Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman

Chapter Three: Enter The Edgeworth

                                                    The Borscht Bowl Club– April 17, 9:15 PM

The Borscht Bowl Club was a charming Russian restaurant, set in a double story stone-walled building, with tiled mosaic floors. On the lower level was a quaint tavern, featuring blue-tin ceilings and red velvet walls, mingled with twinkling chandeliers. Patrons sat, laughing and drinking merrily, at oak tables, equipped with plush velvet chairs. In the center of the room was a fully stocked bar, flocked by three busy bartenders and half a dozen wait staff. The focal point of the room was in the far right corner, which boasted a gleaming ebony baby grand piano. Sitting at it, tickling the ivories, was an obviously tone-deaf young man with slicked back blond hair, clad in a cheap tuxedo. He was, loudly and painfully, caterwauling along to the playing of his swing-style tunes. He didn't appear to take requests – although Maya would have been glad enough if he had succumbed to her repeated silent requests to shut the holy hell up and please cease butchering Frank Sinatra already; Slick Boy was an adequate pianist but truly an atrocious singer!

All in all, that Saturday night the Borscht Bowl had a bustling bar atmosphere, flanked by scantily clad waitresses in black booty shorts and sleeveless cropped white blouses with a ruffled design in the front, accented with a black tuxedo tie. It was crowded and noisy, and so chilly that they may very well have been in Moscow, if not Siberia! Although she was reluctant to admit it, Maya was starting to regret her stubborn refusal of Phoenix's jacket within five minutes of the threesome arriving at their table.

He noted the goose bumps rapidly forming on her bare arms. "Are you OK, Maya?" While his voice was filled with genuine concern, a knowing glint lurked in his sapphire eyes.

Maya pouted as she rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms. "I guess they wanted to ensure we had the full wintry Russian experience? It is positively frigid in here! I can practically see my breath, Nick!"

Phoenix couldn't withhold a smirk. "So you're saying you wish you'd taken my advice and worn a cover up are you?"

"Oh, shut up, Nick!" Maya muttered irritably, pretending to be madder than she actually was while barely suppressing a shudder. Besides, being angry was making her feel a tad warmer. Not much, but a little.

God, she hated when he was right! And the fact that Phoenix was always warm and she was all alone with her shivering suffering only added insult to injury. Did he have to stand there, radiating heat like that? The top two buttons of his snug, short-sleeved shirt weren't even done up! Maya blushed slightly, trying to avert her eyes from the sight of a very masculine tanned throat and hint of broad chest she was privy to see. Phoenix's change of outfit from typical suit and tie into more casual, well-fitted jeans and Polo was a rather dramatic one. He looked younger, more relaxed, and hell, she may as well admit to herself if not to him, sexier than usual. Of course she'd rather die than bolster his ego and voice the observation that on this particular night, the "old man" looked like anything but! No way. Not to Mr. "Nice dress". Damn him!

"However can you not be frozen?" She demanded crossly, stepping almost nose-to-nose with him and poking her finger into his chest. She deliberately forced herself to look up into Phoenix's handsome face and not anywhere near his aptly displayed (and somewhat impressive) physique as she continued her tirade, all the while semi-consciously aware that their close proximity had somehow resulted in her now feeling very warm indeed. "What are you Nick, some sort of human furnace? I have no idea how these waitresses haven't dropped dead of hypothermia already! They're wearing even less than I am!"