While Marcia changed clothes, Connie showed up. She was all a-bubble, which made me suspect that whatever Gemma was up to, Connie was in on it. That made me relax ever so slightly. It probably had something to do with setting all of us up on blind dates. That wasn't my idea of fun, but it was better than suddenly having to come up with an extra couple of hundred bucks a month because Gemma was moving out.
We got a sidewalk table at a little cafe on St. Mark's Place in the East Village.
Gemma ordered the first round of drinks. "This round's on me," she insisted. That meant she was really up to something.
Once we'd all drunk enough to have any edges taken off, Gemma and Connie exchanged a look, then Gemma turned to us. "I have great news!" she said.
Now Marcia and I exchanged a look. "What is it?" Marcia asked suspiciously.
"We all have dates for this weekend."
"We do?" I asked. We all had dates almost every weekend, not because we were particularly popular, but because Gemma loved playing matchmaker. She was always setting us up on blind dates, and she'd accept any setup offer for herself that came her way.
"They're friends of Jim's," Connie explained, referring to her financial whiz husband.
"That way, Jim and I can come along, and the guys will all know each other like we all know each other. It'll be fun."
It sounded like dating in junior high to me, but I kept my mouth shut. At least this way I'd still have someone to talk to, even if the date bombed.
Before Marcia had a chance to react, the waiter appeared with a tray of drinks. "We haven't ordered another round yet," Gemma protested.
"These are compliments of that gentleman over there," the waiter said as he set the drinks in front of us. We all turned to see a man sitting by himself at another table on the sidewalk. I almost fell out of my chair, for it was Slick from the subway.
I turned back to my friends, who were practically drooling on the table, even Connie, the married one. "Well, hello," Gemma murmured, crossing her long legs so her miniskirt crept a little higher. Marcia leaned forward against the table, enhancing her cleavage. Connie smiled and played with her hair. I looked back at him, but he was just as oily as I remembered from the subway. There was obviously something I wasn't getting.
I leaned closer to the others and whispered, "Is he someone I should know?"
"Why do you ask?" Marcia asked, not taking her eyes off Slick.
"Because y'all are staring at him like he's Johnny Depp."
"Mmm, Johnny Depp would be an accurate comparison," Gemma said. "You don't think it is Johnny Depp, do you?"
"Doesn't he live in Paris?" Connie asked.
I looked back at the guy, just to make sure I wasn't crazy, but it looked like I wasn't the one with mental health issues here. "Are you crazy?" I asked. "He doesn't look anything like Johnny Depp, not even when he gets all icky-looking for a role."
"Honey, you need your eyes checked," Gemma said.
I really did not get the appeal of this guy, who'd had the women on the subway and now my friends falling at his feet. I also didn't like the idea of him just happening to show up where I was having dinner. New York might be small geographically speaking, but there are thousands of restaurants, and the odds of him just happening to choose this one were slim. Oh goody, my first stalker. If one of the men on the subway was going to follow me, why couldn't it be the cute one?
I leaned forward again and whispered, "I think maybe he's following me. He was sitting next to me on the subway this morning."
"You lucky thing," Marcia purred. "If you don't want him, can I have him?" She winked at him and licked her lips.
"Oh look, he's coming over here!" Connie squeaked. They all set about arranging themselves attractively as he approached.
"Good evening, ladies," he said in the same oily voice he'd used with me on the subway. "Are you enjoying your drinks?"
They lost all pretense of New York sophistication as they dissolved in giggles. I just crossed my arms over my chest and raised an eyebrow.
He studied me intently, then, with his eyes still on me, said, "My name's Rod Gwaltney."
That was the name on the job offer e-mail. I was too stunned to respond.
Fortunately—or not—Gemma was still on the ball. "I'm Gemma, and this is Marcia, Connie, and Katie."
"Pleased to meet you," he said.
I still couldn't respond. Now I was absolutely sure this wasn't a coincidence. But which had come first, the following or the job offer? Had he already been following me when I saw him on the train? Now I was even more sure that the offer was a scam. I'd never heard of stalking used as a job recruitment tactic. He probably ran some kind of sex slavery ring, but it had to be a pretty low-rent ring if they were resorting to someone like me, unless they specialized in procuring women for men with
