Page 95 of College Town

“Good. I wasn’t trying to be.” Her smile widens, flashing teeth, and it’s not friendly in the least. “What do you boys have planned for tonight? Dinner and a show? The opera? A little light pistol-whipping?”

Lawson chokes down a laugh.

Tommy blushes. “Uh, well, I’m not really–”

Belatedly, Lawson recalls Dana always had the ability to turn both Cattaneo boys into stuttering messes: Noah because he had a crush on her, Tommy because she was even sharper and feistier than him and he could dish it out but could never take it.

“I didn’t tell her anything,” Lawson says.

Dana pinches his arm, hard.

“I’m dead to that now,” he says. “Pinch away.”

“We have…dinner,” Tommy says awkwardly. “With a client.”

Dana smiles like a shark. “Sounds fun. You boys be safe, now.” She turns, stands up on her toes, and kisses Lawson’s cheek. Before she pulls away, she whispers, “Be careful.”

He nods.

“I’ll check in on your mom and dad,” she says in a normal tone, drawing her jacket on.

“You don’t have to leave on my account,” Tommy says.

She ignores him.

Lawson says, “You don’t need to do that.”

“I will,” she insists. “Your Dad wanted to give Leo some of his military history books, anyway. They’re gonna start up a book club.”

“Oh, God.”

She grins, truly this time. “It’s cute. Those two get on like a house a’fire.” She flips her hair out of her collar and shoots Tommy one last glittering, poisonous smile. “Good to see you again, Kitty Cat.”

Her high heels clip away toward the door, and a moment later, the bell jangles.

Tommy swallows with an audible click. “Okay. So. She’s terrifying.”

“Still think she and Nat ought to meet?”

“No,” Tommy says emphatically. “They’d start World War Three.”

~*~

At first, Lawson thinks the suit is red. But when he gets it out and angles it toward the light, he realizes its weave is a blend of black and the same deep burgundy as Tommy’s shirt and shoes, and he almost shoves it back in the bag and calls Tommy to ask if he’s insane. They’re going tomatch. What the fuck?

But he puts it on, over his black shirt, black tie, and finds that the fine Italian leather black shoes in the bottom of the bag fit him like a glove. There’s a tube of hair crème, too, and he makes wry faces at himself in the mirror in the shop bathroom while he styles himself up.

As presentable as he can manage on his own, he drives to the mansion.

When he presses the gate buzzer, Noah’s voice crackles through: “Damn. I was hoping you died.”

“I almost did,” Lawson says easily, “your mom’s a real tiger in bed.”

“Don’t ever talk about my mother,” Noah says. There’s a robotic hum, and the gate swings open.

He doesn’t make it to the garage today. A man in a suit waves him to the right at the fork in the drive, and he turns into a looping turnaround that circles a fountain comprised of cherubs spitting and pouring water from jugs. (Who the hell built this house originally?)

A black Navigator waits idling, gray exhaust snaking from the tailpipes in the sunset chill. Tommy’s standing against it, hands in his coat pockets, waiting for him.

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