by Freda, Paula
Holding the book under her arm, oddly afraid that if she put it down, it would evaporate as waking dreams will, Adriana propped her pillows and herself against the carved headboard. And she read the book.
CHAPTER NINE
Four hours later, with wind and snow beating against the window sashes, Adriana reread the biography and gazed again at the image of the young man displayed on the back cover. His name was David Santangelo. He lived in New York, was in his mid twenties, and remained unmarried. He planned a series of books with the detective solving crimes.
Adriana turned to the copyright page. The date given was three years ago. Cassie had told her there were five more books. Adriana intended reading them all. He wasn't a bad writer. His plots were creative and interesting, the books page-turners. The Lady in Red appeared every few chapters as a flashback stemming from the police detective's memory of his first and only encounter with her in a dance hall during the 1930's. Instead of the disco ball hanging from the ceiling, an electric color wheel mounted on a pedestal, stood in the corner. It rotated from side to side, flooding the room with varying segments of rainbow colors. In the other corner, a woman played records on a phonograph for couples to dance to. Except for the time period and style, the meeting of the detective and the lady in red played exactly as she remembered her meeting with the young man three years earlier. The song and its writer-singer did not as yet exist. Another song with a similar effect replaced it. But no doubt remained in her mind that it represented the song they had danced to, and the graceful manner he had bent her backwards, and kissed her, the gentle kiss her lips refused to forget.
The invitation was there, between the lines. He had reached out to her in the only way he could. He waited. If she accepted his invitation, she must find him. It was her choice.
Adriana closed the book with a snap. It might all be a play of her imagination. Was it the dress? Or a case of fatal attraction? Was it fate, or a questionable case of love at first sight? Dare she play the fool and find him, only to discover it was all a ploy for a best seller?
Her thoughts in a turmoil, she rose from the bed and slid under the covers. She needed to distance herself from the novel, sleep on her decision. In the morning when her head was clear, she'd decide. She prayed to the Holy Mother, before closing her eyes. Once again she found herself in the Florentine dance hall, in David's arms. A smile fluttered across her lips.
CHAPTER TEN
Adriana finished unpacking her wardrobe trunk and hung up the red dress in the small closet. Her newly rented midtown studio, partitioned into a kitchenette, living area and bedroom, would do, she thought condescendingly, for the extent of her short lease. Her boss, not wanting to lose her completely, had granted her request for a transfer to his company's New York City branch.
Whether she renewed the lease, or moved to a large luxury apartment uptown, depended on her final decision, after she came face to face with David. She had read his remaining five books, as well as his lesser known previous novels, and enjoyed them. The characters grew on you, she thought. Especially the character of the police detective. He appealed to her sense of fairness and humanity. Even when the culprit in the story deserved to die, David's sleuth did not appoint himself judge, jury and executioner. In one of the novels, he saved the culprit's life in a death-threatening situation. But he was smart and resourceful, and ready to defend himself, expecting the sociopath to immediately return the favor with violence and an attempt to kill him. The culprit died, but only as a result of the detective defending his own life.
The publisher's marketing ads informed David's fans that their favorite author had started the seventh mystery adventure of his sleuth as he continued his search in the background for the lady in red. Adriana was curious as to their reaction, once David and his protagonist learned her true identity.
The problem remained of how she was to go about meeting him again — wearing the red dress, or incognito to learn his true character. Was he a man with whom she wanted to spend the rest of her life? Was their attraction only physical, or did it also include an attraction of their innermost being? Would their marriage — provided that was what he planned — be a blending of their bodies, mind and souls? And importantly, could they bear to live with each other's faults, so long as no one else suffered? A lot to ask for, Adriana admitted. But before she allowed her attraction to grow to the point of blinding her capacity to reason, she had to know. Ergo, her final decision to meet him incognito, sans the red dress. Without further adieu, Adriana researched David's background.
Because of his popularity in the past three years, she found several articles that spoke of his quiet lifestyle and habits. One tidbit she discovered helped her to formulate her plan. Once his books became popular and his royalties quadrupled, he quit his day job as a business consultant and dedicated himself to his profession as an author. Now that he could afford it, David hired cleaning help, while he worked full time in his office in his apartment. Adriana went to a local discount store, bought a complete new wardrobe with less flattering lines, tied her shoulder length hair into a ponytail that she wound into a bun at the back of her head. She scrubbed her face clean of all makeup. Navy blue sneakers, dark blue baggy slacks, and a navy pea coat, completed her new facade.
On a bright Monday morning, David woke to his door bell ringing insistently, shortly before his alarm was set to buzz. "All right, all right, I'm coming," he grumbled. He threw on his robe, an average grey affair, and stumbled into the living room. The doorbell continued to ring. "All right!" he hollered, sleepy-eyed and disgruntled.
From habit, he peered through the eyehole to see who was damaging his door bell. His eyes opened wide and he made himself take a second, closer, look. "What the—"
He opened the door, his expression one of befuddlement.
A middle-aged woman stood in front of him, carrying a cacophony of cleaning utensils and supplies tied at her waist with a utility belt. Mop, broom, duster, cleaning rags, pail, bottled bleach and disinfectant wipes, protruded on each side of her like the mottled wings of a butterfly in flight.
The shock he experienced momentarily numbed his vocal chords. But her next words made that fact moot, as she demanded, "Do you have paper towels?" and before he could answer, she added, "I don't bring paper towels. I'd go broke if I had to bring my own for each job."
"Y-yes, I-I have some," he stammered, tongue-tied."
"Good," she said, with a firm nod of her chin. "Well, move out of the way, so I can get started," she told him, and nearly knocked him over as she barreled through. "I'll start with the kitchen." As an afterthought, she added, "Oh, my special rates include breakfast — of course, don't expect this from the regular staff. What would you like?"
"What happened to my regular help?" David asked, sidestepping her query. My sweet old grey-haired cleaning lady, he thought, nostalgically.
"Mrs. Spinetta?" the woman asked over her shoulder.
"Yes, her."
"She took a much needed hiatus. Health-wise; nothing serious. She asked me to fill in for her. It was a private arrangement. She didn't think you'd mind, and she'll be back in a couple of months." She turned and gazed fully and inquisitively at David whose expression continued furrowed and puzzled. "So, what's breakfast to be?" she asked, impatiently.
David grimaced. He shook his head, but relented, "Eggs, bacon, toast, juice — the usual."
"How do you like your bacon? she asked.
"Medium rare!" he snarled, fed up.
The woman smiled sweetly. "Thank you. I'll get right to it." She barreled through the kitchen door.
David winced at the sound of something glass inside the kitchen, crashing to the floor and shattering.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Adriana tried to catch the crystal cookie dish that the broom handle knocked off the counter aisle as she made a right turn in the kitchen. It fell to the floor. The impact on the ceramic tile broke the dish into smithereens. Smothering a curse, she quietly unbuckled the
utility belt and stood the cleaning paraphernalia against a corner. Mrs. Spinetta had given her pointers on how to clean the apartment and what she knew of David's likes and dislikes.
The statement about the private arrangement was not a lie. It had taken some doing, but at last she had proved to Mrs. Spinetta that she truly was the Lady in Red, and not another among a score of women who had tried to pass themselves off as the mystery woman. Adriana produced her passport, her airline tickets, proof of her presence in Florence on the same day as David's presence. She even brought the dress to the old woman and explained about the Dellaporta history and the legend associated with the garment. Their conversation grew personal.
Mrs. Spinetta and her husband were childless, though not for lack of trying. In the two years the sixty-year-old woman had cleaned David's apartment, his attitude towards her never veered from kindness and gratitude. Coming from a poor family, himself, his own mother had often taken side jobs as a domestic to help him financially, when the salary from his part time jobs was not enough to cover his college tuition and scholastic books.
Once convinced of Adriana's sincerity, the Spinettas had decided to help her. Adriana told her, "My parents brought me up with a strict moral code and with a deep faith in the good Lord and His Holy Mother."
"You are both of the same faith. That's an advantage," Mrs. Spinetta said. "Though mixed marriages won't hinder happiness, when both parties are willing to work together one hundred percent towards that happiness." She patted Adriana's hand. "You strike me as someone with a kind heart. The way you have bared your soul, and your manner and speech towards me, your background and social position, notwithstanding—"
Adriana was surprised at the old couple's level of intelligence, contrary to the stereotyped image of domestics. "Please," Adriana entreated. "Wealth, background, my standing in society, are no better than yours in the eyes of the Lord. My parents have their faults, but their best character trait has always been a sincere and close attachment to their faith. I was brought up in the same manner, and have a deep devotion to the Blessed Mother. I don't believe I'd have the gumption to follow my plan if I didn't believe she'd see me through, whatever the outcome."
Mrs. Spinetta nodded. "I have a deep devotion to her as well. Perhaps you are the answer to my prayers — that David should find his lady in red, and that she be a good woman with whom he can build a life and rear a good family." On a note of determination, Mrs. Spinetta said, "I will help you. You've proven to me beyond a doubt who you are. If we had been granted a son, I should have wished him to be like David. And to me you feel right for him. Yes, I will help you. When he calls me, and I think he will, to see how I'm feeling, and double check your story, I'll confirm it. And advise him not to call the cleaning firm and jeopardize my job."
She took a pen and tore a sheet of paper from a notebook she kept by her telephone. "Here, start jotting down pointers that will help you become indispensable to David, so he can work on his novels uninterrupted."
Standing in David's kitchen, with shoulders drooping, Adriana grimaced. "What a great start," she said under her breath. She glanced at the kitchen door, half expecting David to dash in and throw her out of his apartment. But all she heard was the sound of his slippered footsteps retreating, and his bedroom door slamming shut.
Adriana pulled out the dust pan and brush from the cabinet below the sink, where Mrs. Spinetta had told her the two items were kept. Quickly, she brushed the broken crystalware into the dustpan and placed it in a small garbage bag and threw it into the recycle bin. I'll replace the dish. I know the make. We have a similar one at home, she thought, hopefully. With an air of finality, she opened the drawer where her collaborator had told her she kept her apron. She removed her pea coat and slipped on the full bib apron patterned with a mixed floral design. "Okay, breakfast first," she reasoned, heading for the fridge.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Adriana poked her head around the kitchen door. No one was in the living room, and his bedroom door was ajar, giving her pause to think he was not in the bedroom. His office door was shut tight. She padded to it, and knocked softly. When no answer came, she knocked louder, followed by "Breakfast is ready. Where shall I serve it?"
After a heavy pause, David's voice came through. "In the kitchen — please."
Adriana hurried back and set the dinette table. A bouquet of roses graced the window over the sink. She took a rose, checked the cabinets for a small vase, found one, filled it a third full with water, placed the rose inside at an angle, and centered it carefully behind his meal. She had prepared the breakfast exactly as Mrs. Spinetta instructed. Scrambled eggs soft, bacon medium, light toast with minimum butter, and a full glass of orange juice. She kept fresh perked coffee in the carafe, on the warming plate in the coffee maker. Mrs. Spinetta had told her that David usually took a cup with cream and sugar before starting breakfast, and another cup after breakfast, with him into his office.
A good morning meal, she thought, one she, herself, would have enjoyed, especially this morning. She had overslept and had no time to eat, except for a cup of coffee with whole milk. She loved her coffee in the morning, and nothing short of the grim reaper could keep her from it. Adriana eyed the breakfast with mouth close to salivating. Think about something else, she chided herself. David's apartment waited for a full cleaning. Mrs. Spinetta came three days a week — Monday, Thursday and Saturday.
"Did you eat before you came?" David startled her. Her mind, preoccupied with food had muffled any sound made by his quiet entry.
Adriana was not used to experiencing hunger, or hiding it. No use denying it. And she did not want to start working for him with an obvious lie. "I apologize. I overslept this morning. But not to worry, I'll start with the living room while you eat, and consume a bit extra on my lunch break."
David eyed her curiously. "Are you the same woman who barreled into my apartment and made me think of a Viking Braun Hilda?"
Adriana lowered her gaze to her sneakers, a smile teasing her untinted lips. "Yes," she said, shame-faced. It-it's me. I'm afraid hunger made me cranky, and—" she bit back the rest.
"And—" David urged.
Tell as much truth as possible, Mrs. Spinetta had advised her. David abhors a liar, she had warned her.
"It's my first job as a cleaning lady. I was afraid that if I showed a lack of confidence, you might not accept me in place of Mrs. Spinetta. She told me how partial you are to her, considering her a friend more than a maid."
"On that account," David said, "you don't have to worry. I called her this morning while you were cooking breakfast. She confirmed everything you told me. I trust Mrs. Spinetta's judgment. And I'll respect whatever arrangement you two have made.
"By the way, breakfast looks good. You didn't have to do this. It's not expected. Mrs. Spinetta enjoys cooking, and mothering. As you probably already know, they were never granted children. I know she enjoys her time here, so I don't object."
"I don't mind at all," Adriana said. "I enjoy cooking as well." That wasn't a lie either. She did enjoy cooking, especially since her parents employed a cook. A culinary course was included in the prestigious high school she had attended. The school board knew how important those lessons might prove someday to their students in college, and life after.
"Well, all right," David said. He moved to the coffeemaker and poured himself a cup. The sugar dispenser and creamer were on the table. When he sat down, cup in hand, he glanced at Adriana, as she gathered the duster and unhooked the vacuum cleaner from the tall broom cabinet. "Um... listen, you only cooked enough for one. Why don't you go to the corner diner and have some breakfast before you start cleaning. Just add the money spent to your cleaning bill."
"No, really, I'm fine," Adriana replied.
"I insist," David said. "This is your first cleaning job. Your body needs nourishment. Believe me, I know. I came from a poor family, and to pay my way through college, I hired out as the janitor's assistant. He wasn't the most considerat
e of employers. He was a lonely, weary, cranky old man, and considered it his prerogative to load all the heavier work — and then some — on his young assistant."
Noting the embarrassment on her face, he urged. "Go, go have something to eat. If you feel obliged, you can stay an extra hour. I'll be going out to dinner on a date."
Adriana stiffened. "You have a lady friend?" she asked, nonchalantly.
David smirked. "Not willingly. But she is the daughter of a backer for the firm that publishes my books. As long as she keeps the friendship platonic, I don't mind occasionally sharing dinner with her."
"Because you're still looking for your lady in red?" Adriana dared.
David smiled. "You've read my books?"
"Everyone of them," Adriana admitted.
She was easy to talk to, David mused. He found it hard not to. "When I started the series, I hoped that if it was successful, she would hear of me, maybe read one of the books, and find me, even if only out of curiosity. I'm slowly arriving at the conclusion that there's an impediment. Or I read into that adoring look on her face. It might all have been a joke to her, she'd rather forget. For all I know she was married, and just out on an escapade. The series is close to ending. My editors keep advising me that I should move on to new books, now that I have a majority following."
"Wait a little longer," Adriana gasped.
"What?"
"I mean, if you think she's worth loving, maybe ... you should wait a bit more. You never know ..."
David thought her advice endearing. "Thank you." He gave a lighthearted chuckle. "Maybe I will. Now go eat, so I can have my breakfast without feeling guilty."
Adriana nodded, pleased. My Lord, she thought, I was right all along. He is worth finding."
