A Song for Julia

Not a three hundred dollar dinner. This was the kind of place you took someone to propose, not a first date.
    Just as we were finishing dessert, and he was paying the check, he said, “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Our talk on the train piqued my curiosity, so I looked up Harry Easton. Do you know he’s in the United States as well?”
    I swallowed and took a drink of water. My dinner suddenly felt like lead in my stomach. “Oh?” I asked, trying to keep my voice natural.
    “Yes, he’s a junior attaché at Her Majesty’s Consulate in New York. He sounded quite surprised to hear from me.”
    “I can only imagine,” I said, trying my hardest not to vomit all over the remains of our desserts. I set down my glass because my hand was shaking, and I couldn’t stop it. I put my hands in my lap, gripping them into fists.
    “He told me to tell you he missed you,” Barrett said.
    “You told him that you knew me,” I said, my voice flat.
    “Well, of course. You two were old schoolmates after all.”
    I looked over at the wall, my eye tracing the fine moldings that ran up the corner to the ceiling. I didn’t think about Harry. Ever, if I could avoid it. I certainly didn’t want to have any contact with him, ever again. I wondered if this was what Sean felt like, unable to look people in the eye.
    “I wish you hadn’t done that,” I said, keeping my voice low and calm.
    “Oh, no,” he said. “Was there some bad blood? I wasn’t aware, he seemed delighted to hear you were doing well.”
    I swallowed, then looked at him and told a bald-faced lie. “We didn’t know each other that well, I’m a lot younger than he is.”
    He looked doubtful but chose not to pursue it. I really, really wanted to go home. The thought of Barrett discussing me with Harry all these years later? It was making me physically ill.
    “Excuse me for a moment,” I said. “I need to freshen up.”
    I stood abruptly and walked toward the back of the dining room, then to the restrooms. Inside, I sat down, arms wrapped around my stomach and squeezed my eyes shut.
    Harry Easton was my first love, but that wasn’t why I reacted this way. There was no feeling of that kind left. None at all. Nothing but revulsion and … fear? I tried to avoid it and not think about it. But it was true. Even after all these years, I was still terrified of him.
    I was only fourteen when I met Harry. I was a little girl. A very sheltered little girl. Until we went to Beijing, I’d never had a reason to distrust. Or fear. Or hate.
    Now I felt all of those things. All because of Harry.
    I was not going to cry. I was not going to let him ruin anything in my life, ever again.
    I took a deep breath to steady myself and stood. The girl in the mirror wasn’t a scared, tiny fourteen-year-old girl. The woman in the mirror was twenty-two, valedictorian at one of the best high schools in America, a top student at Harvard University, and no one, not Harry Easton, not my mother, not anyone, was ever going to push me around like that again.
    Okay. I was calm. It didn’t matter what Barrett had said to Harry, or what he hadn’t said. I was done thinking about that asshole.
    So, I was feeling much better when I went back out. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be going out with Barrett again. Simply because he’d bored me to tears. But I would be pleasant and try to enjoy myself for the rest of the night, anyway.
    “Sorry about that,” I said, taking my seat again.
    “Feeling all right?”
    “I am.”
    “Are you up to some music? There’s a local band I’ve heard good things about, it’s close by.”
    “Okay, that sounds good.”
    Barrett was gentlemanly to a fault and helped me into my wrap as we went out. By the time we got to the door, his driver was pulling up. So we slid into the backseat and rode the few blocks to The Lansdowne.
    “Have you been here before?” he asked.
    “Yes, quite a lot,” I said. “Sometimes the music is hit and miss. They’ve booked some pretty bad bands here occasionally.”
    “Ah, you’re a music connoisseur.”
    “I’m a complete snob when it comes to music,” I said.
    “But not about other things, I hope.” He was smiling gently as he spoke, and he had a look in his eye that told me he was still hoping to score. I needed to wean him off that idea. Because it was not going to happen.
    Five minutes later we were inside, after he got us past the line by means of a sizable bribe to the doorman. And it became very clear, very