Alessandra Torre - Masked Innocence

I ran my fingers lightly over our clasped hands, loving how small and delicate my hand looked in his.

We pulled up to a strip mall that had one end occupied by a restaurant. Navigating the crowded parking lot, he pulled up to the front, lit by a neon light, to let me out. I opened the door and stepped out, moving through waiting patrons as he pulled away to park. I was smiling in anticipation as I pulled open the door and walked into pure, crowded deliciousness.

Despite my Scottish surname, I’ve always secretly wanted to be Italian. Though no Italian blood runs in my veins, I have gone ahead and adopted their food, lovemaking and overall passion for life. The cheap, strip mall door opened to a wave of noise and smells of Parmesan cheese and marinara. I could barely squeeze in the door, a small crowd filling the small lobby. I took a half step in and waited, trying to see through the crowd for a hostess. I finally saw one, and caught her eye.

“Two. De Luca,” I said, and she scribbled it down on a pad.

“You guys sitting in, or out?”

I didn’t see any outdoor seating, but the night was unseasonably cool, so I let that be the determinant.

“Out.”

“Your car?”

My face must have shown my confusion because she smiled and elaborated. “What kind of car do you have?”

“Oh. White 7-Series.” She wrote something else down, and moved to the next person in line. I squeezed my way back through the entrance and into the night air. I saw Brad walking up from a side lot obscured by trees, and met him halfway.

“The place is packed. I said we’d sit outside, but I don’t know how long the wait is.”

He nodded, flashing a quick grin at me. “Good. If we are sitting outside, then there isn’t a wait, they’ll serve us out on the car.” He gave my waist a quick squeeze and nodded to the parking lot. “Why don’t you sit on the hood and I’ll grab us drinks? What do you want?”

“White wine—something fruity. Riesling, if they have it.”

He nodded and headed in. I wandered to the parking lot. It was a makeshift lot—with cars parked in all sorts of directions, but most facing the overlook. I saw Brad’s, the “B D Best” vanity tag clearly identifying it. It was parked close to the edge, and I climbed on top of the hood, which was still warm from the drive. The view from the hood was cut from every sappy movie I’d ever seen—a rainbow of city lights at night—and sitting on the hood I felt like a nervous teenager about to make out. It was almost pitch-black out here, half of the neighboring cars silent and empty, half with couples perched on the hood, or tucked inside their expensive frames. I yawned and lay back, the hood uncomfortably hard but the night sky clear and beautiful. Crickets chirped, and I waited expectantly for the first mosquito to find my juicy self.

Brad appeared from the left side, a red Solo cup in his hand. I sat up, my abs protesting, and grabbed the cup, peering inside. White wine. I looked at him quizzically.

“What—you only drink from fine glassware?” The darkness hid his face, but I heard his smile.

I took a sip. It was chilled, fruity and sweet. Perfect. “No. Just not typical De Luca.”

He clinked his bottled beer to my plastic cup and sat on the hood next to me, the car noticeably sagging. We sat in comfortable silence for a minute, looking out on the view.

“Are you working tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Lisa Strong emailed everyone, telling us not to come in today, but to be there tomorrow.”

“Lisa is Clarke’s secretary?”

“Yes.” I took a sip of my wine, smiling. “I can’t believe you don’t know that.”

He smirked. “I barely keep my own staff straight.” He sobered, thinking of something, then turned to me.

“I met with Clarke today.”

I stayed quiet, waiting for him to continue.

“We were never interested in a fourth partner. We always wanted to keep it to three. With Broward...gone...we needed to figure out what was next. If we would stay just the two of us or not. I—”

“Broward’s not even in the ground yet!” My voice came out louder and harder than I intended, and he closed his eyes and sighed.

“Julia, I—” He stopped, interrupted again, this time by a thin redheaded waitress in a white button-up, black tie and black pants.

“Excuse me. I am Amber, your waitress. I have your drink orders from the bar. Is there anything else you’d like to drink?” She set a citronella candle on the hood and lit it, depositing two cloth rolls of silverware next to it.

“I’ll have bottled water, with dinner,” Brad stated, and looked at me.

“I’m fine for now, thank you.”

“Would you like to hear the menu?” she asked. I nodded in response, and Brad gave a curt nod.

“It’s pretty basic. We have spaghetti, chicken parmesan and lasagna.” I waited for more, but from her pregnant pause, that was apparently it. I ordered the spaghetti, and Brad asked for both chicken parm and lasagna. The waitress left, and I looked at Brad, the candle now illuminating his handsome face.

“So they’ll serve us out here? On the hood?” The idea seemed preposterous but fun, if not a little messy.

He nodded. “The inside restaurant is pretty small. It fills up quickly. When they first opened, and word started spreading about their food, the line would snake through the parking lot. They started taking drink orders from the waiting crowd...then things just progressed to where they’re at now. I should have asked if you like Italian. Their menu is so limited...”

I waved my hand, erasing his concern, and took a sip of wine.

“So. Broward?” I prompted him.

“Right. I understand that it seems cold to you, us discussing this so quickly after his death, but it is a business situation. We can mourn his passing after work, but this is a decision we needed to make quickly. There are clients and cases to contend with, not to mention the necessity to sell his shares so that we can settle with his estate. Claire will need and appreciate the money.”

My eyes clouded a bit at the mention of Broward’s wife, and I wondered, briefly, if Brad had been in contact with her.

“So, what did you decide? You and Clarke?”

“We decided not to absorb Broward’s interest, but to allow an outside attorney to purchase his shares. We don’t have the time or expertise to take on Broward’s clients, and don’t have any junior partners ready to fill his shoes. Today we chose a replacement and extended an offer, which was accepted. Tomorrow we’ll make a formal announcement and will introduce him to the team.”

I turned it over in my mind, thinking. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Whoever takes his place will be your new boss. There is a chance that he or she won’t want to train a new employee—in that case H.R. will either reassign you or terminate your new position.”

Terminate my new position. The phrase just screamed law school rejection. I sipped my wine slowly. “So. If I was to be reassigned, it would probably need to be to an attorney with a large caseload, someone who would need an additional hand.” I looked up at him suggestively, a wry smile crossing his face as he leaned over and looped his arm around my waist, bringing me to him, his lips pressing gently on my head.

“Well, I would love to have you under me.” His words, a growl against my hair, made me smile. “But, as much as I would enjoy that, we both know I am the last attorney Human Resources would assign you to.”

I sighed, his logic solid. “Okay, so scratch my transfer to your office. You’re saying if Broward’s replacement decides I’m gone, then poof, I’m fired?”

“Look at it from his standpoint. A new attorney, coming into a strange office, trying to retain his current clients, plus take on Broward’s, learning the staff—he is not going to want to train a new employee or bother getting to know you if you are leaving in a semester. I wouldn’t. You would be the first person on my cut list.” His face serious, he looked down at me, his brown eyes clear and straightforward.

“But...you’re a partner—the biggest one! Can’t you keep me there?”

“You mean, since you’re sleeping with me?” His voice had a hard edge to it, and I recoiled, glaring at him.

“Fuck you, Brad. This opportunity could pave my way to law school acceptance, not to mention a possible job after graduation. You understand my predicament—I’m asking you to help! I’ve never asked you for anything!” I fought to keep my voice from rising, but wanted to throw my damn fruity wine in his face.

He met my furious eyes and smiled, disarming me in an instant. The damn man had the most annoying habit of making me want to laugh when I should be choking him. “Julia, anything I do to help you will only shine light on us. As far as they are aware, I don’t even know who you are. I can’t start campaigning for you without drawing undue attention on us. You are the one so bent on keeping us a secret. I have been, and will continue, going to bat for all of Broward’s staff, including you. But I can’t make any promises. I just want you to understand that it is important to make a good impression.”

I blew out a frustrated breath and kicked off my flip-flops, watching them bounce of the bumper and land on the grass. “Okay. I’ll try to make a good impression.”

He leaned over and kissed my neck, his delicious scent making me weak. I reluctantly turned my head and we kissed, his hand coming to my chin and his mouth owning mine. I scooted a little closer and our tongues clashed in perfect contrast, his strength meeting my own fiery spirit. He moved his hand lower, played with my breast through my thin T-shirt and then slipped a hand inside the neckline, teasing my nipple with his strong fingers. There was a soft cough and we parted, my face flushed. Oh my God.

The redhead was back, this time with a teenage boy who locked his eyes on my chest and caused me to look down, seeing my neckline askew and slight cleavage showing. I hurriedly fixed my shirt and Brad cleared his throat.

“You need something?” he asked the teen, his inflection causing the boy to snap to attention and deposit three foam containers onto our hood, looking everywhere but at me. I felt the urge to laugh, and instead focused on the waitress, who placed two ice-cold bottled waters in front of us. She pulled a wine bottle from under her arm and asked if I wanted more. I held out my cup and she gave me a generous refill. Then they both made a hasty retreat.

Brad smiled and I laughed, and we dug into the containers, opening all three and sharing the contents. The food was delicious, authentic Italian, and I ate quickly, moaning every once in a while at the taste.

After ten minutes, I leaned back, stretching my stomach out, Brad still eating beside me. I hadn’t even considered the fact that Broward’s death would affect my employment status. And what if his replacement was a jerk? Or didn’t want me? I didn’t know which would be worse. Somewhere else in the lot, a car radio started, and strands of an Alabama song drifted over to us.

Brad finally leaned back also, and I leaned against him, my head on his shoulder.

“So, tell me about this new guy,” I said grudgingly.

“His name is Scott Burge. He has the same area of focus as Broward, and should bring some big clients over to CDB. He seems very intelligent, if a little boring.”

“So, basically a clone of Broward.” A clone who, hopefully, had better judgment when it came to choosing extracurricular clients.

“Maybe. You never really know what someone is like until you work with them. As I said, he’ll be introduced tomorrow, though he won’t take full office hours till next week.”

“So I’ll meet him tomorrow.”

“Yes. I’d dress to impress.”

“Is he a horn dog?”

He snorted. “Not that he mentioned in our meetings, but no, he doesn’t seem the type. Boring, yes. Sexual, no.”

Burrowing into his warmth, I didn’t feel like talking, and he seemed content, planting a soft kiss on my head. We sat there, quiet and looking at the city lights and listening to muted country music, till the candle flickered and died and the bugs came and found us.

I stood nervously in the conference room, dressed in a black sleeveless turtleneck, tweed pencil skirt and black peep-toe heels. I had spent an extra fifteen minutes that morning making sure that my hair and makeup looked professionally perfect. The entire West Wing staff, which I still thought of as “Broward’s staff,” was assembled in the room, ready for an 11:00 a.m. meeting. There was expectant silence in the room as the wall clock clicked to 10:59 a.m.