by Dianna Love
Frankie shrugged. “So, we’ll go downtown for dinner. Why do I have to abandon my family for that? They’re important to me. This town is my home. It’s what I know and you want me to walk away.”
“All I want is boundaries. The thing I love most about you is your sense of loyalty. But that loyalty blinds you and it suffocates me.”
He closed his eyes and his lips moved in a silent three count. A Frankie Zen moment. A few seconds later, he opened his eyes. “Suffocates you?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I could turn this around and ask where your loyalties are, but I won’t. I respect your feelings.”
Lucie leaped off the bed. Nowhere to go. The blasted room was so small she couldn’t move. “You don’t understand.”
“Is this about moving to New York again?”
She spun away from him, took two steps and bumped the card table. Dammit. She turned back. “What’s wrong with moving to New York? I could get a job there. You could work anywhere as a sportswriter. Plus, if you want to be at a network, New York is the place to make that happen.”
The room went silent. Frankie stared at her and she wondered if she’d hit pay dirt. He worked for the Chicago Herald as a sportswriter, but he had bigger dreams and wanted to be behind a microphone calling a game. A flash of hope wound through her.
“My family is here. I may not agree with what my father does, but he’s been there for me. Supported every decision. How do I turn my back on him?”
Somebody get a mop because my flash of hope just got doused.
She sat back on the bed, let her shoulders slump forward. “It gets old doesn’t it? This argument?”
Frankie dragged his hands through his hair. “I can’t do this anymore. I want a life with you, but I won’t walk away from people who have been good to me. You know where I stand. When you figure out what you want, let me know.”
Frankie pulled the door open but shifted back to her. She looked at him. He looked at her. Nobody moved. The stillness said it all.
***
Throughout dinner, Lucie kept her focus on her plate while chatting with Frankie’s sister. Why not? She’d always liked Angie and it kept her from having to talk to Frankie’s father. By the way he kept looking at her, he had something on his mind. Eventually, he’d come out with it. She’d just have to wait.
Frankie leaned back and patted his inflated belly. “Nice work, Theresa. I’ll be in the gym for hours tomorrow.”
“Well, thank you, Frankie.”
His mother, Giovanna, with her newly colored reddish hair—odd, that—turned to his father. “Al, that’s why I love this boy, he’s so polite.”
Lucie nearly coughed up a piece of meat. Somehow, this conversation would come around to her not marrying him.
“I taught him well.” Mr. Falcone clapped Frankie on the back and glanced at Lucie. “Where are we on this break-up?”
So predictable.
“What break?” his mother asked. “You two take more breaks than any couple I know.”
Frankie held up his hands. “We’ll work it out.”
“Joe isn’t happy,” Mr. Falcone said.
Lucie bit down. Hard. The spy had been revealed. No shock there.
“Pop,” Frankie said, “Did you have to mention it to him? Lucie has a lot on her plate. She doesn’t need her father pressuring her.”
How many dinners had she sat through as this argument raged on? Lucie waited for the remainder of the show. What was the point? No one ever listened. She simply sat while the crazies took it upon themselves to decide her future.
“Pressure?” Mr. Falcone said. “Seems to me someone should pressure her.”
“If she doesn’t want to be with me, I’m not forcing her.”
Lucie glared at him. “When have I ever said that?”
Mrs. Falcone slammed her hand on the table and the wine glasses jumped. “Why wouldn’t she want you?”
Lucie sighed.
“Of course she wants him,” Mom said. “Don’t be ridiculous. Nowadays young couples take their time. You two need to get into this century and leave Frankie and Lucie alone.”
Thanks, Mom.
Frankie laughed. She knew he couldn’t help it. Things got nutty when the topic of their sometimes-impending nuptials came up. She glanced at Frankie, but he remained quiet, absolutely refusing to tell his parents to butt-out.
And wasn’t that part of their problem? His total failure to take up arms against his parents and tell them to stop harping on the marriage issue? Or about anything for that matter. He never went against his folks. Never. And if they got married, Lucie would endure a lifetime of his family’s interference.
But she loved him.
Angie waved her fork. “Leave the poor girl alone. She lost her job. Let her get her head together. I give her credit for starting her own business with those dog accessories.” She poked her fork at her son across the table. “Paulie, eat your string beans.”
Angie gave Frankie the do-something look. He crossed his eyes at her and she bit her bottom lip to block a smile. The magic of Frankie. Having received the result he wanted, Frankie turned to his nephew. “They’re good, Paulie. You’ll like ‘em.”
Paulie started on the beans, chewing at the pace of a geriatrics ward. Since the boy’s father was never around, Frankie got to be the hammer. Someone had to do it.
“Are you still looking for work, Lucie?” Mrs. Falcone asked.
“Every day. The economy isn’t helping. The dog walking keeps money coming in.”
Frankie smiled at her. “And she’s doing great with the accessories. She unloaded a rhinestone collar today for over a hundred bucks.”
Angie’s enormous brown eyes took on the wild look of one of those old cartoon characters under hypnosis. “Stop it!”
“Honest to God. I’ve been telling you guys about the trunk shows. And get this, she had a show this morning, then she went to walk one of the dogs and the mutt got stolen.”
Lucie shot Frankie the hairy eyeball. Not that it seemed to be working on anyone today.
“What?” his father yelled.
Mom snapped her head in Lucie’s direction. “Why didn’t you tell me? Did you get hurt?”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar. You whacked your head. You need to get checked out.”
Not only did Frankie refuse to take up arms against his family, he was sometimes a traitor. This time the result was his father’s face twisting into a ball of rage. Lucie knew exactly where this was going. He’d go right to her father, who would blow an artery over someone laying hands on his daughter.
On and on it went. Her dad was already on a tear about her wasting her MBA. As if it was her fault that her company merged and she’d been rightsized. Add this to the mix and she might as well curl into a fetal position.
Angie cleared her throat, the universal signal she was about to change the subject. “I want to hear about these trunk shows.”
“She’s got another one tomorrow,” Frankie said.
Lucie fiddled with the stem of her wine glass. “Frankie thinks I should start a business. Coco Barknell.”
Mr. Falcone held his hands out. “Two weeks ago it was a hobby. Now you’re starting a business?”
Mrs. Falcone stood to collect empty dishes. “That is the silliest thing I ever heard.”
Lucie helped stacked plates. “Not really. At the height of the recession, pet accessories had huge profits.”
“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Mom said.
“Sit, Mrs. R.,” Angie said. “Lucie and I will do the dishes while Frankie takes Paulie outside to work on his swing.”
Paulie swiveled his head, his droopy brown eyes looking encouraged. “How about it, Uncle Frank?”
Frankie wouldn’t say no to baseball. Considering he’d gotten a full college ride on a baseball scholarship, only to suffer back-to-back concussions that ended his shot at major league ball. That didn’t keep him from enjoying the
game on a recreational level, or coaching Paulie’s team. The poor kid’s idiot father only knew how to handle a bat when it was connecting with someone’s skull.
“You got it, pal. Let’s see what you’ve got. Season opener is next week and you gotta be ready.”
Frankie turned to his father. “What do you say, old man? You wanna hit a few with me and the squirt?”
Mr. Falcone perked up. “Old man? I’ll knock your lemon in, kid.”
“So you say.”
“I’ll be right there. I forgot to make a call.”
Mr. Falcone dug his cell phone out and headed toward the front door in search of privacy. She’d been around this bunch long enough to know that meant business.
God help her if that business meant him spewing in someone’s ear about her dognapping. Mr. Falcone’s interference would only cause problems between her and Frankie. And they had enough of those.
Chapter Three
The next morning, Lucie parked her car two blocks from the Lutzes’ and made her way to the house for Otis’s ten o’clock walk. The routine always started with Otis on the north side in Lincoln Park, where the brownstones sported oversized windows and elaborate brick facades. The cheapest pair of shoes in this neighborhood ran six hundred dollars. Living here took a stuffed wallet.
Lucie passed patches of green grass tucked under aged oak trees while her dream of being a respected investment banker whirled in her mind. Being known for more than her father’s illegal activities was what Lucie craved. Living in one of these lovely brick homes wouldn’t be bad either, but the professional respect would always come first. She could still have that dream. Things would turn around.
Aretha Franklin’s Respect rang from Lucie’s cell phone and she pulled it from her pocket to check the screen. Tom Darcy. Oh, boy.
“Hi, Mr. Darcy.”
“Lucie, my baby is home. It’s a miracle.”
The day-old tension rooted inside shattered. Miss Elizabeth was home. “Really? She’s okay?”
“She looks perfectly fine.”
“But how?”
“I don’t know. I heard her bark and thought I’d imagined it, but then it got louder. I opened the front door and there she was, sitting on the steps. It’s a miracle.”
Enough with the miracles, nutball. Still, what a relief. Lucie dropped to a cross-legged position on the sidewalk. Horrendous thoughts of doggie torture drifted away, and she stretched on the sidewalk. It had been one hell of a night. “Maybe she found her way home? Could that be?”
“All I know is she’s home. I’m so relieved. Unfortunately, I won’t need your services any longer. After all, you did let someone kidnap her.”
Nutball or not, he had a point and it stabbed at Lucie like something out of a bad horror show. Her breath hitched and her eyes filled with tears. She’d been fired. Again. This time, it truly was her fault. “I understand.”
At least the dog was safe. “Miss Elizabeth is a great dog, Mr. Darcy. I’ll miss her. I’m so sorry about what happened. I hope you know that.”
She clicked off and slapped her hands over her face. Was there anything worse than getting fired? But wait—she’d forgotten to ask Mr. Darcy if he’d called Officer Lindstrom. No matter. She would do it.
Still on the ground, paying no mind to the curious stares of drivers cruising by, she retrieved Lindstrom’s card from her messenger bag. A minute later, an operator informed her he was on patrol. She left a message, took a breath to clear her head and made haste to the Lutzes’. Ten minutes lost with that break. She’d have to make it up.
She punched in the garage code and watched the door roll up. Her scooter sat in its normal spot in the extended space of the one-car garage and Otis, hearing the door moving, howled. He knew what time it was. Lucie time.
Getting into the house took precision. Otis was a jumper. If she threw the door open, he’d fly through the air and flatten her. Being stuck under seventy-five pounds of fur wouldn’t be the worst of it. After losing Miss Elizabeth yesterday, Lucie couldn’t risk one of her charges escaping.
“Off, Otis,” she said in her I’m-the-big-cheese voice. “Off!”
The frantic scratching from the other side of the door ceased and Lucie, holding one hand in front of her, eased the door open while Otis sat patiently, his tongue flapping. The little turkey was catching on. Good for him.
“Good job.” Lucie kept her voice neutral. No sense exciting him and causing a meltdown.
With that, he wrapped his front paws around her leg and started humping. This is what her MBA got her. A bulldog working her leg like a horny frat boy. With the humping complete, Otis dropped to the ground and rolled to his back. A laugh burst free and Lucie took a second to enjoy it. How she loved these dogs. Somehow, they always managed to make her smile. “It’s a good thing you’re cute, Otis.”
The dog let out an enthusiastic woof.
“Yeah, your life is good, boy.” She bent low, brushed a hand down his belly and he licked her shoe. Maybe this dog walking thing wasn’t so bad. Unconditional love, fresh air, no late nights.
Coco Barknell.
Perhaps the accessory line could be more than a side job. After the weekend sales, it certainly appeared so, but she would have to run some projections and check out the competition.
Otis stood and gave the leash a tug. “I know. You’re ready.”
After Otis, Lucie hit the Bernards’. They lived in a high-rise with a doorman named Lenny and two Shih-Tzus short on stature and big on attitude. Josie and Fannie liked Lucie, but the neighbors often rushed into their apartments to avoid the mini-tormentors. Lucie, having always been on the petite side, liked the girls’ spunk.
Once in the apartment, she grabbed the rhinestone double leash from the hook by the door, bent to snap a clip to each dog and spotted the collars she had sold to Mrs. Bernard. “Look at you guys with your bling on. Such pretty girls.”
Josie’s red leather collar held a single row of rhinestones while Fannie’s white one had red stones. The collars looked lovely against the white of the girls’ hair. Hmm. Lucie might need business cards in case someone wanted to know where the collars and leash came from.
Coco Barknell. Damn that Frankie.
“Okay, girls. Let’s hit it. I’m having lunch with my man today and he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” A sudden punch hurled into Lucie’s chest and she closed her eyes until the beating passed. She’d never get used to Frankie not being hers. If they didn’t work things out, she would have to move. Despite being the one who broke things off, she simply couldn’t stand the idea of him being with someone else.
“Well, he’s not my man right now, but I’m hoping that’s short-term because he is pretty darn special. We’re just in different places right now…wait, why am I talking to you? You don’t care.”
She grunted and opened the door. The middle-aged man across the hall had just finished locking his door, and his look of slack-jawed terror made Lucie chuckle. She gripped the leash when Josie and Fannie lunged like a couple of ravenous tigers. “Girls, knock it off.”
The man reeled back and wagged his finger. “Keep them ninja bitches away from me.”
The girls—with a combined weight of fifteen pounds—went wild, growling at him, baring their teeth and tugging on the leash as the neighbor jumped beyond their wrath.
Lucie contemplated letting the girls loose on the guy. But she’d be a grownup and let it go. “Don’t listen to him, girls. We’ll just wait for the next elevator.”
Once on the street, the distant whooshing of Lake Shore Drive traffic drifted toward them and the girls, accustomed to the route, turned left and went the opposite way to an area that gave them wandering room.
Rays from the late morning sun fell across the sidewalk and Lucie tilted her head back, letting the warmth caress her cheeks. This would be a good day. “Make a right at the corner, girls.”
She stopped and pushed the walk button on the light pole. A white van made a right on red j
ust as the light changed and Lucie was glad she’d waited. “Come, girls.”
The smell of brewing coffee and frying bacon from the corner coffee shop sent her stomach into a frenzy. She was so ready for lunch. She’d lost five pounds since becoming a dog walker and she wanted those pounds back.
A young man approached and stared down at the dogs. Lucie gripped the leash.
“Nice looking dogs. Can I pet them?”
A pulsing blazed up her arms. Hadn’t her father taught her not to trust strangers? She should keep walking. Particularly after yesterday’s dognapping.
Deep breath. Calm down. Focus. The guy looked harmless enough, mid-twenties with curly dark hair and twinkling blue eyes. Any normal woman would love to chat him up. Not Lucie. Dognapping paranoia aside, Frankie had ruined her. Ruined. He was so damned good looking that she tended to grade all men on his curve. The Frankie Factor.
Her teeth throbbed and she lightened up on the gnawing. She couldn’t live in fear. What were the chances she’d get dognapped again?
Minimal.
She was sure of it.
Risking her face breaking apart, she smiled at him. “The girls are friendly.” Most of the time.
Mr. Cutie squatted and—holy smokes—rather than attacking, the girls nuzzled into his legs. They must have sensed kindness in him. He rubbed both hands across the dogs, and Lucie resisted telling him the girls didn’t like to be patted on the head. This was surely a self-esteem issue due to their miniature size.
When he tickled under Josie’s chin, she nearly swooned. For goodness sakes, at least play hard to get.
But then the guy unclipped Josie’s end of the double leash and yesterday’s dognapping flashed in Lucie’s mind.
Someone pushed her from behind, tossing her against the brick front of the coffee shop. The thought of landing on top of the girls sent stinging jolts up Lucie’s neck. She let go of the leash and crashed into the wall, her shoulder taking a direct hit.
“Ooof.”
The searing pain shot the length of her arm and the tips of her fingers tingled. A rush of air filled her mouth and she puffed it out. Not again.
