Winter Solstice (Winter #4)(45)

“I have some happy news,” Bart says.

Mitzi raises her eyebrows in expectation, but it doesn’t erase the deep lines of sadness from her face.

“I have a date tonight,” Bart says.


He gets to the restaurant early so that he is standing out front when Eddie Pancik pulls up to drop off Allegra. Bart opens her door and helps her out of the car. She’s wearing a black knit dress that clings to her unbelievable figure and a pair of leopard-print high heels. She is, in the words of his fellow Marines, smoking hot.

Bart pokes his head into the car to address Eddie. “I’ll have her home on the early side, Mr. Pancik,” he says. “I know she works tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, Bart,” Eddie says. “You kids have fun.”

Eddie drives away, and Bart takes Allegra by the hand. He holds the door to the restaurant open and ushers her inside. The restaurant is lit by candles, and Bart and Allegra are seated at a cozy, tucked-away table.

“This is so romantic,” Allegra says. “This is a real, grown-up date.”

“I figured I’d better bring my A game,” Bart says. “I know you’re used to smooth operators like Hunter Bloch.”

“Oh please,” Allegra says. “I’m all finished with smooth operators like Hunter Bloch. I want…”

Bart leans forward. He can hear Centaur’s voice in his ear, saying, PAY ATTENTION TO WHAT SHE WANTS!

“… I want a real man.”

A real man, Bart thinks. What does Allegra mean by that? Probably she means she wants someone strong, intelligent, competent. Someone who has achieved something noteworthy: in Bart’s case, joined the Marines, been captured, and been held prisoner. If Hunter Bloch were to walk into this restaurant right now and make a snide comment to Allegra or try, somehow, to win her back, Bart would bring Hunter to his knees, using only one hand. But Bart knows there are other elements that go into being a man, qualities that his father and his brothers have that he has yet to develop.

Patience.

Thoughtfulness.

“Let’s order a bottle of sparkling water,” Bart says. “I don’t want you to get carded or have it be awkward.”

“You can order a drink,” Allegra says. “I don’t mind.”

“That’s okay,” Bart says. “I look forward to spending an evening sober with you.”

“You’re very sweet,” Allegra says. “Thank you.” She locks eyes with Bart, which is intoxicating enough. Bart thinks about nine-year-old Ruby Taylor kicking Charles Buford Duke right above the ankle bone with her Mary Jane, or whatever shoe little girls down south wore, and stealing his heart forever. Centaur showed Bart the spot on his right leg that Ruby had kicked.

I get it now, Bart thinks. I get it! He takes Allegra’s hand across the table. There’s music in the restaurant—Eric Clapton singing “Wonderful Tonight”—and Bart feels like pulling Allegra up to dance. He’s alive, they’re alive; it’s their first real date and they’re going to need to tell their children about it someday, so why not make it a story? Bart stands up.

“Dance with me,” he says.

She doesn’t say: Here? Now?

She doesn’t say: But no one else is dancing. Everyone else is eating dinner, Bart. This is a restaurant, not a nightclub. Everyone will look at us.

Instead she says, “Okay.” She rises and moves into his arms. She fits right under his chin even in her heels. Bart is suddenly very glad that Mitzi taught him to dance when he was young, despite his mighty protestations. Someone must have also taught Allegra, because she is graceful on her feet, fluid and poised.

The song ends. The other diners clap. Allegra curtsies. Bart feels that, wherever he is, Centaur approves.

Everything is fine. Everything is better than fine—until the chicken.

Bart blames himself initially. He wasn’t paying attention when Allegra ordered her dinner; he was too busy deciding between the steak-frites and the Nantucket bay scallop special. They agreed to split the mussels as an appetizer, which were delicious in a coconut curry broth over jasmine rice. Bart insisted on taking the mussels out of the shells for Allegra. He was a real man, meaning he would do the lowliest of chores for his beloved. He would plump the pillow for her every night, he would bring her coffee in bed every morning. He would clean the gutters of their imaginary house; he would stop by the store for eggs or butter or tampons without complaining.

During the mussels they talked about their past relationships. Bart wanted to get it all out in the open now, on their first date, instead of later, a month or six weeks later, when his attachment to Allegra, and therefore his jealousy, would be greater.

“You’ve had boyfriends other than Hunter Bloch, I assume?” Bart said.

“One boyfriend in high school,” Allegra said. “Brick Llewellyn. He was my year. Do you remember him?”

“No,” Bart said. He didn’t add that high school hadn’t really been his thing. He’d skipped a lot and done no activities. After school he and his best friend, Michael Bello, had smoked dope, wrecked cars, stolen beer, and thrown parties. If this Brick Llewellyn wasn’t an established derelict, Bart didn’t know him.

“He was a good guy. Still is. He’s very smart, goes to Dartmouth. He hates me. I cheated on him with this jerk named Ian Coburn.”