The Jinx

Thirty-Five

“G ypsies?” I repeated in disbelief.

But sure enough, there they were, in the corner of the suite’s living room. A quartet of white-coated men, playing “Fascination” on a quartet of violins. The table was set with white linen and crystal and silver-domed serving platters. A bottle of champagne stood waiting in an ice bucket next to a vase holding at least three dozen red roses.

Peter was trying to take off my coat. “Just like the movie, right?” he asked eagerly.

It was perfect. I was speechless.

The speechlessness, however, lasted all of five seconds.

“WHERE. DO. YOU. GET. OFF?”

I shook my arm from his grasp.

“What?” he asked, stepping back, a look of concern washing over his face. “What do you mean? What’s wrong? And why do you have twigs in your hair?”

“And you,” I said in the direction of the Gypsies, who, on closer inspection, weren’t really Gypsies. In fact, one was a woman and another was Korean. “Please stop playing.” The music skidded to a halt.

“But, Rachel-” Peter began.

“Now, you look here. This doesn’t make up for anything.”

“Make up for what-”

“I can’t even begin to describe the weekend I’ve had. I’ve been chased by serial killers. I’ve been attacked by überdork egomaniacs. And cats named after Dynasty characters. I’ve had to thwart a hostile takeover single-handedly. I had to drive stick, in the world’s cheesiest expensive car, and you would think that a car that expensive would at least include an automatic transmission, but oh no, it doesn’t, so I had to drive in reverse. And then there was no Diet Coke-”

“Rachel-”

“-I had to drink Tab instead. Tab sucks. And my suit is ruined, and so are my shoes. And to top it all off, you’re missing in action. No, you’re not missing in action. You’re worse than missing in action-”

“Rachel-”

“-you’re sashaying around Boston with Abigail, buying her jewelry and making out in malls.”

“Sashaying?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Sashaying,” I said. “And have I mentioned how many people I’ve kicked in the balls in the last twenty-four hours? Two people, Peter. I’ve kicked two people in the balls. And I still have one good shoe. Maybe I should make it three. Do you want me to make it three-”

“Rachel-”

“And you didn’t even call,” I concluded, forlorn. “I mean, it’s all my fault, because I jinxed everything, but still…”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Are you done?” he asked.

I scowled up at him.

“First of all, what do you mean I didn’t call?”

“You didn’t call. Oh, except for lame messages here at the hotel, where you knew you wouldn’t have to talk to me in person.”

“I called. But I think there’s something wrong with your cell phone. For the last couple of days I call and I just get a strange buzzing noise. Except for yesterday, when you told me you’d call me back. And didn’t. And then your phone doesn’t even go into voice mail. Are you sure it’s working?”

“Humph.” A likely story. Although, my trusty Blackberry had been through a lot of late. And its collision with the wall after yesterday’s board meeting probably hadn’t been good for it. And I had been dropping it a lot. And there had been a strange dearth of messages, not only from Peter, but from anyone at all. In fact, its performance had been nothing short of erratic.

“And when I e-mail you, the messages get bounced back. Is your e-mail on the fritz, too?”

E-mail, too, had been strangely empty of late. I might have to learn how to stop throwing my communications gadgets at unyielding objects.

“Then I called the hotel this morning, and you grunted and hung up on me.”

“That wasn’t you. That was the wake-up call. And I didn’t grunt.”

“You grunted.”

“I didn’t grunt. Anyhow, that’s neither here nor there.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, you’ve been totally AWOL. In ‘negotiations’ with Abigail. Nothing requires that much negotiating.”

He unfolded his arms and ran both hands through his hair. “Do you want to know what I was really negotiating?”

“Yes. No. I guess.”

“I-we-my company, has bought another company. It was going to be a surprise.”

“Why? Why did it have to be a surprise?”

“Because they’re based in New York.”

“So?”

“So, now I can move to New York.”

“Why would you want to move to New York?”

“Are you a complete idiot?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“If that’s an apology for being missing in action for the last four days, it’s not a very good one.”

“Rachel,” Peter said, speaking slowly and evenly, clearly struggling to keep his temper in check. “I want to move to New York so that I can be with you.”

“Why would you want to be with me when you’re so busy canoodling with Abigail-”

“-I thought I was sashaying with Abigail-”

“-or is she moving to New York, too?”

He took a deep breath. “Rachel, Abigail is not moving to New York. She’s going to stay in San Francisco and run everything there.”

“Well, good for her. I’m sure everyone in San Francisco will be very impressed by all of her new jewelry.”

“Now what are you talking about?”

“You. Buying Abigail jewelry. Jane and Luisa saw you on Newbury Street. Then we all saw you in Copley Place. Coming out of Tiffany’s. And making out.”

“Rachel, we weren’t making out,” he started to say, but then he made an odd choking noise. “We weren’t making out,” he said again, but he made the choking noise again. Then he started to laugh.

“This is funny?”

He was laughing too hard to speak. He just nodded.

“You really think this is funny.”

“Absolutely,” he managed to get out between spasms of hilarity.

“That’s it. I’m out of here.”

“It’s your suite.”

“Fine. You’re out of here.” I threw open the closet door and pulled out his suitcase.

“Rachel. Abigail is gay.”

“What?” I asked from the closet, where I was busily pulling his clothes off hangers.

“Abigail is gay.”

I stopped pulling clothes off hangers. “Really?”

“Really.”

Suddenly I remembered Luisa’s comment from the previous day, her suggestion that maybe we were on the wrong track. Was this what she’d meant?

“But then why were you buying her jewelry? And making out with her?”

“We weren’t making out. I’m pretty sure that what you saw was an innocent kiss on the cheek, viewed from the wrong angle. And we weren’t buying her jewelry.”

“Then why were you hitting every jewelry store in town?”

“Abigail was-Abigail has great taste. She was helping me.”

“Helping you what?” I demanded, spinning around to face him, hands on hips.

“Oh, crap. This isn’t how I wanted to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Look, Rachel.” He nodded to the Gypsies, who’d been watching our exchange in awed silence. “I had a whole speech planned.”

“Just break up with me already!”

“You’re impossible!”

“No, you’re impossible!”

“You’re more-never mind.”

He sank onto one knee and the Gypsies began to play.

“Rachel. Will you marry me?”