Would You Like to Have Brunch With Me

A staff member welcomed Carla, took her coat, and led her to the library where Darrell was sitting with Davison. Both men stood up when she entered the room. Darrell introduced Carla to Davison. He smiled and extended his hand. She shook it and sat in a chair. Davison sat. Darrell excused himself.

Davison immediately engaged Carla in casual conversation.

"What keeps you busy most days?" He asked, focusing the attention on her. 

"Columbia."

"College. Nice. What’s your major?"

"Literature." She lied. "I'm a senior." She lied again. She rationalized the first lie. She wanted to fit in, so literature seemed reasonable. But, to say that she was a senior surprised even her. But she thought that telling a little white lie was better than being a 19-year-old.

"Almost finished, then. Congratulations."

"Thanks."

"What plans do you have after graduation?"

Plans for college and after college were two things that she had never thought about. "I don't know. Nothing specific. I guess I'll just see what happens." That was the truth.

"Do you have a favorite author?"

"You mean other than you?" She asked sort of playfully.

Davison laughed. "That would be self-serving of me, wouldn't it? Sure, other than me."

"Stephen King, I guess." Stephen King was her father's favorite author. At least she thought he was. She’d seen him reading one of King’s books just a couple of days earlier. She didn’t know anything about King other than that. She had never read a single word of one of his novels. She hated her answer as soon as she said it.

Cahill laughed again. "Wow. They teach Stephen at Columbia? What about me?” He asked playfully. In that moment, he knew that she wasn’t a lit major. He was all but certain that she didn’t read Stephen King. No offense to Stephen, Davison thought, but horror and Carla didn’t go together.

Carla laughed, following Davison's lead. "You'd be surprised what they teach at Columbia. And, I don't remember seeing a class on your books." That was true.

Davison smiled. Carla couldn't help herself she smiled back and decided that Davison Cahill wasn't so bad after all.

Being the only guests at the Carson's apartment, they chatted about random things.

"How many books have you written?"

"I've had forty-three published so far."

"And how many have landed on the Times list?"

"Forty."

"What happened to the other three?"

"Those were early works, two in high school and one in college. I got better," he said with a grin.

"You wrote two books in high school?" She said without trying to hide her surprise. She thought of authors as old people and books as being for old people. The idea of a high school student writing a book was shocking.

"Yep."

Carla shook her head in amazement. "I think I wrote two book reports in high school."

Davison laughed. Carla liked it. It was genuine. Carla was pretty…beautiful…and she’d learned when people, guys, were laughing just to try to get to know her in ways she wasn’t interested in and when they were being sincere. She decided that Davison was in the sincere minority.

Drawing Carla into a playful conspiracy, Cahill moved close to her, like a confidant, and asked, "Do you think there'll be anybody else younger than fifty here tonight, besides us?"

She played along. "Not a chance," she said as she shook her head. “Definitely an AARP crowd.” That made Davison laugh.

Davison didn’t ask the obvious question, why Carla was at this party. It didn’t matter. She was as close to a peer as he was going to find that evening. The party hadn’t even started and he was already enjoying her company. 

The first guests arrived precisely at 6:30pm. Davison and Carla remained standing together. Drinks began to be served. Cahill's preference was a top-shelf Jimmy Buffet margarita, two extra shots of Don Julio tequila, on the rocks with salt. The drink waiter asked Carla what she was having. She asked for iced tea, unsweetened. He looked expectantly at Cahill, having been told what to expect. Cahill thought for a moment and said, "I'll have the same. Iced tea. Unsweetened."

The waiter was surprised but didn't show it and moved to fill the order.

"You don't have to do that on my account." Carla said.

"That's OK. I don't mind. Besides, the under-40 crowd, if you can call two a crowd, has to stick together. Plus, I’m from Texas and we’re big on iced tea in Texas. You’d fit right in.” 

Davison Cahill became the center of attention. As more guests arrived, Carla was pushed farther and farther out until she eventually was like a castaway. She found an out-of-the-way chair and sat down, holding her glass of iced tea, barely touched.

They had a moment to themselves. As they chatted, certain things became obvious. But still, Davison smiled.

Carla smiled back. "I guess you can tell that I'm not a literature major."

Davison smiled. "Yeah. I kind of figured that. And no offense, but you don’t strike me as a Stephen King fan.”

“I’m not. My dad is. At least I think he is. It was the only name I could think of. I do go to Columbia. But, I'm not graduating this semester." She didn't say anything more and he didn't ask.

The table in the dining room was massive and immaculate. Seating for thirty-two was perfectly set. Carla took a moment to appreciate it. However, the room itself was small for a table of that size, making for a cozy feeling if that was possible for thirty-two guests.

Then Carla complemented Brenda on the table. "This is impressive. It seems like yours always are, Mrs. Carson. You seem to have a gift when it comes to this."

"Thank you, Carla. It's as much art as anything. It's not hard, not nearly as hard as you might think. It just takes a little imagination. Except for one thing. What do you think is the most important part of the table?"

Carla stumbled to answer and eventually shook her head, "I…I have no idea." Brenda walked to one seating and picked up the place card and held it up.

"This. This is the most important thing on the table. It's how I manage the dinner." Carla raised an eyebrow at that statement. “Putting these on the table takes conviction. Somebody’s going to be unhappy however you arrange them.”

Carla said nothing.

Brenda moved around the table, picked up the place card to the right of Davison Cahill's and replaced it with another. She walked all the way around the table and placed the remaining card in her hand at the remaining seat. Then, she came around to Carla, put her arm around her shoulders again and said, "You can thank me later." 

Carla walked around the table and stood behind the chair for the guest of honor, Davison Cahill. She looked at the name on the place card to the right and was shocked. It read "Carla Cabot." Carla smiled. Davison Cahill, without even knowing it, had put her in a prime seat at the table. 

Davison was surprised, pleasantly so, at his dinner companion. He understood the etiquette of the table, turned to Brenda Carson, flashed a smile and subtly nodded his head. He knew what she had done. 

Carla's gaze was drawn to her parents who were seated across the table and toward Brenda Carson. They both had surprised looks on their faces at where their daughter was seated. All Carla could do was smile and give a slight shrug of her shoulders. She was sure that the cab ride home with them would be interesting.

The dinner conversation was light and the mood significantly brightened. Davison Cahill answered questions from all across the table.

The questions were the usual social softballs.

"What are you working on?"

"How many hours do you write a day?"

"How do you come up with your ideas?"

"Which authors do you like to read?"

"Are they going to make movies from any of your books?"

"What's Texas like?"

"Where did you grow up?"

"How many books have you written?"

"Which of your books is your favorite?"

"Sorry about saying I was a lit major," Carla said to Davison. "I…I guess I wanted to fit in with the one person close to my age."

Davison didn't hold it against her. "That's OK. Lit majors are overrated." He rolled his eyes and nodded his head toward the trio of academics next to him. Carla laughed. Carla discovered that she liked Davison. Beyond making her laugh, he didn’t embarrass her, even in private, by pointing out that she’d lied about being a lit major. Even in catching her in a lie, he made her feel welcome.

Then he asked a direct question, "Carla, why are you here? I know why I’m here, at least I think I do. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you are. I'm having a great time. It's just that this doesn't seem like your kind of party, nobody here is in your league."

Carla smiled and thought, ‘Is he flirting with me?’

She answered his question directly, "The flu."

"I don't understand,” he replied with a puzzled expression.

"Spring Break is next week. I was supposed to be in Ft. Lauderdale with seven of my friends. Unfortunately, six of them got the flu. I had nothing better to do, so I went shopping and came here." She pointed to her dress.

“You certainly picked a stunning dress,” Cahill said. “No, that’s…that’s not true. You picked a dress that you make look stunning.”

‘Oh, my gosh,” Carla thought. ‘He is flirting with me.’

Then Carla noticed that Davison wasn't simply turning his head to talk to her, but he had actually shifted his chair so that he was, more or less, facing her. She noticed that he had hardly eaten anything. He didn't strike her as a light eater. Did such a person exist in Texas she wondered?

“You asked me, so, I’ll ask you. Why are you here?”

Davison blew out a deep breath. “Because I said I’d be here. I didn’t want to be here. I…I…I don’t know why I even agreed to begin with. No offense to the Carsons, they’ve been great hosts. Ultimately, I guess I’m here because my editor shamed me into keeping my commitment. But, I have to say, the destination has really made the trip worth it.”

“I don’t understand,” Carla said with a confused expression.

Davison smiled, “One of my philosophies is that you wait until you’ve reached your destination to decide if the trip was worth it. And this trip was definitely worth it.”

Carla asked, genuinely not understanding, “And what’s the destination that makes this trip worth it?”

“You. I'm sorry about the flu and the busted Spring Break, but I'm glad you went shopping and came to dinner. You're definitely the destination."

‘Oh my gosh," she thought again. ‘He really is flirting with me.’

She drew attention to his plate. "You're not eating much. Do you not like it?"

Davison looked at his plate for a moment, "Oh, it's OK. It's food. Looks like you're not eating much either." Carla looked at her plate and was surprised to see that it was in about the same state as Davison's.

"No. There's always brunch tomorrow," she said. Then she wondered where that came from as soon as she said it; had no idea why she said it. Am I flirting with him, she wondered?

"I like brunch. Actually, I like breakfast for dinner sometimes."

"Really? Like what?"

"Homemade biscuits. Not the fake kind in a can. French toast. I have a killer recipe for Mexican chocolate French toast. I got it from Bobby Flay.”

“Yeah, my mom gets recipes from some of his cookbooks, too.”

“I got this one straight from Bobby at his house.”

“You’ve been to Bobby Flay’s house?” Davison nodded. "Mexican chocolate French toast. That sounds really good." She had noticed that he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. She took a risk and added, “I’ll bet your girlfriend likes that.”

“I’ll bet she would, if I had one,” Davison answered. Carla noticed a change in his demeanor. He seemed kind of sad when he said that. His expression in that moment was so unlike everything else she’d seen from him. It sounded almost like regret to her. On the other hand, she thought, he was unattached. Her question to herself was what, if anything, was she was going to do with that. An idea began to form in her mind. 

Eventually, the dinner ended. Brenda surveyed the diners and, when she concluded that they were done, or at least mostly done, she stood up and announced that drinks and coffee were in the main room. Everyone got up from the table. 

Brenda introduced Davison to Carla's parents. "Davison, this is William and Erica Cabot. Carla Cabot is their daughter." Davison shook hands with both. Carla was very nervous. She didn't know what Davison was going to say about their conversations during the party and at dinner.

"I just want to tell you how much I've enjoyed talking with your daughter," he said, drawing attention to Carla. "She made the evening a lot of fun."

The party began to wind down. Couples began to leave. Once the first pair left, a wave of departures began. There were "thanks" and "good nights" said. Davison chatted with a few people as they made ready to leave. Carla drifted between standing alone and standing with her parents while they talked with other couples.

Finally, Davison and Carla found themselves standing alone, chatting, but about nothing in particular. Carla had been forming an idea since his mention of Mexican chocolate French toast and the fact that he didn’t have a girlfriend. She was going to do something daring. She was going to ask Davison Cahill, maybe the best writer of his generation…maybe in the world, to Sunday brunch. She’d lied about her age, lied about graduating, and lied about her major, but none of that mattered. All that mattered was asking the question.

Suddenly, though, she had a problem. She heard her mother and father thank Brenda and Darrell for the evening and for inviting Carla. Then her parents began to walk toward her. She knew that she would be expected to leave with them. She had run out of time and she began to panic. The moment she had been building to was about to slip away from her...forever. Davison Cahill would go back to Texas and she’d never see him again.

She looked in desperation across the room to Brenda Carson. They locked gazes. Brenda saw Carla's expression and understood in ways that only a woman’s intuition could. She gave Carla an ‘are you kidding me’ look, then quickly recovered and said, "William, Erica, one last thing. Do you have a minute?"

Brenda had thrown Carla a lifeline and they both knew it. It was now or never for Carla. She looked directly at Davison in their private moment. "This has been a lot of fun" she said. “I’ll be honest, I wasn’t excited about coming here, but I’m so glad I did, so glad I met you.” Then she took a deep breath and before Davison could speak, said "Davison, would you like to have brunch with me tomorrow? 10:30? Balthazar? They have a great French toast." She took in a deep breath without looking or sounding like she took in a deep breath. She was almost desperate to look away. She was proud that she’d asked but afraid of what his answer might be. But, she didn’t look away. She held Davison's gaze with hers.

Then, Davison flashed a boyish smile and asked, “Are you asking me out on a date?”

Carla was surprised by the response but before she could think of an answer, her mind reacted and playfully replied, “I guess that depends.”

“On what?” Davison asked, still smiling.

“Your answer. If you say ‘yes,’ then it’s a date.”

“And if I say ‘no?’” He playfully replied.

Carla’s mind was desperately trying to catch up, but her words came out faster, “Then it was just brunch.”

Her invitation hung in the air for what seemed like minutes, but was, in reality, only seconds. "Then let’s call it a date. I had a great evening, too. I didn’t want to be here, either. But I’m glad I was. Brunch. Tomorrow. 10:30. Balthazar. I'll be there." They smiled at each other. There would be a tomorrow for them. Then the next-to-last couple interrupted to say goodbye to the guest of honor. It didn’t matter to Carla. She didn’t hear them. Carla hadn’t heard anything Davison had said after ‘Let’s call it a date.’ She had a…a date and that’s what it was…with Davison Cahill. Carla managed to look past the couple to Brenda Carson who cast a questioning glance at her while still chatting with William and Erica. Carla smiled broadly and silently mouthed "thank you". Brenda smiled in reply, nodded, and sent Carla's parents on their way toward their daughter.