All Wrapped Up

He opened the door and let her go ahead of him. Hopefully they could get through the meal without a trip down memory lane. He wasn’t proud of the way he’d broken off their relationship, but it wouldn’t do his cause any good to rehash it.

The restaurant wasn’t crowded. Less than half of the round tables with green-and-white-checkered tablecloths were occupied. Nick spotted an empty one against the far wall.

“Okay if we sit over there, Tony?” he asked the lean, hawk-nosed waiter with a white apron tied tightly around his waist.

“Sure thing, Nick.”

He guided Liv over to the table, leery of putting his hand on her arm again. Tonight he had to concentrate on getting her help. When he took her coat, he noticed Liv was wearing a black turtleneck like armor under her sweater.

“He knows you by name?” she asked. “Have you been working in Chicago long enough to be chummy with waiters?”

“I’ve been at the Post since September. Once people find out I’m a sportswriter, they like talking to me. Everyone in Chicago thinks and lives sports.”

“I don’t,” she said dryly.

“You used to love baseball,” he reminded her.

“I’ve grown up. I don’t have time for games.”

He was pretty sure she was playing one now, but he didn’t know what the rules were yet. She knew he wanted something from her. If she hated him so much, why was she here? He was a little nervous about it, which was pretty unusual for him.

Tony came over to the table with spicy Italian sausages standing on end in a basket, a tradition at the Milano, and a small loaf of hard-crusted bread on a wooden board.

“What can I get you and the pretty lady to drink, Nick?”

“A bottle of Chianti, unless you’d like something else?” he asked Liv.

“Whatever you want,” she said indifferently.

She seemed determined not to enjoy having dinner with him, but Nick liked a challenge. Liv was going to have a good time if he had to do handstands on the table to amuse her. He realized he wanted to please her, and it had nothing to do with his job.

He sliced the bread and pushed it toward her, then picked up a sausage and chewed it with relish.

“These are delicious. Try one.”

She hesitated. Given her mood, he expected a lecture on eating fatty food, but instead she chose one of the meat sticks and delicately nibbled at it.

“It is good.” She sounded surprised.

He watched her lips pucker around the finger-shaped sausage. If she was trying to torment him, she’d succeeded. She looked sexier munching the sausage than she had in a skimpy bra, and he was getting hard against his will. He adjusted the tablecloth to make sure it was covering his lap.

“Try the bread,” he suggested.

He wasn’t sure how he could persuade her to help him, but he had to stay focused. Liv was pretty much his last chance.

Tony came with the wine, popping the cork before he set it on the table. He poured an inch of the red liquid into a goblet and handed it to Nick.

Nick was no connoisseur, but he knew the taste test was part of the ritual. He sipped and pronounced the wine satisfactory, then watched as the waiter poured for Liv.

“Cheers,” Nick said, raising his glass.

“Could we see a menu, please?” Liv asked, halfheartedly raising her glass to his.

“There aren’t any menus,” Nick quickly said. “Tony will tell us what’s good today.”

“You got a game to cover tonight?” the waiter asked, not concealing his disappointment at their unseemly haste.

Nick knew a good Italian dinner was supposed to be an event that took hours. The Milano was a great place to bring a date when he was trying to get lucky. A couple of bottles of wine and some groping under the table, and anything could happen.

That wasn’t why he was here with Liv. She was still the kind of woman who wanted to settle down—not that he didn’t plan to himself sometime in the future, but definitely not now. First he wanted to make a reputation and get a shot at a local column, then maybe syndication or a chance to be an editor. He wasn’t as driven as some reporters, but he was ambitious.

“My friend has to catch a train,” Nick explained.

“Yeah, I guess the weather is going to get worse,” Tony said. “Lousy climate for human beings. If the Cubs ever leave town, I’m outta here.”

“So what do you recommend?” Nick asked, trying not to watch as Liv devoured another sausage with puckered lips and licked away the grease with the tip of her tongue. Lips like hers were wasted on a stick of meat.

“Prawns in garlic butter and linguini with clam sauce.”

Tony was telling them what to have, not offering choices, but he never steered Nick wrong.

“Sounds great,” Nick agreed. “Is that all right with you, Liv?”

He knew she loved prawns, and linguini with clam sauce was one of her favorites. He was surprised when she rejected the waiter’s suggestions.

“I’d like a plate of spaghetti with meat sauce and garlic bread. Lots of garlic bread.”

She smiled sweetly at the waiter and gave Nick a defiant look. He had a bad feeling. She wasn’t going to be convinced of anything tonight. Worse, he was more interested in talking with her than in convincing her to help him. He remembered how much he used to enjoy her lively conversation and humorous take on things.

By the time he’d refilled her wineglass three times to his one, Nick was pretty sure he was going to strike out on enlisting Liv’s help. Among other things, his timing was bad. She wasn’t taking her parents’ divorce at all well.

“Are your parents really happy now?” she asked after they’d pretty much covered their careers for the last five years including her worries about losing her job.

“I think so,” he said, glad he could give her some reassurance. “Mom seems to like her new husband. Dad’s wife is forty trying to look twenty, but they enjoy going to flea markets and auctions together.”

Tony brought their meals in record time. Nick loaded up on prawns and pasta because the waiter, who was also part owner, took it personally if customers didn’t stuff themselves. Liv inhaled the spaghetti and drank more wine with uncharacteristic gusto.

“I’m really good at what I do,” she said. “I should be vice president instead of that prick Boz.”

Nick suspected she was drunk. The prim-and-proper Liv that he knew thought a prick was something you got from a thorn.

Would he be evil if he took advantage of her unhappiness at work to get what he wanted? His editor would say, “Get the story regardless of what you have to do.” But this was Liv, and he wasn’t sure how far he should go.

“I’m supposed to loosen up, be more spontaneous…. Kind of like you,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.

“Is that why you were doing a striptease in your office?”

“He wanted me to ask my intern for hints on how to dress!” She put down her fork and bristled with indignation. “That blond babe is after my job!”