“Maybe drinks tomorrow,” I offered as a concession, and then realized my faux pas. He was not yet twenty-one.
It did not seem to faze him. “Can’t tomorrow. We’re playing the Staples Center.”
“Oh.” Yes, of course. The Staples Center. He’d said it so matter-of-factly. No conceit. Like Daniel announcing he had to work late on a deal. “Well, that won’t work then, will it?”
“No,” he laughed, this throaty laugh that made him sound older than twenty. Or so I wanted to believe. “Kind of have to show up for that. How about lunch then?”
I had a client lunch scheduled for Friday. I told him so. “Breakfast?”
He couldn’t. The band was booked on a couple of morning shows. I threw out Saturday and Sunday as dinner options, and he declined. They were playing four nights at Staples and then heading up to the Bay. I tried to imagine how many screaming girls it would take to fill the Staples Center four times over, but I couldn’t begin to wrap my head around it.
“Why don’t we just do this the next time you’re in town, Hayes?”
“Because I want to see you now.”
“Well, we can’t always get what we want, can we? Or do the usual rules not apply to you?”
He laughed at that. “Are you going to make me beg?”
“Only if it’s something you feel you need to do.”
I did not know why I was leading him on. It was absurd. Perhaps if I’d been a bolder person, if I hadn’t cared what people thought of me, I could have entertained the idea of a fling with a twenty-year-old boybander. But I wasn’t, and I did, and so maybe the thrill was in justknowingthat I could. We would have lunch and be done with it.
The line was quiet, but something told me I still had him.
“All right,” he said. “I’m begging. Lunch. Tomorrow.Please.”
I glanced at my watch again. I was going to be late for Isabelle. It would not be the first time. She’d be waiting for me in the gym, amidst the clinking of metal and the whir of the fans and the high-pitched hum of the scoring machine. The coaches yelling in Russian. My little bird in that foreign space. She was surprisingly okay with it. And to me, she never looked more graceful than when she was competing. Controlled, powerful, elegant.
“Fine. Lunch tomorrow,” I agreed. “I’ll move around my schedule.”
Canceling a client lunch was irresponsible, but I attempted to rationalize it. The client was an old friend of Daniel’s from Princeton. He wasn’t going anywhere. Plus I had the satisfaction of having just sold out a show. So what if I played hooky for an afternoon?
“Yes!” Hayes made some little cheering sound, and I imagined his smile at the other end of the line, dimples and all. “Let’s do the Hotel Bel-Air, shall we? Twelve-thirty. I’ll handle the reservation.”
Of course he would pick someplace fancy and terribly romantic.Grab a bite, indeed.
“Hayes,” I said before he hung up the phone, “this is just lunch.”
He paused for a moment, and I wondered if he’d heard me. “Solène… what else would it be?”
He was there when I arrived. Tucked away in one of those recessed alcoves against the far side of the restaurant’s terrace, backed by a wall of glass and a view of the gardens. I expected him to be late, strolling in—all bewitching smile and rock star swagger. But he was punctual, early even. And the sight of him sitting there, in a gray-and-white-print button-down (was that a Liberty floral?) and tidy hair, told me he’d made an effort. He was poring over the menu and spinning his Ray-Ban Wayfarers between his thumb and forefinger when we approached. The maître d’ had taken one look at me and—with “Ms. Marchand, I presume”—escorted me to my unlikely date.
Oh, to have captured the expression on Hayes’s face when he glanced up to find me. Like Christmas morning. Joy, surprise,promise, and disbelief rolled into a singular moment. His blue-green eyes brightening and wide mouth giving way to a dazzling smile.
“You came,” he said, standing to greet me. He seemed even taller in the daylight. Six foot two, I guessed… maybe three.
“Did you think I wouldn’t show?”
“I thought there was a chance.”
I laughed, leaning in to graze his cheek. An art world air-kiss. Relatively low on the intimacy level.
“I don’t imagine you’re the kind of guy who gets stood up often.”
“I’m not the kind of guy who begs for dates either. There’s a first for everything.” He smiled, stepping aside and allowing me access to the booth.
“This is okay, I hope? It wasn’t until after I made the call that I realized I had no idea where Culver City was and whether I was asking you to trek from the other side of the world to meet me. Turns out nothing is close in L.A.…”
