A Song For Julia Part 29

"Don't worry about it," she said. "Unless you showed up with a million dollars in the back of your own limo, my parents will never approve of you. Not much we can do about that."

I looked over at her and grinned. "Who knows, Julia? You got us a meeting with Allen Roark and the head of White Dog Records? Maybe one of these days we'll roll up together in the back of a limo."

She laughed. "Don't get your hopes up too high."

And then I said something I shouldn't have, something I'd never said before to a woman. It just came out, and the moment it did, my heart started racing in panic. "I think I'm falling in love with you."

She froze. Literally ... just ... froze in place. Her eyes went off to the side, and it reminded me so much of Sean I wanted to cry out. I shouldn't have said it. It was too soon, and I knew she wasn't ready to hear that yet. But d.a.m.n it. It was true.

After a heart stopping few seconds, she looked back at me and gave me a small, tentative smile. "I'm not ready for that."

And then she opened the pa.s.senger side door and got out of the car and slammed the door shut.

d.a.m.n it!

I got out of the car. She'd left her coat in the car and stood there, shivering, her arms crossed over her chest. I couldn't get over how breathtakingly beautiful she was. And though she'd opened up a lot, it still wasn't hard to see the hurt underneath. I walked over to her. "All right. Let me revise. I think you're wicked cool."

Her mouth quirked up on one side.

"I also think it's hot that you wear s.e.xy clothes like this. I have this insatiable urge to reach around to that zipper in the back ..."

"Stop," she said.

I leaned close and whispered, "Can I just chew on your ear? Just a little nip at the earlobe?"

"My parents can probably see us," she replied, her voice almost at a whisper.

"Let's shock them," I said.

"Let's go in where it's warm."

I leaned back and winked at her. She burst into laughter and uncrossed her arms, so I took her hand in mine, and we walked into the restaurant.

Okay. Definitely underdressed. I might have gotten away with the lack of tie, but my leather jacket, studded with spikes, band patches, chains embedded in the sleeves? Eyes all over the front of the restaurant darted in my direction when we walked in. The hostess, a thirtyish woman, looked at me with disapproval when we walked in. But she somehow smiled at Julia, who was standing maybe two inches from me. Go figure.

"May I help you?"

"Thompson party, please."

"This way," she said. She led us to the back of the restaurant, to what appeared to be a private room. And then we walked into another world.

Julia's parents sat at opposite ends of a long table. Her father sat at the head of the table and was dressed in a tweed suit, with a vest. And a bow tie. I'm not kidding. He had a thick but well trimmed beard and salt and pepper hair, with fine creases, like crow's feet, around his eyes. He stood when we entered, his eyes widening ... no doubt in response to my appearance.

Julia's mother was at the foot of the table. She had long, luscious black hair and wore a dress not dissimilar to Julia's. She stood as well, and both parents approached us from opposite ends of the table.

As they approached, my eyes scanned the table. Two spots were open, directly next to her father's seat. Obviously where Julia and I were intended to sit.

Next to those spots, across from each other, were two of Julia's sisters: a breathtaking girl, about eighteen, who also stood when we came in. She was easily six feet tall, with loose black hair almost to her waist, wearing a burgundy dress that highlighted her long, thin frame. Across from her was an eleven or twelve-year-old, still sitting, looking over the back of her chair at me with wide, almost alarmed eyes. Next to them, across from each other, were Julia's twin sisters, about six years old. They looked nothing alike, one dark, and the other blonde. The youngest girl sat next to her mother. The young ones were looking at me like I'd been picked up in an alley behind the stadium, and they were worried I'd steal someone's purse.

That wasn't so different from the mother's expression. I decided to head that s.h.i.t off by being as charming as possible. "Mrs. Thompson," I said, reaching for her hand and smiling. "Now I know where Julia got her beauty. I'm Crank Wilson."

She smiled at me. "Crank," she said. "What an intriguing name. This is my husband, Richard."

I shook hands with Julia's father. He had a concerned expression on his face, his eyes mostly slipping to Julia.

Julia and her mother kissed on the cheeks. It didn't look very sincere.

"Come have a seat," Mr. Thompson said. "Dinner will be here shortly, we're having a gla.s.s of wine."

I took the indicated seat, to Mr. Thompson's right, next to the twelve-year-old.

"h.e.l.lo," I said. "I'm Crank."

She grinned at me. "I'm Alexandra. Is your name really Crank? Or did you make that up?" I was surprised to see a gla.s.s of wine next to her plate. I'd always heard that was a European custom, and Julia's family had spent most of their lives traveling. Go figure. The twins had hot chocolate.

Julia stifled a laugh.

"Don't you dare," I said to Julia.

That just made her laugh harder. So I said, "My parents originally named me something else. But I had it changed. Crank it is, Crank it will always be. Can I call you Alex?" I winked at Alexandra, and she giggled.

"Tell us about yourself, um, Crank," said Mr. Thompson.

Oh, h.e.l.l. This was awkward. Julia rescued me.

"Crank is a very talented musician."

"Oh, really," Mrs. Thompson said. "That must be ... interesting."

The tall, hauntingly beautiful girl next to Julia said, "I'm Carrie." She held her hand out to me, and I took it, gently. She was so thin she looked like she could break if the wind blew too hard. "I've heard your music. It's intriguing."

Mr. Thompson said, "I hope it's not rude for me to say, I'm curious about the ... business prospects of being a professional musician. Do you play in ... bars and clubs? How does that actually work?"

We mostly worked for beer. Though that might be looking up.

"We're negotiating a contract for a single right now," I said. "It's a tough job, no question, but I'm confident."

Julia jumped in. "We're actually meeting with the head of White Dog Records tomorrow. Allen Roark set up the meeting for us."

"I'm not familiar with him," Mr. Thompson said. Carrie, however, looked at her sister, eyes wide. "Oh. My. G.o.d. You're meeting with Allen Roark?"

Julia grinned and nodded. "We've got a flight out to LA first thing in the morning. Not a sure thing, yet, but ... we'll see."

"That's so exciting!" Carrie said.

Mrs. Thompson leaned forward in her seat. Like a cat, getting ready to pounce. "We? What's your involvement with this, Julia?"

Julia froze and then looked away from her mother dismissively. "I'm managing the band. I told you that yesterday."

Mr. Thompson said, "Well, then. That's an interesting ... hobby. Are you sure you have time for that? Getting ready for grad school must be taking a lot of your time."

I felt a sinking feeling. This was not going well. Not well at all. I glanced over at the twins and the youngest sister. They hadn't been introduced, nor had they spoken a word the entire conversation. Was this normal? May be.

The dark haired twin, Sarah, saw me looking at her, and her eyes went wide. Then the funniest thing happened. She bared her teeth at me, like she was growling and then c.o.c.ked her eyes, one open wider than the other. She was growling at me. Silently.

I stifled a laugh, then returned the fierce grin, and she giggled.

"Sarah, be quiet," her mother muttered.

Sarah's growl instantly disappeared, and she looked back down at her hot chocolate. Her eyes darted back up at me a moment later, so I winked at her. She flashed a smile and went back to her drink.

That kid was going to be a handful one day.

Julia looked her father in the eye. "I know this is going to upset you, but I'm considering not going to graduate school right away."

Her mother muttered something, I don't know what, and her father said, "I wish you'd reconsider. If you're serious about the Foreign Service, you need to get your graduate degree."

"I'm not sure about the Foreign Service, Dad."

The table was silent for just a second and then Alexandra said, "I'm hungry. When's dinner going to be here?"

"Remember your manners, young lady," Mrs. Thompson said.

Mr. Thompson was staring at Julia as if she'd grown an extra head. "I don't understand," he said. "You've always wanted to go into the Foreign Service."

Julia looked directly at her father. "I don't know where you get that idea. I've never, not once, ever, expressed any desire to do that."

"Don't be silly," her mother said. "That was always the plan."

Julia c.o.c.ked an eyebrow. "Whose plan?"

"So what do you intend to do?" her father asked.

"Honestly, I've been very busy lately trying to figure that out."

"So you've not made up your mind."

Julia shook her head.

"What about Wednesday?" her mother asked.

"What's Wednesday?" Julia asked.

Mr. Thompson looked a bit uncomfortable. He started to speak, but at that moment the servers came in the room, and he stopped.

Quickly, the restaurant staff laid out a huge meal. It was a Thanksgiving meal, I guess, but nothing like I'd ever had in my life. The turkey was sliced and glazed with some kind of caramel and unfamiliar herbs. And a gravy that I wouldn't feed to the guys in the Pit at Harvard Square. It was all very artfully presented and completely lacking in any heart. I was glad I'd already eaten so much, because I was only going to be able to nibble this. Not to mention, the disapproval raining down from both ends of the table wasn't helping.

We sat in silence until the servers had finished refilling wine gla.s.ses and laying out our meal. Once that was done, Mr. Thompson cleared his throat. "As you know, Julia, I leave for Baghdad next Friday as part of the negotiating team. The President has invited us to dinner at the White House, with a few select guests, on Wednesday evening."

"I have a meeting on Wednesday," Julia said.

I didn't quite gawk at her. But close. She was being invited to the White House. Not something you turn down, especially for a meeting with a near bankrupt second-rate record studio.

"I cannot possibly imagine what meeting you may have that could be more important than an invitation to dine with the President of the United States."

Julia said, "I think I'd prefer to drive a nail through my own forehead than meet with this President."

Mrs. Thompson gasped, then said, "Julia ... do not use that language in front of your sisters."

The little girls were gawking. They clearly weren't used to seeing anyone defy their parents. Carrie's eyes were darting back and forth, between me, Julia, her parents.

Mr. Thompson simply smiled. "Very colorful, Julia. But, in the event you do decide to go into the Foreign Service ... or for that matter, anything else that may ever involve the government ... this could be a smart thing for you to attend. After all, the President will likely win a second term. Not to mention, even if your politics disagree with his, it's still an honor."

Julia shook her head. "Seriously, Dad. I'm proud of you. I'm proud of you being part of the negotiating team. But, don't you get the feeling that it's all preplanned? That you going to Baghdad is just window dressing? They're already activating troops for deployment. Crank's dad just got called up, and he's leaving for Kuwait next week. I don't see how you can stomach working for that man."

Mr. Thompson frowned. "I'm sure you know an amba.s.sador's role is to be nonpartisan, Julia."

"So, why exactly am I going?"

"Alexandra and the younger girls are too young, but you and Carrie are coming. And I expect you to behave diplomatically."

Julia looked at her father. "I can be diplomatic when I have to, Dad. But if you want my honest opinion? I think it's all cooked up. The President wants to go to war in Iraq, and it doesn't matter what you do, what the inspection teams do, what the UN does. I ... I wish you could step back and not be a part of that."

Mr. Thompson closed his eyes. "I will do what I can to prevent that."

"Okay. But that doesn't change my original concern. I have a meeting on Wednesday at noon."

Her father shrugged. "That we can deal with. Dinner isn't until eight, so we'll get you on a three o'clock flight. All right?"

"I suppose."

I sat back in my chair, pretending to eat, and looked at this family. I thought my family was screwed up. But some things here just made my skin crawl. The absolute silence required of the younger kids, especially. Even Carrie hadn't spoken much, and Alexandra and the younger ones, not a peep. That would never have flown in my house.

I tried to get my mind around it, step back from the Julia I knew. This was Amba.s.sador Thompson, discussing dinner at the White House with his wife and daughters. I'm generally not intimidated by anything. But this was like being on another planet. Was I making a mistake getting involved with Julia? She was brilliant, attending Harvard, and if she wanted, she could have a future attending dinners at the White House, a future traveling all over the globe, a future as a possible amba.s.sador or ... who knew?

What did I have to offer that matched that?

Not a d.a.m.n thing.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

Don't say yes to anything (Julia) "Why the h.e.l.l do we have to be there so early?" Crank asked for what felt like the hundredth time.