, one hand on the table, and reserved enthusiasm for eating her favorite meal of pepperoni and arugula pizza, Dusty had made a critical mistake.
She underestimated Seth’s determination to overcome her recalcitrance.
It was a subtle movement missed by Dusty, as she focused on cutting off another small slice of her pizza. Looking directly at Pamela, Seth wiggled his fingers as if responding to a sudden cramp. Pamela shrugged, not understanding the message. Seth followed up, rolling his eyes to the corner of the room as Dusty continued her focus on the pizza.
Eyes lit up, message received, Pamela said quietly, “If you will excuse me, I need to go to the ladies lounge.”
Watching intently until her mother disappeared down a hallway, Dusty returned her fork to the plate, wrinkled her nose and said contemptuously, “I don’t like you.”
Struggling to withhold a smile acknowledging he understood her, Seth said pleasantly, “Dusty, I’ve picked up on that.”
“I want you to go away.”
An elderly matron at the next table heard Dusty’s comment and looked at her.
Seth said to the woman in a soft voice, “Ma’am.” The woman returned her attention to the elderly gentleman who sat across from her.
“Dusty, only your mother can tell me to go away.”
“I hate you,” Dusty spit out.
“Hate is powerful word, Dusty. You should be careful how you use it.”
Dusty pushed back into the chair, her face red from the admonishment she had received. Smug, Dusty threw her best card on the table. “You murdered people.”
Seth’s body tensed, but he controlled his reaction to lash back. “Dusty, murder is killing the defenseless. I killed only those who tried to kill me.”
“Still, you killed people,” Dusty said, triumphantly, sure she had checkmated Seth.
Seth leaned back into his chair and said casually “Dusty, you’ve heard of Nine-Eleven, right?”
“Sure,” Dusty said indignantly. “Everyone has heard of Nine-Eleven.”
“What happened?”
Mocking, Dusty said sarcastically, “News alert. A bunch of people got killed. You think I’m clueless?”
“Not at all, Dusty, not at all. Who killed those three thousand people?”
“I don’t know,” Dusty said in a dismissive voice.
“Terrorists, Dusty. Nineteen terrorists killed almost three thousand people. Those are the kind of people I’ve killed. Terrorists who murdered innocent men, women and children.
Dusty was stunned at the revelation. Solemn, she fidgeted with her fingers, unable to respond.
“Let me tell you a story, Dusty. I was in Afghanistan a few years ago. I watched a little mini-bus traveling on a road in the Nahr-e-Saraj district. Someone else was watching them too and set off a roadside bomb, blowing up the bus. That bomber killed fourteen innocent civilians including two babies. They’d kill your mother in a heartbeat if given a chance. Yes, Dusty, I’ve killed people. Some really bad people. You should be proud of the American soldiers who put their life on the line to protect you. A lot of soldiers have died so you could be safe. You should honor their sacrifice.”
Wide-eyed, arched eyebrows and her body frozen in place, Dusty struggled to comprehend the gravity of Seth’s words.
Needing to reduce the intensity between them, Seth dropped his voice and said in a consolatory tone, “Dusty, I’d like to play a game with you.”
Pushing her half-eaten pizza away from her, Dusty snarled, “I don’t want to play your stupid game.”
“Oh,” Seth said with a pleasant smile. “I think you’ll like this game.”
Dusty glared at Seth, and the elderly lady at the next table who continued to try and eavesdrop on the conversation. Finally, surrendering to Seth’s persistence, she snapped, “What kind of game?”
“When your mother is with us, we’ll pretend to tolerate each other. Then when she goes away, you can tell me how much you don’t like me.”
“Stupid game,” Dusty said in a dismissive tone. Still, her lips turned up with a hint of a smile.
“Your mother would appreciate it if we played the game. That way, she won’t be upset again like she was tonight.”
“I still don’t like you,” Dusty said in a flat voice.
“Oh but Dusty, Seth answered. “I sure like you. You’ve got more spunk than a lot of people I’ve met. You’re going to have a very good life because you’re a fighter. All I am asking is for you to be careful with your mother. She doesn’t need to hear about how much you don’t like me. It hurts her. Save it for me. When we’re alone, you can yell at me as loud and long as you want. Who knows, maybe when you’re through, we’ll go out for a pizza. Then you can yell at me some more.”
TO BE CONTINUED
