(no subject)
WHO: Whitney de Winter [YOUNGEST DAUGHTER] and Phillip Cordon [PUSS IN BOOTS]
WHERE: River Cafe, Brooklyn
WHEN: Thursday, March 11; evening [so backdated now :P]
WHAT: A dinner between friends?
RATING: PG-13 for now.
STATUS Partial log & now also in-progress thread.
Tired after the long day spent dealing with his neighbor's menacing dog and the end of his vacation, Phillip thought he was more than due for a break. He had a goal, or rather several. He was going to have a nice dinner tonight, and he was going to prove to Whitney that he was more than capable of being a good, cordial friend. Some goals, of course, are easier to accomplish than others, he thought.
When his car pulled up in front of her hotel, he reached for his cell phone. A smirk made its way to his face as he found her number in his phone's contact list. Waiting for her to answer was the hardest part, because he was so looking forward to their dinner and the chance to talk with her, to see her in person. He had been half tempted to bring along some sort of obnoxious rock music just to convince her that he knew how to loosen up around people he trusted, but he had resisted, sympathy for the company driver in the front seat of the car outweighing his need to convince her of who he was. There would be time for that later. Thankfully she answered quickly and was soon coming out of the hotel to meet him.
"Right, on my way out," Whitney said before she ended the call and slid her cell phone into her purse, pulling the belt of her leather trench tight to ward off the cold. Responding cheerfully to the doorman as held the door, she ran her hand once more through her hair before she walked outside to meet the car and Phillip. Not that she cared that much what she looked like, she wasn't out to impress him. She wasn't. Been there, done that, and tonight wasn't going to be that sort of 'dinner' if she could help it. They were just going to play nice as he was so insistent that he wanted to and that they could accomplish it.
Treating Phillip to the same cheerful smile initially as he stepped out and held the car door for her, the expression warmed considerably despite herself as she gave him a once over. Impeccably turned out as always, the dark green button down shirt and charcoal tones of his jacket definitely suited him. Damn the man.
"Nice shoes," she murmured with a smirk as she slipped past him into the car.
"Hey Ralph, how's Marie and the kids?" she asked as she sat her purse to the side and leaned forward to smile at the driver.
"Great as always, Miss de Winter. The youngest landed a part in the school play, a big part from what she's described."
"Tell her congrats from me and give me the date of opening night sometime tonight, every aspiring actress should get flowers on opening night."
Waving off the driver's polite, no doubt perceived as expected, objections, she settled back into her seat and turned to Phillip.
"So, where to?"
Phillip sat there in a state of awe, listening as Whitney conversed with the driver with such grace and elegance that was clear that she viewed the man as an equal. Coming from a working man's background, Phillip had always done the same, but it was always surprisingly refreshing to see someone as privileged as Whitney had been growing up to be so kind and down to earth. They were all the same, from the doorman to the driver to them, and he admired her for seeing what so many could not.
“It's a surprise.” He winked at her, turning his phone off now that she was in the car. He snorted softly when she complimented him on the shoes. Not an overly trend or name brand man, he bought things because they looked simple and elegant and made him look better, not noticing the name on the label, but the stores that he shopped at tended to have nice things that made his choices simpler. He looked down at her own shoes. “Those are nice too. New?”
Unaware her natural friendly demeanor had registered with Phillip at all, let alone so strongly, Whitney turned and affected a pout as the car pulled away from the hotel. Determined to have this be as cordial as he said and she agreed, she decided playful friendliness was the best way to that. Anything too serious had the risk of becoming very serious and stirring old things better left to lay where the rested.
"I don't like surprises, you have to wait for them and you never know what's coming," she said, then winked back at him and crossed one leg over the other, bringing her foot and the Jimmy Choos in question close. "And yes, they are new. Very new in fact. It's the first chance I've had to wear them since I nabbed them at the show." She turned her ankle this way and that, giving him a view of all angles, then laughed and bumped his shoulder with hers.
"I've always liked a man who could discuss shoes," she said as she leaned forward to pull a bottle of water from the minibar, then slanted a mischievous look at him as she sat back. "It's one of your better redeeming qualities."
“Well boots are usually my specialty.” Phillip laughed softly to himself, bumping his shoulder against hers again as the car turned so that he had a bit of an excuse to. “But if you wish to talk to me about shoes, I will be more than glad to listen in exchange for drinks in the future.”
Being a bit flirtatious, he lowered his thumb to trace over the lines of the strap of the shoe, acting as though he was only admiring it but instead he was looking for some excuse to touch her. The trench coat revealed very little about what was underneath (and as he had seen what was underneath it all it was too tempting to imagine NOTHING under the coat) and he had to find something to do that was distracting enough so that he didn't think about it. Damn Whitney and being so gorgeous.
Oh, no, no, no. As she laughed quietly at his comment, Whitney deftly removed her foot from his reach before that thumb, or Phillip, got any more ideas. Or, in all honestly, before her active imagination shifted into overdrive. It seemed time still hadn't quieted that noticeable spark of attraction between them, though it was ignored more than encouraged because of how often they argued. She was determined that they get along now, not just at his request but because they shared this secret life of reincarnated fairy tales now. It was a situation that often left her looking for sanity among the madness and allowing herself to be tempted into bed with him would lead inevitably to another blow up and infinitely more madness that she didn't need. Not that the time between now and then wouldn't be fantastic-
On topic, de Winter.
"More drinks?" she questioned, looking up at him with clear amusement. "First we go out when you came to New York, then you came out at my open invitation and now you want more liquor? I didn't know you'd developed such a taste for alcohol after all these years. Daddy dearest threatening to work you too hard when you start back?"
"He's working me far too much.” Phillip said teasingly, though he wrinkled his nose. He still didn't particularly care for the taste of alcohol, leaning more toward sweet tastes or more hearty fare than the sting of alcohol, but he had learned how to tolerate it over the years. “I think at this rate I may turn into a helpless drunk by the end of the year.” Laughing again, he let his eyes follow the line of her legs. She had pulled them away from him, which was probably good for their mutual sanity, but not what he wanted just now.
“What about you?” he asked curiously. “Are you planning on escaping off to Milan or Portugal or somewhere else soon?” Now that she knew about who he was, it was an odd sort of relief. He had someone that he could talk to on a regular basis about his Tale things, someone that was very real who bridged the gap between his two lives. He liked it, and he didn't want it to solely exist over the journals. Of course, he knew that she would run off eventually, she always did, but he wanted to have her here for a few days at least, to talk about things, just to be around her and to try to draw correlations between her and her Tale.
"Aww, then you and my mother will have even more in common," Whitney said with careless amusement, but it was mostly a cover for the faint bitter edge to her words. "Careful, bucko, you'll be lounging around into the late morning with elaborate ice masks over your eyes in no time if you keep it up."
Shrugging off the topic as finished, as talking about her family at length was only bound to require more alcohol, rather than moderation, she uncapped the water bottle in her hand and took a quick drink, then regarded him with slight irritation.
"I don't escape from places I like, Phillip," she said quietly, then swallowed the irritation. They were getting along, not fighting, no matter how defensive she felt about the topic after their chat in the journals. Admittedly, that defensiveness had been born of irritation at herself for feeling she was slipping back into old habits with him, all that talk about 'meaning something'. "And no, I'll be in New York for a bit. Richie's doing well under his on steam now so I don't drop in for as long, but I've got work to get done here. And have some fun too, of course."
“I'm glad,” he said honestly, looking at her thoughtfully. The teasing had vanished for a moment, leaving him looking a bit amused, but mostly just curious as to how long this stay would be, and what it would mean for him. Whitney was a complex woman, one who made him think about things that he normally wouldn't like whether he controlled his Tale or whether it controlled him, and she was the link between the tale life he kept hidden and the normal man's life that he excelled in. He was quiet for a long moment, thoughtful, the same way she had been when she was talking about her mother earlier.
The car pulled to a stop outside of a the restaurant, one of his favorite places to come for the the sweeping view of the Manhattan skyline or just for a good meal. The prices might have some feeling queasy, but to Phillip it was well worth it. He rushed to open her door, then walked her to the door with his hand in the small of her back and guided her inside.
“Evening, Molly,” he said, addressing the hostess by name the same way that she had the driver earlier. “Nice to see you again.”
“Mr. Cordon...” she stepped aside, ushering them toward the coat check. Phillip was looking forward to Whintey's reaction to the place. The River Cafe was unique and he'd never known it to disappoint before, but there might always be a first time.
Flirtation Whitney could handle. Teasing she could handle. Even arguments she could handle. Seeing Phillip look at her like that, studying her as though considering the idea of her staying while saying he was glad she would linger, wrecked havoc on her resolve to keep this platonic. Being reminded he did know her well enough to know the truth that no place held her for long reminded her of past times when all differences had been forgotten, every time they had tried to make a successful go of a relationship and those memories were not all bad, which was the issue.
The simplest solution to her discomfort was her old standby, find offense in what he said or did, put him on the defensive and, voilá, instant argument that kept either of them from getting along. However, she kept silent, not through agreement, but a want of geniality for now. Maybe she was getting too old for those kinds of games now that she recognized she sometimes did that. Mostly, she would still say he went out of his way to ruin her good will, but she couldn't deny when sometimes it was her on the defensive.
Grateful when they were finally out of the car and inside, Whitney shed her coat with a friendly exchange with the young man who took it, studying Phillip now in the same way he had regarded her earlier, quietly impressed with his personable, familiar nature with the hostess as she sat them. It was a a gesture of humanity that the de Winter family lacked, appreciating men and women in service roles as real people and once more Whitney confronted why, when they did actually get along, she and Phillip got along so well. He had many qualities those in her life lacked, many qualities she hoped they had in common.
"Do you come here often?" she asked as he held her chair, gaze on the truly breathtaking view. It was an impressive place, more romantic than she was completely comfortable with, but definitely inspired. "The city looks gorgeous like this."
Phillip's eyes lingered on her as she slipped out of her jacket. While he had known that she would not go out of the house in nothing more than a coat, it might still have been somewhat disappointing to see something under it had the dress that she wore not been THAT dress. It was modest and yet complimented her and that was all that he could think about it if he didn't want his thoughts to turn to REMOVING the dress. Their cycle of fighting and making up and sleeping together and then fighting again seemed off somehow now that she shared his secret, and he didn't know why.
“Yes...” he said, remembering her question. “I come here whenever I can. It's the one place that makes me think that living in such a metropolitan place long term might not be such a bad thing.” He paused, gazing out of the window. “What do you think, Whitney? How does this rank in the world's most beautiful cities?” New York might not seem that glamorous when you lived and worked in it, but looking at it from here made it seem like something out of an old classic Hollywood movie where everyone in New York met the love of their life atop the Empire State Building.
"There's nothing like it," Whitney said softly, but her answer wasn't just about the physical beauty of the city from here, but what it contained now. Right now in this city there were more people she was connected to than any time in her life, those connections as general as sharing the same fate to be born again and again as part of a different person and as specific as the people she had come to care about. For now, she had not felt the familiar, sometimes frustrating, urge to move on and see something new but she awaited it with the expectation that one would have of the sun to rise and set.
“Indeed.” Phillip said, looking back at her. Part of him wondered what would happen if she took small new adventures every day, a trip to a new Indian place, a new way to work...anything that didn't mean globe trotting but still didn't leave her feeling trapped. However, after feeling like an ass for implying that she had control over her Tale in the journals when he didn't know that it was that way for her, he wasn't about to suggest anything just yet.
“I've liked this city for as long as I can remember, but when I lived at the P...” he cut himself short, clearing his throat because such words weren't to say aloud in public when others could hear. This was one reason why he often kept his normal life and personal life separate. “And then when I started working at the New York branch part time, it took on new meaning."
Taking the proffered wine list when the waiter approached, Whitney consulted a moment with Phillip and then the waiter went off to fetch the vintage they had requested, a good win and definitely pricey, but she had never been able to abide cheaper wines. It was only once they were relatively alone again that she picked up the thread of conversation once more.
"I can't decide whether the appeal has to do with what I know now, or that I'm getting old," she admitted, toying with the edge of the cloth napkin. Head canted, she studied him. "You went to school here, you lived here for a time and you took on the New York responsibilities the first time the opportunity opened to you. What draws you here again and again? The city itself, or the secret that has its heart of operation in this city?" It was a vaguely phrased question, clear enough to those who knew about the Tale community, but not telling to anyone unaware that might overhear. At most, people might thing they were discussing a secret society, which it really was, to be fair.
“The secret really wouldn't work in any other city would it?” Phillip still thought of New York as some big, diverse, do-what-you-want to sort of city. It was that as much as the fact that his parents had settled nearby that made him choose the college that he did over one on the West coast or further south, the fact that you could see or do something different every day and then go back to your dorm. It had been a nice middle ground for a young man who was used to moving or visiting his parents who were moving, and had provided a nice transition for settled life.
“This is the only city in the world where people won't look twice at a true eccentric...but I think it's more a mixture of things than just the city's secrets.” He might have two homes now, but this city was one that he was fond of.
"It would," Whitney answered, then paused to wait for the returning waiter to serve the wine. Hands now occupied with the delicate stem of her wine glass, there was less overt restless movement as before, her fingers playing up and down the stem as if petting an animal. "Apparently it even has," she continued when again others were out of hearing distance, "considering how long this has gone on."
"But really, Phillip, if de Winter Inc set up shop the same size and complexity as the New York outfit is becoming and did it anywhere else - Paris, London, Berlin, wherever - would you go there? Stay here? Why?"
Many questions in a row, as she had to admit the idea of him constructing a second house exactly the same had intrigued her, even when his steadfastness had annoyed her - or, rather, it was what she felt in response to that, a warm and fond familiarity instead of bored annoyance. Everyone had reasons for their choice of home and location, but as COO of the company, he could go anywhere, do anything, and yet he had chosen this place.
What a perplexing question indeed. “If your father needed me to.” Phillip said candidly after a moment. “If there was a chance to learn more about the company, to grow in leadership, I would.” Of course, Phillip knew that he already knew more than most, there was not much of a chance that a position would open in France or elsewhere that would offer him an opportunity to learn a great deal more than he would learn continuing in his current position.
He took the wine glass, sipping at the drink before he sat it down and smiled broadly at her. “But I wouldn't necessarily want it. After all, I wouldn't want to have to build a third house similar to my other two so soon.”
Thankfully Whitney had not been sipping her own wine at that comment as she snorted, covering her face belatedly. Eyes dancing above the cover of her hand as she composed herself to keep from breaking out in raucous laughter in the middle of the restaurant, she finally lowered it to reveal a genuinely amused grin.
"You're crazy, you know that?" she said, rhetorical more than actual question, and then opened the menu in front of her. "Truly crazy." Shaking her head, her gaze alternated between the menu and him. "I still can't believe you had the same house built."
“It's not the exact same.” Phillip said, feigning exasperation. “The paint in the kitchen is off..I'm not sure what they did but it's not right, and the bed is different.” He eyed her wickedly, his intentions completely innocent but he realized that she might not take him mentioning his bed the same way. “That, however, was a conscious choice, as I was ready for a small change.” He was close to teasing her again and asking if she wanted to see his new bed and tell him whether the change had been a good one, but he resisted. For now they were getting along, and he didn't want to ruin that just now.
Though these last few weeks had contained more direct face-to-face time with Phillip than the last half year had, Whitney knew that look, knew it better than she wanted to right now. Mentioning the bed hadn't been off hands. It might have been mostly teasing, but she sensed it was also a testing of the water. Given her earlier outburst via Compendium, she shouldn't be surprised, but she was. Was he interested in picking up again? What kept bringing them back to this again and again? Was it just because of their new shared secret?
No answers for her questions, she knew the worst thing for her comfort was to keep on this subject. But she did anyhow.
"You had everything the same, but the bed, the thing you have to get productive rest in and should actually be the most familiar, the article of furniture many people have the hardest time adapting to when changed, is different. What purpose could that possibly serve?"
Phillip laughed. He knew that she was on to him but as she had not called him on it he thought that he was safe. “Well I had some problems finding the same one that I have in my other cabin, and I found one in a shop that had such ornate woodwork and such attention paid to detail that I decided that it was worth a change.” Everything about the bed was the same, of course, from the linens to the mattress and pillows, but the bed frame itself was different. “It was a change to get used to, of course, but I've had no problems sleeping on it, and normally I sleep poorly if I'm away from home.”
Whitney laughed as she turned a page on the menu. He really was crazy, all of this work to keep everything the same. Given that she knew he had traveled all over in his youth before ending up in the same boarding school as she had, for a moment she worried someday she might turn into this, from going all over the globe to needing everything exactly the same all the time. It was a disturbing thought.
"Poor baby, no wonder you can't stand hotels," she said with a murmur, teasing false sympathy as she reached out to pat his hand. "I suppose I'm lucky I can sleep anywhere, I'd never be able to cart a bed all over."
“You can sleep anywhere?” Phillip eyed her in a look that could be either taken as amusement or curiosity, depending on what you were looking for. “That must be convenient. And no, I can't sleep in hotels, so I'd probably respectfully decline an offer to transfer somewhere else. Europe is all about hopping to this neighboring country or that, and if I went to a London office or a Rome office I'd no doubt have to visit offices all over the continent, and I've no desire to make an ass of myself because I didn't sleep well the night before on a strange bed.”
While Whitney would have gladly taken amusement, it was curiosity she thought she saw and she averted her eyes a moment as she withdrew her hand where it had, and she swore it meant it was possessed, remained after she had patted it. She hadn't really intended to make her comment sound quite like that, but it had. After a moment she looked back, composure regained to deflect it with playful harassment.
"Funny, normally you have no problems making an ass of yourself, Phillip," she teased mercilessly, then looked up as the waiter approached for their orders. Allowing Phillip to pick the appetizer, she studied the menu a moment longer, closed it and ordered, then picked up her wine glass.
Phillip took a few moments to order, then looked back at her, this time grinning quite impishly. “Funny how I go from a stuffed shirt to an ass in your opinion. I didn't know that you could do both things at once, it seems that I must be very talented indeed.” He lifted his wine glass, eyes dancing. “Here's to you, Whitney. May you always keep such a high opinion of me and think that I am capable of doing the impossible.”
Lifting her glass, Whitney inclined her head then took a drink before actually replying. "I'm not sure it's such a high opinion, Phillip," she said, looking at him over the rim of her glass, now truly amused. "I think 'stuffed shirt' and 'ass' could well go hand in hand."
WHERE: River Cafe, Brooklyn
WHEN: Thursday, March 11; evening [so backdated now :P]
WHAT: A dinner between friends?
RATING: PG-13 for now.
STATUS Partial log & now also in-progress thread.
Tired after the long day spent dealing with his neighbor's menacing dog and the end of his vacation, Phillip thought he was more than due for a break. He had a goal, or rather several. He was going to have a nice dinner tonight, and he was going to prove to Whitney that he was more than capable of being a good, cordial friend. Some goals, of course, are easier to accomplish than others, he thought.
When his car pulled up in front of her hotel, he reached for his cell phone. A smirk made its way to his face as he found her number in his phone's contact list. Waiting for her to answer was the hardest part, because he was so looking forward to their dinner and the chance to talk with her, to see her in person. He had been half tempted to bring along some sort of obnoxious rock music just to convince her that he knew how to loosen up around people he trusted, but he had resisted, sympathy for the company driver in the front seat of the car outweighing his need to convince her of who he was. There would be time for that later. Thankfully she answered quickly and was soon coming out of the hotel to meet him.
"Right, on my way out," Whitney said before she ended the call and slid her cell phone into her purse, pulling the belt of her leather trench tight to ward off the cold. Responding cheerfully to the doorman as held the door, she ran her hand once more through her hair before she walked outside to meet the car and Phillip. Not that she cared that much what she looked like, she wasn't out to impress him. She wasn't. Been there, done that, and tonight wasn't going to be that sort of 'dinner' if she could help it. They were just going to play nice as he was so insistent that he wanted to and that they could accomplish it.
Treating Phillip to the same cheerful smile initially as he stepped out and held the car door for her, the expression warmed considerably despite herself as she gave him a once over. Impeccably turned out as always, the dark green button down shirt and charcoal tones of his jacket definitely suited him. Damn the man.
"Nice shoes," she murmured with a smirk as she slipped past him into the car.
"Hey Ralph, how's Marie and the kids?" she asked as she sat her purse to the side and leaned forward to smile at the driver.
"Great as always, Miss de Winter. The youngest landed a part in the school play, a big part from what she's described."
"Tell her congrats from me and give me the date of opening night sometime tonight, every aspiring actress should get flowers on opening night."
Waving off the driver's polite, no doubt perceived as expected, objections, she settled back into her seat and turned to Phillip.
"So, where to?"
Phillip sat there in a state of awe, listening as Whitney conversed with the driver with such grace and elegance that was clear that she viewed the man as an equal. Coming from a working man's background, Phillip had always done the same, but it was always surprisingly refreshing to see someone as privileged as Whitney had been growing up to be so kind and down to earth. They were all the same, from the doorman to the driver to them, and he admired her for seeing what so many could not.
“It's a surprise.” He winked at her, turning his phone off now that she was in the car. He snorted softly when she complimented him on the shoes. Not an overly trend or name brand man, he bought things because they looked simple and elegant and made him look better, not noticing the name on the label, but the stores that he shopped at tended to have nice things that made his choices simpler. He looked down at her own shoes. “Those are nice too. New?”
Unaware her natural friendly demeanor had registered with Phillip at all, let alone so strongly, Whitney turned and affected a pout as the car pulled away from the hotel. Determined to have this be as cordial as he said and she agreed, she decided playful friendliness was the best way to that. Anything too serious had the risk of becoming very serious and stirring old things better left to lay where the rested.
"I don't like surprises, you have to wait for them and you never know what's coming," she said, then winked back at him and crossed one leg over the other, bringing her foot and the Jimmy Choos in question close. "And yes, they are new. Very new in fact. It's the first chance I've had to wear them since I nabbed them at the show." She turned her ankle this way and that, giving him a view of all angles, then laughed and bumped his shoulder with hers.
"I've always liked a man who could discuss shoes," she said as she leaned forward to pull a bottle of water from the minibar, then slanted a mischievous look at him as she sat back. "It's one of your better redeeming qualities."
“Well boots are usually my specialty.” Phillip laughed softly to himself, bumping his shoulder against hers again as the car turned so that he had a bit of an excuse to. “But if you wish to talk to me about shoes, I will be more than glad to listen in exchange for drinks in the future.”
Being a bit flirtatious, he lowered his thumb to trace over the lines of the strap of the shoe, acting as though he was only admiring it but instead he was looking for some excuse to touch her. The trench coat revealed very little about what was underneath (and as he had seen what was underneath it all it was too tempting to imagine NOTHING under the coat) and he had to find something to do that was distracting enough so that he didn't think about it. Damn Whitney and being so gorgeous.
Oh, no, no, no. As she laughed quietly at his comment, Whitney deftly removed her foot from his reach before that thumb, or Phillip, got any more ideas. Or, in all honestly, before her active imagination shifted into overdrive. It seemed time still hadn't quieted that noticeable spark of attraction between them, though it was ignored more than encouraged because of how often they argued. She was determined that they get along now, not just at his request but because they shared this secret life of reincarnated fairy tales now. It was a situation that often left her looking for sanity among the madness and allowing herself to be tempted into bed with him would lead inevitably to another blow up and infinitely more madness that she didn't need. Not that the time between now and then wouldn't be fantastic-
On topic, de Winter.
"More drinks?" she questioned, looking up at him with clear amusement. "First we go out when you came to New York, then you came out at my open invitation and now you want more liquor? I didn't know you'd developed such a taste for alcohol after all these years. Daddy dearest threatening to work you too hard when you start back?"
"He's working me far too much.” Phillip said teasingly, though he wrinkled his nose. He still didn't particularly care for the taste of alcohol, leaning more toward sweet tastes or more hearty fare than the sting of alcohol, but he had learned how to tolerate it over the years. “I think at this rate I may turn into a helpless drunk by the end of the year.” Laughing again, he let his eyes follow the line of her legs. She had pulled them away from him, which was probably good for their mutual sanity, but not what he wanted just now.
“What about you?” he asked curiously. “Are you planning on escaping off to Milan or Portugal or somewhere else soon?” Now that she knew about who he was, it was an odd sort of relief. He had someone that he could talk to on a regular basis about his Tale things, someone that was very real who bridged the gap between his two lives. He liked it, and he didn't want it to solely exist over the journals. Of course, he knew that she would run off eventually, she always did, but he wanted to have her here for a few days at least, to talk about things, just to be around her and to try to draw correlations between her and her Tale.
"Aww, then you and my mother will have even more in common," Whitney said with careless amusement, but it was mostly a cover for the faint bitter edge to her words. "Careful, bucko, you'll be lounging around into the late morning with elaborate ice masks over your eyes in no time if you keep it up."
Shrugging off the topic as finished, as talking about her family at length was only bound to require more alcohol, rather than moderation, she uncapped the water bottle in her hand and took a quick drink, then regarded him with slight irritation.
"I don't escape from places I like, Phillip," she said quietly, then swallowed the irritation. They were getting along, not fighting, no matter how defensive she felt about the topic after their chat in the journals. Admittedly, that defensiveness had been born of irritation at herself for feeling she was slipping back into old habits with him, all that talk about 'meaning something'. "And no, I'll be in New York for a bit. Richie's doing well under his on steam now so I don't drop in for as long, but I've got work to get done here. And have some fun too, of course."
“I'm glad,” he said honestly, looking at her thoughtfully. The teasing had vanished for a moment, leaving him looking a bit amused, but mostly just curious as to how long this stay would be, and what it would mean for him. Whitney was a complex woman, one who made him think about things that he normally wouldn't like whether he controlled his Tale or whether it controlled him, and she was the link between the tale life he kept hidden and the normal man's life that he excelled in. He was quiet for a long moment, thoughtful, the same way she had been when she was talking about her mother earlier.
The car pulled to a stop outside of a the restaurant, one of his favorite places to come for the the sweeping view of the Manhattan skyline or just for a good meal. The prices might have some feeling queasy, but to Phillip it was well worth it. He rushed to open her door, then walked her to the door with his hand in the small of her back and guided her inside.
“Evening, Molly,” he said, addressing the hostess by name the same way that she had the driver earlier. “Nice to see you again.”
“Mr. Cordon...” she stepped aside, ushering them toward the coat check. Phillip was looking forward to Whintey's reaction to the place. The River Cafe was unique and he'd never known it to disappoint before, but there might always be a first time.
Flirtation Whitney could handle. Teasing she could handle. Even arguments she could handle. Seeing Phillip look at her like that, studying her as though considering the idea of her staying while saying he was glad she would linger, wrecked havoc on her resolve to keep this platonic. Being reminded he did know her well enough to know the truth that no place held her for long reminded her of past times when all differences had been forgotten, every time they had tried to make a successful go of a relationship and those memories were not all bad, which was the issue.
The simplest solution to her discomfort was her old standby, find offense in what he said or did, put him on the defensive and, voilá, instant argument that kept either of them from getting along. However, she kept silent, not through agreement, but a want of geniality for now. Maybe she was getting too old for those kinds of games now that she recognized she sometimes did that. Mostly, she would still say he went out of his way to ruin her good will, but she couldn't deny when sometimes it was her on the defensive.
Grateful when they were finally out of the car and inside, Whitney shed her coat with a friendly exchange with the young man who took it, studying Phillip now in the same way he had regarded her earlier, quietly impressed with his personable, familiar nature with the hostess as she sat them. It was a a gesture of humanity that the de Winter family lacked, appreciating men and women in service roles as real people and once more Whitney confronted why, when they did actually get along, she and Phillip got along so well. He had many qualities those in her life lacked, many qualities she hoped they had in common.
"Do you come here often?" she asked as he held her chair, gaze on the truly breathtaking view. It was an impressive place, more romantic than she was completely comfortable with, but definitely inspired. "The city looks gorgeous like this."
Phillip's eyes lingered on her as she slipped out of her jacket. While he had known that she would not go out of the house in nothing more than a coat, it might still have been somewhat disappointing to see something under it had the dress that she wore not been THAT dress. It was modest and yet complimented her and that was all that he could think about it if he didn't want his thoughts to turn to REMOVING the dress. Their cycle of fighting and making up and sleeping together and then fighting again seemed off somehow now that she shared his secret, and he didn't know why.
“Yes...” he said, remembering her question. “I come here whenever I can. It's the one place that makes me think that living in such a metropolitan place long term might not be such a bad thing.” He paused, gazing out of the window. “What do you think, Whitney? How does this rank in the world's most beautiful cities?” New York might not seem that glamorous when you lived and worked in it, but looking at it from here made it seem like something out of an old classic Hollywood movie where everyone in New York met the love of their life atop the Empire State Building.
"There's nothing like it," Whitney said softly, but her answer wasn't just about the physical beauty of the city from here, but what it contained now. Right now in this city there were more people she was connected to than any time in her life, those connections as general as sharing the same fate to be born again and again as part of a different person and as specific as the people she had come to care about. For now, she had not felt the familiar, sometimes frustrating, urge to move on and see something new but she awaited it with the expectation that one would have of the sun to rise and set.
“Indeed.” Phillip said, looking back at her. Part of him wondered what would happen if she took small new adventures every day, a trip to a new Indian place, a new way to work...anything that didn't mean globe trotting but still didn't leave her feeling trapped. However, after feeling like an ass for implying that she had control over her Tale in the journals when he didn't know that it was that way for her, he wasn't about to suggest anything just yet.
“I've liked this city for as long as I can remember, but when I lived at the P...” he cut himself short, clearing his throat because such words weren't to say aloud in public when others could hear. This was one reason why he often kept his normal life and personal life separate. “And then when I started working at the New York branch part time, it took on new meaning."
Taking the proffered wine list when the waiter approached, Whitney consulted a moment with Phillip and then the waiter went off to fetch the vintage they had requested, a good win and definitely pricey, but she had never been able to abide cheaper wines. It was only once they were relatively alone again that she picked up the thread of conversation once more.
"I can't decide whether the appeal has to do with what I know now, or that I'm getting old," she admitted, toying with the edge of the cloth napkin. Head canted, she studied him. "You went to school here, you lived here for a time and you took on the New York responsibilities the first time the opportunity opened to you. What draws you here again and again? The city itself, or the secret that has its heart of operation in this city?" It was a vaguely phrased question, clear enough to those who knew about the Tale community, but not telling to anyone unaware that might overhear. At most, people might thing they were discussing a secret society, which it really was, to be fair.
“The secret really wouldn't work in any other city would it?” Phillip still thought of New York as some big, diverse, do-what-you-want to sort of city. It was that as much as the fact that his parents had settled nearby that made him choose the college that he did over one on the West coast or further south, the fact that you could see or do something different every day and then go back to your dorm. It had been a nice middle ground for a young man who was used to moving or visiting his parents who were moving, and had provided a nice transition for settled life.
“This is the only city in the world where people won't look twice at a true eccentric...but I think it's more a mixture of things than just the city's secrets.” He might have two homes now, but this city was one that he was fond of.
"It would," Whitney answered, then paused to wait for the returning waiter to serve the wine. Hands now occupied with the delicate stem of her wine glass, there was less overt restless movement as before, her fingers playing up and down the stem as if petting an animal. "Apparently it even has," she continued when again others were out of hearing distance, "considering how long this has gone on."
"But really, Phillip, if de Winter Inc set up shop the same size and complexity as the New York outfit is becoming and did it anywhere else - Paris, London, Berlin, wherever - would you go there? Stay here? Why?"
Many questions in a row, as she had to admit the idea of him constructing a second house exactly the same had intrigued her, even when his steadfastness had annoyed her - or, rather, it was what she felt in response to that, a warm and fond familiarity instead of bored annoyance. Everyone had reasons for their choice of home and location, but as COO of the company, he could go anywhere, do anything, and yet he had chosen this place.
What a perplexing question indeed. “If your father needed me to.” Phillip said candidly after a moment. “If there was a chance to learn more about the company, to grow in leadership, I would.” Of course, Phillip knew that he already knew more than most, there was not much of a chance that a position would open in France or elsewhere that would offer him an opportunity to learn a great deal more than he would learn continuing in his current position.
He took the wine glass, sipping at the drink before he sat it down and smiled broadly at her. “But I wouldn't necessarily want it. After all, I wouldn't want to have to build a third house similar to my other two so soon.”
Thankfully Whitney had not been sipping her own wine at that comment as she snorted, covering her face belatedly. Eyes dancing above the cover of her hand as she composed herself to keep from breaking out in raucous laughter in the middle of the restaurant, she finally lowered it to reveal a genuinely amused grin.
"You're crazy, you know that?" she said, rhetorical more than actual question, and then opened the menu in front of her. "Truly crazy." Shaking her head, her gaze alternated between the menu and him. "I still can't believe you had the same house built."
“It's not the exact same.” Phillip said, feigning exasperation. “The paint in the kitchen is off..I'm not sure what they did but it's not right, and the bed is different.” He eyed her wickedly, his intentions completely innocent but he realized that she might not take him mentioning his bed the same way. “That, however, was a conscious choice, as I was ready for a small change.” He was close to teasing her again and asking if she wanted to see his new bed and tell him whether the change had been a good one, but he resisted. For now they were getting along, and he didn't want to ruin that just now.
Though these last few weeks had contained more direct face-to-face time with Phillip than the last half year had, Whitney knew that look, knew it better than she wanted to right now. Mentioning the bed hadn't been off hands. It might have been mostly teasing, but she sensed it was also a testing of the water. Given her earlier outburst via Compendium, she shouldn't be surprised, but she was. Was he interested in picking up again? What kept bringing them back to this again and again? Was it just because of their new shared secret?
No answers for her questions, she knew the worst thing for her comfort was to keep on this subject. But she did anyhow.
"You had everything the same, but the bed, the thing you have to get productive rest in and should actually be the most familiar, the article of furniture many people have the hardest time adapting to when changed, is different. What purpose could that possibly serve?"
Phillip laughed. He knew that she was on to him but as she had not called him on it he thought that he was safe. “Well I had some problems finding the same one that I have in my other cabin, and I found one in a shop that had such ornate woodwork and such attention paid to detail that I decided that it was worth a change.” Everything about the bed was the same, of course, from the linens to the mattress and pillows, but the bed frame itself was different. “It was a change to get used to, of course, but I've had no problems sleeping on it, and normally I sleep poorly if I'm away from home.”
Whitney laughed as she turned a page on the menu. He really was crazy, all of this work to keep everything the same. Given that she knew he had traveled all over in his youth before ending up in the same boarding school as she had, for a moment she worried someday she might turn into this, from going all over the globe to needing everything exactly the same all the time. It was a disturbing thought.
"Poor baby, no wonder you can't stand hotels," she said with a murmur, teasing false sympathy as she reached out to pat his hand. "I suppose I'm lucky I can sleep anywhere, I'd never be able to cart a bed all over."
“You can sleep anywhere?” Phillip eyed her in a look that could be either taken as amusement or curiosity, depending on what you were looking for. “That must be convenient. And no, I can't sleep in hotels, so I'd probably respectfully decline an offer to transfer somewhere else. Europe is all about hopping to this neighboring country or that, and if I went to a London office or a Rome office I'd no doubt have to visit offices all over the continent, and I've no desire to make an ass of myself because I didn't sleep well the night before on a strange bed.”
While Whitney would have gladly taken amusement, it was curiosity she thought she saw and she averted her eyes a moment as she withdrew her hand where it had, and she swore it meant it was possessed, remained after she had patted it. She hadn't really intended to make her comment sound quite like that, but it had. After a moment she looked back, composure regained to deflect it with playful harassment.
"Funny, normally you have no problems making an ass of yourself, Phillip," she teased mercilessly, then looked up as the waiter approached for their orders. Allowing Phillip to pick the appetizer, she studied the menu a moment longer, closed it and ordered, then picked up her wine glass.
Phillip took a few moments to order, then looked back at her, this time grinning quite impishly. “Funny how I go from a stuffed shirt to an ass in your opinion. I didn't know that you could do both things at once, it seems that I must be very talented indeed.” He lifted his wine glass, eyes dancing. “Here's to you, Whitney. May you always keep such a high opinion of me and think that I am capable of doing the impossible.”
Lifting her glass, Whitney inclined her head then took a drink before actually replying. "I'm not sure it's such a high opinion, Phillip," she said, looking at him over the rim of her glass, now truly amused. "I think 'stuffed shirt' and 'ass' could well go hand in hand."