I deliberate before saying, “I need time.” My phone buzzes. Smiling an apology, I take the call.
“Tess, it’s Mom. Your father has sparked up the barbecue and is about to go to the store to buy meat and sides. Are you in? We can chip in for your Uber.”
I say yes, and please for Dad to get the potato salad without the pieces of egg in it because it makes the mayonnaise taste like sulfur. When I hang up, I see that Roscoe is silently laughing at me. “What?! I don’t like rubbery pieces of egg, so sue me.” But I say it with a smile so he knows I'm in on the joke.
“Can I drive you there?” he asks me. “I promise not to talk about the great deal I’m offering you; it will save you any awkward questions from your parents if you decide to accept my offer, but you get to introduce them to your boss without them giving you the whole nine yards about me. What do you say?”
I say yes.
CHAPTER9
ROSCOE
She makes me act in irrational and impulsive ways. I, Roscoe Bridges, so logical and cautious when it comes to business, am having to think on the fly for the first time in ages. With Tess, there is no time to carefully deliberate what I am about to say as I have done with women in the past. All this is forcing me to live in the moment, which makes me feel edgy and alive. No one has ever taken me to meet their parents before; they’ve always struck out before it gets to that point in the relationship. I don’t know why I offered to do this other than a very disquieting fact: since I was lucky enough to be reacquainted with Tess Jolliffe, I’ve been thinking of ways to spend more time with her, and if it means meeting her parents, so be it.
This must be the way someone feels before going into battle. Not the kind of battle where a rocket might be launched at your armored vehicle from far away. The sort of armed combat where the only thing standing between me and a lethal swinging sword is some chainmail and a broken wooden shield and my opponent is standing in front of me in full battle gear. I have to duck and jump in an effort not to offend her. All the things I usually say to women are now potential deal breakers.
“Um, please can I call George and tell him to come and pick us up, Tess?” I’m hesitant to use her name when talking to my driver on the phone without her permission. I watch her give a little frown. “Can’t you drive? It might be a little pretentious for us to arrive with George.” That shoots down using the helicopter, then. “How about we take an Uber?” she asks me. I nod in agreement, “Sounds like fun,” and before I’ve even finished saying the words, she’s on the app. I text George and tell him he can drive back uptown.
“When were you last in Jersey?” Tess wants to know once we’re settled comfortably at the back of the car. It’s just an ordinary car, and I’m checking out how utilitarian the materials and features are, fascinated by the functionality of everything. “I usually fly or take the boat down here. The tunnels and traffic can take a real chunk of time out of the day during rush hours.” I see my chance. “You would be a lot closer to your parents if you took me up on my offer, Tess, you know that? I’d even throw in your very own car and driver if it means you’ll say yes.” She gives me one of her enigmatic smiles and stares out the window as the high-rises disappear in the rear-view window. “Being fifteen minutes closer to my parents is not adequate temptation for me to open myself up to such a huge amount of scrutiny, Roscoe. If you could promise me that nothing would ever reach the tabloids…” she glances over at me from under her lashes.
“Tess, I hate the tabloids too, to the point where I would like to buy up every paparazzi and entertainment news outlet in the States and burn them to the ground. But it’s like a cancer, you know? It’ll just pop up somewhere else.”
“Oh yes, I agree.” Tess has this passion about some topics that gets her all fired up, and when she does, I realize we have more than a few things in common. “And it’s not entertainment…not unless you consider feeding slaves to wild beasts in the Roman arena’s entertainment. It’s more like forcing people into the public eye against their will.”
We chat about the loathsome tabloid gossip news until the car approaches Bayonne. When we reach our destination, Tess pays the driver, grabbing hold of my wrist to stop me by saying, “It’s okay, Roscoe. I got this. I still have some money left over in my account from the deposit you made yesterday before the fake date.”
It’s the first time a woman has ever said those words to me: ‘I got this.’ Not even the highest paid model in the world ever said that to me. The shock takes away my ability to speak. I snap out of it when I notice we are outside Mr. and Mrs. Jolliffe’s residence. It’s a substantial property with a large house built over two plots, shade trees, and flower beds. A large three-car garage stands at the top of the drive. I’m an idiot for spending the journey complaining about tabloid news when I should have been asking Tess for more information about her parents. It’s too late now. The front door swings open and a pretty blonde-haired, middle-aged lady comes out onto the porch clutching her purse. “Tess! Have you already paid? Oh, okay.” She turns and beams at me, holding out her hand. “Roscoe? How lovely to meet you. Tess hasn’t brought anyone back to her old home for ages!” She has a light, firm handshake, but I notice her eyes dart over me, taking in my grooming and appearance. Her face remains neutral so I can’t tell what kind of an impression I’m making on her. Like mother, like daughter, I guess.
I follow Tess’s mom through to the back of the house, liking the way that Mrs. Jolliffe knows not to ask me to go ahead of her. The woman has her knowledge of etiquette down. The Jolliffe home is decorated with elegant taste, slightly minimalistic with clean, monochromatic lines. Tess has disappeared into another part of the house, leaving me alone to meet her father. Mr. Jolliffe is medium height with a loose-limbed build. I put his age at about fifty, maybe younger. Now I’m kind of wishing that I hadn’t made that snide remark about high school sweethearts to Tess this morning because I have a sinking feeling that I’m about to find out that the Jolliffes have been together since college, maybe even sooner. Mrs. Jolliffe hands me a glass of homemade lemonade mixed with mint and ice.
Mr. Jolliffe pumps my hand up and down once and gets back to the barbecue. “How do you like your steak, Roscoe?” At my answer of “Medium rare,” he nods his approval. There’s a little back and forth about the best cuts of meat before he gets down to the nitty-gritty. “Has Tess told you about the bad thing that happened to her last year?”
I’m quite relieved to hear Tess’s voice answer for me as she enters the backyard entertainment area. She’s changed out of her sweats and is wearing a dress with a really high waistline; I think they call them baby doll dresses, only this one just makes her look fresh and cool. “Now, Dad, let’s not ruin a beautiful day by rehashing that nonsense. It’s already ancient history.” Mr. Jolliffe takes a swig of lemonade and mutters under his breath, but he seems pleased to be able to drop the subject.
In the age-old way of barbecues, the women go to sit under the patio canopy while the men stand around the fire. I learn that Mr. Jolliffe imports fabric from all over the world. Tess’s mom accompanies him on his buying trips and they enjoy visiting the world’s top restaurants in each individual country on their travels.It’s surprisingly enjoyable.
As that talk dies down, Tess states, “Roscoe isn’t just a new friend I made at work, guys, he’s also my boss, so I guess he can start calling you by your first names?” There’s a lull in the conversation, then her Mom says, “Oh…yes, please call me Kaye and we all call James ‘Jimmy,’ so feel free to use either. How old are you, Roscoe?”
Jimmy Jolliffe is busy on his phone, and begins reading the information off it before I even open my mouth to answer. “He’s thirty-six years old, acting CEO over at Bridges while Bryson Bridges recovers from lower back surgery, unmarried, no kids…”
This information elicits no other comment from Kaye Jolliffe except her saying in a compassionate voice, “No kids? How sad. Having Tessa was the best moment in my life after marrying Jimmy.”
Jimmy raises his voice so he can be heard over the sound of sizzling meat, “You better hurry up and have them, Roscoe, because you don’t want to be too old when babies start arriving. You have to really be on your toes when you have teenagers. I couldn’t shake Tess from this fashion craze of hers and it only got worse after she turned thirteen. And look where it got her. Making brochures for an investment firm.”
I see Tess looks hurt. She hangs her head, drawing circles around the rim of her glass.
“That will all change once Tess and I move in together.” I just blurt out the words. I don’t know what came over me. After the way she left me early this morning, so angry it made my head spin, I don't understand what possessed me to go and stick my foot in it again. At least the sad expression has left her face and is replaced by a tightly controlled one. I watch Kaye and Jimmy’s eyes light up and their mouths open to ask a million questions, but Tess preempts them. She stands up. “Roscoe, please come and see the sketches I’ve made for my next collection. They’re in my bedroom.” She holds out her hand, and when I take it, she pulls me back inside the house, toward her bedroom. When I look around at her parents, they both give me the ‘now you’ve gone and done it’ looks.
She closes the door and leans against it, saying nothing, just glaring at me. “I said it to take your mind off what your dad said about how your fashion dreams have come crumbling down and your job entails making pdf pamphlets, Tess. I don’t see what the problem is. IpromiseI will make sure people don’t call you a gold digger, in print or to your face. What more do you want? Just say yes, Tess! Let’s put our dreams and ambitions back on the table. I need you to help me close this deal and you need money for your next collection. Let me help you! Why don’t you want to help me? This is crazy!” I’m just rambling to myself like a crazy person now.
She goes to sit on the narrow quilt-covered bed in the corner of the room. “I don’t like having my decisions made for me, Roscoe.”
I give the surrender signal with my hands in the air. “Okay. I’ll go back in there and tell them it was a joke.” I look around the room and sigh. “These are excellent designs, Tess. I really hope you find a way to make them a reality.” I move to the door, put my hand on the knob.
“Wait!” From the way her husky little voice sounds, I know she’s made up her mind. “I’ll do it.”
I spin around. “Really?” She nods, but holds up one finger, “But you have to go back in there and tell my parents you overstepped the line about us moving in together. Dad doesn’t want me doing that again for a while, not after I got so badly hurt last time.”