Just Surrender.... Kathleen O'Reilly
she couldn’t be if she wanted. Edie had aced two courses in astrophysics at NYU, but had changed majors after a heated discussion with the prof on the viability of red giants, white dwarfs and the antifeminist fairy-tale ideology that perpetuates the idea that one woman should be subjected to the sexual demands of seven professionally challenged men with severe Napoleon complexes.
There were some who thought it was a giant leap of logic to go from stars to anti-feminist literary tropes, including her professor, whom she affectionately called Professor Moriarity. He was not amused, much like her silent passenger, who was staring blindly out the window. She felt a quiver of sympathy, which caused her to frown, because Windsor knots and trench coats did not deserve sympathy. Of course, they usually didn’t swear, either.
“Something’s interrupted your plans?” she asked.
“The only plan I have is to sleep.”
Edie laughed, and then exited toward the Whitestone Bridge. “At the Belvedere? Not that your accommodations are any of my business, but I’m dying to know, so if you want to volunteer the details, I’m a very captive audience.”
He looked away from the window, and met her eyes in the mirror. Perfectly arched brows furrowed with momentary alarm. About time. “What’s with the Belvedere? Is there a problem?”
“You’ve never stayed there?”
“No. My brother is going to stay there next month, so I though I would try it.”
Edie snickered under her breath.
“Damn it.”
Poor guy, losing it left and right. Edie didn’t want to be nice. First of all, because it would ruin the whole snarling cabbie mystique, but also because trench-coat arrogance was not what she considered a positive trait. And so, yes, for the second time that night, the sucker-gene kicked in. Carefully she picked her words, doing her best not to scare him. “It’s not too bad. Different than your typical accommodations. Kind of a couples thing. I knew you didn’t look the type, but you know, still waters run deep. And I’ve been wrong before. Once.”
He snickered. She heard it, which made her feel better because laughter, even the scoffing kind, counted for something.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m beat. Give me a shot of scotch, clean sheets, a decent surface and I’m out anyway.” He ended up with a careless shrug, this from a man who didn’t do careless at all.
Edie squinted through the windshield, the rain pelting down, the wipers squeaking. “What are you here for? Business? Pleasure?” she asked, merging to the right to escape the upcoming traffic.
“I was meeting someone.” When he answered, his voice was flat, missing both thunder and lightning. In fact, Edie would bet copious amounts of cash that he didn’t even know who AC/DC was.
“And thus the Belvedere,” she surmised. A romantic getaway for the romantically challenged. “You should thank your brother for the hotel suggestion when you get back home.”
“After I kill him.”
This time, she heard the dip in his voice, the Southern drawl so disdained by every self-respecting New Yawker. “Where’s home?”
“Houston.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s a good city.”
“It’s not New York,” she corrected.
“Have you ever been to Houston?”
“Once. I had an ex who was a bull rider. Leon ‘The Ball-Breaker’ Braker. I completely bought in to the image until I went to the Houston livestock show. The bull threw him off in two-point-seven seconds, and that was it. I broke up with him the next week. Faker.”
“That’s very cold of you.”
“Nah. I fixed him up with this chick I met in the hotel bar. She was a chiropractor. They’re married now.”
He resumed the blind stare out the window. He was either directionally challenged or emotionally numb. She was betting on the latter, which made her try even harder to cheer him up.
“This weather’s hell. Where’s the girlfriend? Flight delayed?”
Instead of cooperating, he stayed silent, choosing not to spill his most private thoughts to a complete stranger.
Since he left her mind to its own creative devices Edie assessed his situation. Girlfriend wasn’t showing and he was crushed. Windsor knots never took rejection well, although he didn’t seem as heartbroken as she thought he should be. She wondered if he liked quiet redheads because Patience needed to meet a guy who didn’t yell. Somebody who knew how to keep his emotions in check, and Mr. Trench Coat was nothing if not repressed.
“She’s not showing, is she? Tough beans, but hey, the Belvedere’s great for getting to know people. I’ll bet you’ll meet someone new tonight, a leggy blonde, or maybe twins.”
He chose to ignore her attempt to perk him up, which annoyed her, because she was going out of her way to be nice, and why didn’t he appreciate it? Most of all, Edie didn’t do silence well. Never had.
“Oh, come on. We’ve got another thirty…fifty…ninety minutes. People bond in long car rides, and I don’t like talking to myself. Let’s try something easy. Like…how long you two been together?”
“Do we have to talk?” he asked, as the cars behind them started to honk.
“Yes. I’m trying to give you the full New York cabbie experience, so couldn’t you try to be a sport? It’s an easy question. Just something to keep me going here.”
She heard the deep indrawn breath, a slow glacial defrosting sound. “Three years. Or maybe five?”
“You don’t know?” she blurted out, not bothering to hide the horror.
“Not exactly. Can we drive now?”
Whoa, boy. No wonder he was getting the cold shoulder. Forget fixing him up with Patience. She deserved better. Gingerly, Edie got the cab moving again. “I can see the problem.”
“And I’m sure you have advice.”
“No way, buddy. You dug that hole all by yourself. A grave is a dark, damp place late at night.”
“If you sleep well, you never know. I always sleep well.”
She glanced in the mirror, noted the confidence in his eyes, his face, even the rigid posture, all the while enduring a death-defying motor-vehicle experience. A humiliating moment in Edie’s bright cab-driving career that was getting dimmer by the minute.
“I bet you use meds for sleep,” she muttered, because she didn’t like being a failure at anything. It was a trait inherited from her father—one of the very few that she admitted.
“No meds. You have to be smart about your life. Control stress, eat healthy, exercise.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“It’s your funeral,” he answered.
“Hey, I’m not the one sleeping alone tonight,” she shot back. Perhaps it was a petty taunt, but it wasn’t like his ego couldn’t take it.
“Barnaby?” He sounded shocked. Disapproving.
Delicious.
“Nah,” she answered smoothly. “I’ll go out trolling after I drop you off. Premeditation takes all the spontaneity out of it. It’s like walking around with a lightning rod over your head and pretending to be surprised when the storm hits. What fun is that?”
And he completely bought it. “You’re going to go hook up with some stranger?”
“Oh, sure,” she gushed, finally discovering which buttons to push. “It’s a lot more exciting that way.”
“It’s