“Or they’ll treat me like shit.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“It’s already happened.”
“What? What do you mean?” Ian sat up. Now he was taking her seriously.
“I hate to tell you this, but certain members of your world have made it clear they don’t want me in it.”
“What do you mean?”
“A couple months ago, I tried coming into your world and I wasn’t allowed in. You think I’m making up being worried about us being a couple?”
“What are you talking about? When do you try to come into my world?”
“Two months ago, I tried to come to the twenty-fifth anniversary party for Asher Construction.”
He narrowed his eyes at her.
“You didn’t come to the party. I was there.”
“I said I ‘tried’ to come. I didn’t make it inside.”
“Chicken out?” He wouldn’t blame her if she did. In October, his father had thrown an anniversary celebration at Portland’s most elegant hotel. It was a black-tie affair and everyone from the mayor of Portland to the coach of the Portland Timbers came. Everyone who worked full-time for Asher Construction had been invited but with the invitation stressing the requirement of formal attire, almost none of the rank-and-file workers had shown up. He’d hoped Flash would show up. He would have given half his salary to see her in a cocktail dress. All night he kept one eye on the door and one eye on whoever he was trying to have a conversation with. But Flash never showed.
“I don’t chicken out,” she said. “I came. I came in a dress, a gorgeous dress Mrs. Scheinberg had lent me. Red, strapless and stunning. I had black elbow gloves. I had my hair professionally done so I looked like a redheaded Twiggy with tattoos. And I showed up at the front door looking like a million dollars and then some. And they wouldn’t let me in.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Security wouldn’t let me in since I hadn’t RSVPed in time. I told them I worked for Asher Construction on the crew. The guy laughed and said, ‘As what?’ I told him I was a welder. He laughed again and said, ‘Sure thing, honey. Nice ink, but the Ashers don’t like crashers.’ He was pretty proud of himself for that one.”
“Fuck.”
“I tried to get him to find your father. I asked for Mr. Asher and some guy came over and said I should probably run along before they had to call the police.”
“Did this man kind of look like Gene Hackman?”
“Yeah, kind of. Had the mean eyes.”
“That’s my dad’s ex-campaign manager, Jimmie Russell. He’s kind of an asshole.”
“I noticed. He and that security guard looked at my tattoos and my piercings and my hair and decided I wasn’t good enough to be in the same room as you and your family. He told me to run along back to my strip club because my pole was waiting for me.”
“He said what?”
“You heard me,” Flash said. “And you want to know the really wild thing?”
“Probably not, but tell me.”
“That dress Mrs. Scheinberg lent me was vintage Givenchy. It cost thousands of dollars when Dr. Scheinberg bought it for Mrs. Scheinberg in 1960. It’s worth a fortune now. I was dressed better than him, your father and you combined.”
“You didn’t deserve that,” Ian whispered, true words but they didn’t seem like enough.
“Nobody does.”
“Men like Russell don’t know something valuable when they see it. But I do.”
“Are you sure about that?”