Part 11
The very next day I found myself on a train to Brighton. I had no plans to see Grant, but I was irreparably drawn to him. I walked for hours up and down the streets, hoping I would casually run into him.
It was a ridiculous notion. Brighton was a city with a hundred thousand people. Even at his rotund size, Grant would still be lost in the lunch crowd bodies walking down the street. I grabbed the afternoon train back home to Newport and moped.
The next morning I did the same thing, taking the 9am train to Brighton. I stepped off the train and took a deep breath. How many times was I going to do this until I checked myself into an asylum? I walked down the same streets again, looking in store windows and wondering what I was going to do with my life.
I found myself heading down the block where Grant's new campaign office was located. I walked past the entrance as my heart pounded. I imagined he might look out the window, see me walk by, and come racing out the door after me to tell me his life was miserable without me. But with each step I took, there was no tap on the shoulder, no touch on my arm... just a sea of nameless faces on an unfamiliar street.
I came to the end of the block and there was a small corner deli. I was craving some cold caffeine and peered through the window to see if it was open. But all I saw was a young woman behind me, reflected in the glass window.
I turned around to see who she was, but she wasn't there. I turned back and realized it was actually my reflection in the window. I honestly had almost forgotten what I looked like. Since the day I kissed Grant and he rejected me, I had begun to disassociate with Nora and separate her bleach blonde Barbie image from my true self. And I started to wonder if maybe the whole heartbreaking debacle had somehow translated into this feeling of loss. It was at that moment that I knew I was in love with him. How else could someone take a part of me with him like that?
When I came out of my dazed realization and glanced down the street, I saw a very big guy waddling down the street toward me. I looked away, looked back, blinked, and he was gone. I figured that my muddled mind was continuing to play tricks on me. Just wishful thinking, I thought to myself.
I turned back to the window, caught my reflection again, and then saw a much larger figure behind mine. I was snapped out of my self-reflective stupor by a wonderfully rich voice, "They have good sandwiches."
Looking toward the voice, I saw that I hadn't been dreaming. Grant stood next to me with a charming, smirky grin.
"Oh, uh, hi, Mr. Winters," I stuttered. I hoped he hadn't seen me gazing at myself in the window. He had already suspected I was a narcissistic, self-involved bimbo. And I was in love with him, of all the luck.
"You can call me Grant now," he smiled. He seemed less grumpy than I was used to. And he was even more handsome than when I last saw him that awful Sunday a few weeks before. His hair shone in the autumn afternoon sunlight and face was open and sweeter.
The fog suddenly lifted from my brain. Grant was like an anti-depressant. When he came close to me I felt alive again. "Oh, uh, sorry... Grant," I smiled sheepishly.
"It's just that you always asked me to call you Nora, I thought it was funny that... oh whatever," he tried to explain but my shocked and vacant expression probably further cemented his opinion that I lacked any real substance. "So what are you doing in Brighton?"
I hadn't even thought of what I would say if I ran into him. Several years of living the undercover life should have trained me to think on my feet, but it didn't help me in that disorienting moment. "Um," I stammered, "I was hoping I would see you," letting the truth spill right out of my mouth.
He cocked his head, "Really?"
"Yes," I smiled, without more explanation. It was too late to backpedal but I didn't have to elaborate and incriminate myself as hopelessly in love either.
He continued to look at me with a bewildered look on his face. "We're you going to get lunch?" I asked, pointing into the deli.
He nodded, "Yeah, I was just going to grab something quick," he started to explain.
"I'm starving, you mind if I come in with you?" I asked, hoping I wasn't totally intruding on his busy schedule.
"Not at all," he opened the door and waved me in like a gentleman.
"What's good?" I asked him.
"They're known for their corned beef, but that might not be your thing. I like the club," he paused, looking more at the menu, "and the BLT is good too." It was very cute that he was already well versed on the menu. I glanced down his body, blissfully noting that he obviously hadn't been missing any lunches either.
"I'm more of a turkey girl," I admitted.
He smiled knowingly, "You look like more of a turkey girl."
"And what does a turkey girl look like?" I queried this oddly personal remark.
"Well, you don't look like you eat a lot of fatty foods," he laughed.
I felt shivers down my spine at his use of the term 'fatty.' "I can hold my own," I joked, knowing that it wasn't true.
He glanced down at my body with a friendly grin and walked up to order for both of us. I reached in my purse and he put his hand out to stop me, "My treat."
"Thank you," I smiled up at him. He seemed quite different than the tough guy I was used to seeing at the campaign office.
"It's the least I could do," he said, "I know I wasn't easy to work for."
"I didn't mind," I assured him. It was true. I suppose I would have been miserable if I were actually a young Freedomist struggling to move up in a competitive environment, but I didn't have that pressure. Not to mention that Grant was so physically my type that he could have treated my like complete garbage and I still would have enjoyed watching him lumber around the office.
He apparently recognized that I wasn't easily intimidated, "You never lost your cool, Nora, I'll give you that. You'll do well in this business with your nerves of steel. Davis should give you the Communications Manager job," he was suddenly heaping more praise on me than I could have ever imagined. I felt like falling out of my chair, but I stayed unaffected.
"Actually, I just quit the campaign," I informed him.
"What?" his face turned to shock. "Why would you do that? He's about to win in a landslide...are you crazy?"
"I must be," I shrugged my shoulders with a smile.
"Honestly, Nora, what is this about? Did he make a pass at you?"
"No, no, nothing like that, I'm just ready for a change," I told him a white lie. "But what about you? You did the same thing, leaving before enjoying the victory party."
"This opportunity was too good to pass up. I like getting exposure in other camps," he admitted, referring to the independent status of his new boss.
"Does your guy have a shot?" I asked.
He shrugged his shoulders, "The two parties are slinging mud like crazy in this one. If that continues, the voters could really latch on to him. But I keep hoping for a scandal to make my job easier," he smiled.
"If you like, I could put on a sexy dress and go see what turns up," I joked, getting imprudently close to revealing my true identity.
"I have no doubt you could," he smiled bigger.
"Are you flirting with me, Grant?" I challenged him with penetrating eyes.
"I wouldn't dare," he fired back, soberly. "Anyway, I wouldn't want to ruin a chance at hiring you."
Just then our order came up and he grabbed the tray, leading us to an open table. I followed behind him, admiring his generous width. I could feel my toes tingle watching him move through the other customers, making room for his big body to sit down.
"You think I'm here for a job?" I asked as we sat.
"Sure," he grabbed his sandwich, unwrapped it and took a big bite.
"No, not really," I admitted. Sure, it would have been nice to work with him again, but I couldn't take his professional distance any longer. I wanted to be with him under more primal circumstances.
"I need a good staff writer," he offered without hearing me. "I know, the pay is terrible with an Independent, but it would be good experience for you. You'd make new contacts, and be exposed to a different electorate, different issues," he took another bite of his sandwich.
"I'm thinking of going to the private sector," I stopped him.
"I don't have as many contacts there," he remained all business.
"Grant, I'm not here for your mentoring or professional courtesy," I stopped him. "I just wanted to see you."
He had the blankest look on his face, like he didn't know what to do with this information. He took another large bite, almost finishing his lunch. I had barely eaten any of mine. He looked at my sandwich and then back at his empty plate, "I guess I'm a fast eater," he looked uncomfortable, shifting in his chair.
"No, I'm a really slow eater," I shrugged, admiring his handsome face.
"And you think you can hold your own in the meat eating department?" he teased me, making me giggle.
Then his face changed to a more serious look. He was quiet for a moment, looked around the room, as if to see if anyone was listening, and leaned in closer to me, "Nora, I'm a really busy guy... I need you to be straight with me. What are you looking for here?"
He wasn't getting it that I was into him. He was so used to everything being about politics that it didn't seem to occur to him that I was looking for something more personal. So I just put it out there, "Would you like to have dinner with me?" I blurted. His face went blank again, so I continued, "I mean, like Friday or Saturday, or whenever? I know you're busy..." I over-explained to fill the void left by his non-response.
"Um, I'm not sure what I have going on," he stammered, "I'll have to get back to you."
Then my earnestness turned quickly to frustration. I had been on the wanting edge for too long with him and my words came out faster than my wits. "Really? Grant? You don't know what you're doing this weekend? I know you've got a campaign to run, but the next several night's events should be set by now." He didn't say anything, with only his blank look to leave me twisting in the wind.
In my exasperation, I continued, "You know, if you are so damn brilliant with what the rest of the world wants, why can't you see what I want?"
"Ms. Stewart," he turned cold to me, like that first night I tried to talk to him at the Duke fundraiser, "It was nice to see you again." He stood up, his face reddening and he started to walk out.
I followed behind him, out the door. "Grant, stop, please," I grabbed his very soft upper arm.
He whipped around and looked at me with his steely eyes, "Don't tangle with me Nora, it won't end well," he hissed.
"What?" I exclaimed, "I hang on to your every word. I was on my knees trying to kiss you. Now I follow you here like a puppy dog and you can't give me the dignity to just come out and tell me that you're not attracted to me?"
"Not attracted to you?" he nearly yelled right there on the street. A few people passing by looked at us with curiosity. He lowered his voice, "I wish it were that simple."
"It really is that simple. I am attracted to you. Are you attracted to me? If yes, great, let's have dinner. If no," I sighed, "I'll be disappointed...very disappointed..." I choked up a little and then cleared my throat, "but I'll leave you alone. Simple, isn't it?"
And then with a twist of the knife, he turned away from me and walked down the street, faster than I had ever seen him walk. My heart sunk as I watched him move heavily down the crowded sidewalk. My heart sunk so deeply that I thought I felt it stop.
But as quickly as I had lost all hope, he turned back around and started toward me, even more quickly, exhibiting an uneasy look on his face and a luxurious jiggle throughout his midsection. Before I could feel any more excitement or despair, he was in front of me. "We can do dinner Saturday night. I have to make an appearance at a fundraiser beforehand, if you don't mind."
Sadness turned to elation and my heart swelled up, "Yes, of course, I don't mind at all!"
"The fundraiser isn't formal," he explained, "Independents don't run in the same circles as Congressman Davis' contributors do. Not that I would mind that dress you wore at the Duke, of course" he corrected himself with a sly grin.
"I'll tone it down a little," I giggled. I was happy to know that at least he had paid attention to what I looked like that first night I saw him.
We agreed to meet near the newspaper stand at the Brighton train station at 6pm, and go to the fundraiser from there. I went back home to Newport that afternoon feeling like a new woman.
