Kissing in Manhattan by Schickler David

Kissing in Manhattan by Schickler David

Author:Schickler, David [Schickler, David]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2002-08-26T16:00:00+00:00


During the shrimp cocktail appetizer Douglas related much of his life to the Bonners. He was nervous because Nicole was moody and silent, and he ended up blurting the stories of his postgraduate year in Japan, his bout with mononucleosis, his disastrous senior prom with Heather Angelona.

“You’re feeling all right now, though?” said Samson.

Douglas looked up from his salad. “Sir?”

“You’ve recovered, I mean. From the mono.”

“Oh. Yes, sir. I had it thirteen years ago.”

“Bravo.” Samson wolfed a chunk of cucumber. “Look, no more of this ‘sir’ business. I’m Samson, dammit.”

“All right.” Douglas tried to catch Nicole’s eye. She sat across from him, while Samson and Paulette sat at the long ends of the table. When Nicole only stared into her salad, Douglas’s gaze slid to the book wall behind her.

“So, Samson,” said Douglas. “Paulette. Those are some wonderfully bound books, there. Have you read most of them?”

Samson stared hard at Douglas. He let ten seconds pass.

“Douglas,” said Samson. “I have read each and every one of them cover to cover.”

“Really?” Douglas scanned the shelves again. “That’s unbelievable.”

Samson scowled. “Oh, is that what it is, Mr. Harvard? Unbelievable?”

“I’m sorry,” said Douglas quickly.

“You’re a contentious bastard,” declared Samson.

Douglas’s stomach bottomed out, the way it had in high school before his boxing matches. “Samson. Mr. Bonner. I certainly meant no insult.”

“Ha,” shouted Samson. “Got you!”

Douglas looked at the Bonner women, who wore thin, knowing smirks.

“What?” said Douglas.

Samson punched Douglas’s shoulder. “I was giving you the business, Doug. Had to test your mettle.”

“Oh.” Douglas took a gulp of his wine. “Ha, ha,” he said weakly.

“I shall now rejoin the conversation,” said Nicole.

“Hell.” Samson pointed his fork at the books. “I’ve never read a single one of those things, Doug. They’re a priceless collection.”

“They’re heirlooms,” said Paulette.

“Right, heirlooms.” Samson chewed and swallowed. “Nicole reads them. They belonged to my ancestor, Vladimir Bonner. He was a prince from the Carpathian Mountains or some crazy bastard place.” Samson waved his hand dismissively. “The point is, he was a prince, and these are his books.”

“The point is, Bonners are royalty,” said Nicole.

Samson slapped the table. “The gnocchi,” he bellowed. “I made it myself.” He glared around, as if expecting dissent.

Paulette served the main course, which Douglas had to admit was delicious. He sipped his wine, and the conversation mellowed. Samson spoke of common concerns, the mayor, the weather, the stock market. Douglas complimented Samson on the gnocchi. When Samson asked about his Allentown boyhood, Douglas mentioned the Eagle scout he’d been but did not mention the chipmunks he had killed with firecrackers. Paulette asked Douglas about his favorite films, and Douglas answered. Every time Douglas looked at Nicole, she looked right back at him. All in all, Douglas was enjoying himself. The Chardonnay settled lightly in his head, and he found himself wondering random things, like how the Yankees would do this season, how cold it was outside, how curvy Nicole had ever emerged from beanstalk Paulette. The gnocchi plates were cleared.

“Well, girls,” said Samson, “let’s cut to the chase.



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