Chapter 4

Saturday afternoon, Greg arrived home. He changed out of his suit and unpacked his suitcases. While he was unpacking, he shook his head. It was really stupid, the way that Megan had haunted his thoughts since the party. Even more since he took Amy and Megan to lunch. And then talking to her the other night had made it even worse. Every night that week as he lay in bed in his hotel room, he'd found himself wondering what she was doing. What she was wearing. If she was thinking of him. He said, "God, I'd like to see her again." He sighed. "You stupid, sad old bastard," he said to himself, "obsessing on a young girl. You should be locked up. And if that's not bad enough, now you're talking to yourself." He finished unpacking and put the suitcases away in his walk-in closet.

Greg went downstairs, looking forward to making himself a martini and having a quiet, restful evening at home. Just as he got a good rhythm going with the cocktail shaker, the doorbell rang. "Fuck," he said vehemently. The doorbell at this time on a Saturday was hardly ever a good omen. Often it meant that some solicitor or religious fanatic was on the other side of the door. Of course, it might be Amy. Perhaps she'd forgotten something when she'd packed her stuff.

Reluctantly, Greg went to the front door. He opened the door. It wasn't a solicitor. Nor was it Amy. It was Megan. He looked into her eyes and felt the same shock as before. More. He felt that he should look away but couldn't.

"Oh shit," she said, "I'm sorry, Greg. I got the day wrong. I thought that Amy was still here and that you'd be home tomorrow. I'm such an idiot. Crap. I even brought a bottle of wine to share with her." She held up the bag in her hand, feeling like a fool. Were her legs shaking? Maybe she should just make a break for it and run.

Greg stood there for a moment looking at her. He gathered his wits. He took a deep breath. He smiled. "Well, we can't let a good bottle of wine go to waste, can we? Come in out of the cold." Megan smiled timidly and came in, handing Greg the wine. Greg pulled the bottle from its bag and grunted his approval of a respectable Chardonnay. "This will be great later," he said, "right now, I have a shaker full of martinis in the study. How about it?"

Megan ruefully shook her head. "I'm afraid I'll have to decline the martini," she said, "I have the Japanese curse." She took off her coat and handed it to Greg. She was dressed much as she had been at Amy's party, in a very nice skirt and sweater

As Greg hung up her coat, he raised his eyebrows quizzically. He said, "What's the 'Japanese curse?'"

Megan laughed. She said, "I turn bright red when I drink. Especially when I drink something strong like a martini."

"Is it an allergy or what?"

"I don't know. It's just something that happens to a lot of Japanese people. I'm only half Japanese. But the curse was included in my half."

"What if I don't mind drinking with a red woman?"

Megan laughed. "OK. Just no staring or laughter. Please."

"Don't worry. If I'm caught staring it won't be because you're red."

At that, Megan did turn red. As she followed Greg to the study, she thought to herself, "What are you doing, girl? Well, in for a penny, as they say. I guess I'll just hold my breath and see what happens."

Greg said, "Olives, onions or a twist?"

"Twist, please."

"Rocks or straight up?"

"Just a couple of rocks."

Greg gave the tumbler a last shake, poured the drinks, garnished them and handed one to Megan. He said, "Here you are. Sit down and make yourself comfortable." Megan sat on the chesterfield, tucking one leg beneath her. Greg sat beside her. "Cheers," he said. Megan clinked glasses with Greg. They both sipped their drinks. And again, there was that indefinable tingle between them.

Greg thought about it. Here she was, this girl who'd haunted his dreams for weeks, live, in the flesh and sitting beside him. She'd said that she came by accident. He hoped that wasn't true. He knew it wasn't true. What the hell. Let's go for it. Double or nothing. He took another sip and said, "Tell me what circumstance brings you to my door."

Megan blushed. She said, "I told you," she said, "I expected to find Amy here."

Greg smiled. When Megan blushed, it was very apparent because of her light complexion. Greg couldn't help thinking how cute it made her look. And her blush gave her away. He said, "Bullshit. You're not the sort of ditzy dame who forgets what day it is. Far from it. It didn't take me long when we first met to realize that you were very bright and quick on your feet. You gave me back everything I threw at you. And more. Let's start with this premise: you're not stupid, and neither am I. You knew I'd be here and hoped, or perhaps expected, to be invited in. OK?"

Megan blushed again, taking a drink to cover her confusion. She took a deep breath and looked Greg full in the face. "You caught me," she said. "I wanted to see you again. Is that so awful?"

He smiled and shook his head. "Not awful at all. And I'll admit that I wanted to see you. In fact, I've thought of little else but you since Amy's party. You're my niece's best friend. But the feelings I'm getting for you are hardly avuncular. And certainly not fatherly. It's all very confusing."

Megan gulped her drink. She didn't care if she turned beet-red. She needed the fortification. "Confusing is a good word," she said. "I'm at least confused. More like terrified."

"Yeah. I know what you mean," Greg said. "If you're getting the same vibe I am, it's scary." Greg sighed and sipped his martini. He looked into Megan's blue eyes. Again, he felt himself falling into them. Should he ask her to stay? Well, it was now or never. He said, "Would you like to stay for supper?"

Megan smiled. Greg thought her smile was beautiful. Radiant was the word.

Megan said, "Thanks. I would, if it's not too much trouble."

"No trouble at all, " Greg said. "I'll appreciate the company of a lovely lady. And especially the company of this beautiful lady." He felt silly as soon as he'd said it.

Megan's blush deepened. Her cheeks burned with the combination of booze and embarrassment. She was tempted to ask for a mirror. Or perhaps not. Did she really want to see how terrible she looked? Instead, she simply said, "Can I help?"

"You bet. I think I'll grill some salmon. I've got some great filets in the freezer. Caught 'em myself last summer. But you can certainly lend a hand with the other stuff."

"What's the 'other stuff?'"

"Whatever we can find in the fridge. I literally just arrived home. As you know, I've been away for a week and haven't had a chance to scout things out."

Megan said, "There are some nice veggies in the pantry. At least there were the other day." Greg looked at her with a grin. She felt her blush deepen. God! What did she look like now? A clown? She continued quickly, "And there's rice in the cupboard. I can make a terrific veggie stir-fry with rice. My mum's recipe. It'll go great with salmon."

"Sounds great. If you need help finding anything, just call out." Greg took the wine bucket from the shelf, filled it with ice and carefully put in Megan's Chardonnay. Then he opened the patio door and went out to light the inbuilt gas grill.

When he returned Megan was busily chopping vegetables. She grinned at him and said, "Amy told me that you barbecue all year long, even in the dead of winter. I think that's..."

"Eccentric?"

"No. Unusual, perhaps. But charming."

"In other words, you like eccentricity."

"Who am I to call anyone eccentric? Remember, I'm the girl who dresses like this all the time." She swept her hand to indicate her clothes.

Greg couldn't help teasing her. "And as I recall, there's another possible eccentricity about your mode of dress. One that's not perhaps so obvious to the naked eye."

Once again, Megan's cheeks burned. She turned her attention to her vegetables. Greg went into the dining room to set the table.

Amazingly, everything came together at the same time. They took the food into the dining room. As Greg held Megan's chair for her, she felt herself blushing again. "Goddam it," she thought, "what is there about this guy? He makes me feel embarrassed and special all at the same time."

Greg opened the wine and poured a trickle into her glass. He said, "Would you care to do the honours, my lady?"

Another blush. Megan raised her glass and sipped. "I'm no expert," she said, "but I'd say that's wine. White wine, to be specific."

Greg laughed as he filled their glasses. "And I'd say that you're right on," he said. "Bon appetit, fair lady."

The two ate in silence for a moment. Then Greg said, "The stir-fry is excellent. My compliments to the chef."

"Make that the sous-chef," Megan said. "The chef made the real pièce de résistance: the salmon."

"To the chefs," Greg said, raising his glass. The two clinked glasses and drank. "So tell me how you met Amy."

"Well, it's a fairly short story. I was her supervisor at the pool where she used to lifeguard and teach swimming. One day, she came storming into my office all in a lather about the coordinator of the swimming instruction programme. I agreed that he was an idiot, but, short of his being convicted of a crime, there was no way that I could fire him. Union protection. I said that I'd help her as much as I could, and I invited her to lunch. That was about three years ago. We've been buddies ever since."

Greg pursed his lips. "Let's see," he said. "Three years ago, Amy was 19. And you were already a supervisor for the Toronto department of recreation. You must have been quite a prodigy."

Megan blushed yet again. "I'm a bit older than Amy," she said. "How old do you think I am?"

Greg furrowed his brow. "I guess I assumed that you and Amy were about the same age," he said. "How old are you?"

"I'm twenty-seven," she said. "I'll be twenty-eight in July."

"I see," he said teasingly, "to quote James Joyce, 'mutton dressed as lamb.' An old broad, in other words."

"Don't be a pig," she said. "How old are you? I told you mine. Now you tell me yours."

"Must I?"

"It's only fair."

He sighed. "OK. I hate to be reminded of it. I'm forty-five. Nearly twice your age."

Megan pursed her lips and pretended to write in the air with her forefinger. "By my figuring," she said, "that's almost 10 years short of twice my age. I hope that your job doesn't require math skills."

Greg laughed. "Only to add up time and money," he said. "I'm in broadcasting."

Megan smiled as she sipped her wine. "I know," she said. "You were a producer for CBC TV. Now you have your own production company. In the past three years, you've sold two TV series to CBC and one to the Global network. And a couple of specials to CTV."

"Goddam it, woman, do you and Amy ever talk about anything but me? Is there anything about me that you don't know?"

"Oh, a few things. But I hope to learn more."

Greg grinned. "Perhaps you will, little lady. But one thing's for sure: I'll get to the bottom of you yet." Megan blushed again at the obvious double entendre. Greg's next remark made her blush even more. "Now what about this aversion to underwear?"

The two continued to chat and fence verbally throughout supper. Time passed quickly. Greg was amazed to discover that his plate was empty. He said as much to Megan, who replied, "Well I'll be damned, so's mine. Do you suppose someone sneaked in here and stole the food right under our noses?"

"Must have. Best check and see if they remembered to lock the door after themselves. Now, let's clear this mess and throw everything in the dishwasher. Then I'll tutor you in the finer points of single-malt Scotch whisky."

"OK," Megan said, "but if you think I'm red now, just wait."

"Do you mean it gets better?"