by Wendy Wax
The panel was the one of two mermaids sunning on a rock—one tall and thin, one short and curvy—the figures sculpted in remembrance of a friendship that had been over for more than half a century.
Max rubbed a finger over the sculpted rock beneath the mermaids. Although he looked right at the panel, Maddie sensed that his thoughts were far away.
“Pamela came on to me once,” he said without preamble, his gaze still on the luminescent rectangle of glass. “I’d realized for a while that she was noticing me in that way. Strange as it sounds, I don’t think I meant all that much to her. I’m not even sure how much she liked me. But Pamela always seemed to want whatever Millie wanted. Sometimes I had the feeling she actually wanted to be Millie. Not that anyone ever could be.”
He looked up to the hole in the center of the domed ceiling where the chandelier would soon hang, then at Maddie. “I turned her down and she didn’t like it. She was a determined woman and she was used to getting what she wanted.”
Maddie listened intently in the way she imagined a priest might listen to the confession of a long-held, and possibly damning, secret. Was there a Jewish equivalent to “say five Hail Marys and call me in the morning”?
“She persisted for a while,” Max continued. “Just when I thought I was going to have to say something to Millie, she fired Pamela and that was that.” He looked down at his gnarled hands, their misshapenness magnified behind the gold-flecked glass. “I told myself that Millie didn’t know, that her getting rid of Pamela had nothing to do with me. And I was relieved that we never had to talk about it.”
Maddie thought about Max’s regret at not having allowed Millie to talk about their missing son. And his relief at not having to talk about Millie’s best friend coming on to her husband. It seemed even the best-intentioned men shied away from the difficult conversations.
He turned to face Maddie. “I was so glad when I heard that Pamela had left town and so grateful that she went quietly. Pamela Gentry wasn’t a leave-quietly-with-her-tail-tucked-between-her-legs kind of person.”
Maddie reached out and squeezed Max’s arm. “The more I hear about Millie, the more I wish I’d known her.”
“She was something,” he said wistfully. “Me, I don’t care about Moroccan tile or bas-relief, or Sabino glass, but Millie did. I know she’d be glad to see this chandelier that she inspired sparkling and whole in its rightful place. Just like she’d be thrilled to see everything else you’ve done for the house she loved.
“Here.” He handed her the panel and watched as she set it gently back on the table. Then he smiled and she knew the subject was closed. “I’m planning to stay right here for the chandelier raising if you want to sit with me. I think it’s definitely the best seat in the house.”
By the time Avery arrived, a small crowd had gathered in the foyer. Troy and Anthony stood on the dining room side of the foyer opening. Kyra was positioned midway up the stairs, while Max and Maddie sat companionably on the bottom step. Andrew stood nearby waiting for instruction.
There were two ladders in position, one directly beneath the electrical juncture and another next to the first. A pulley had been rigged to hoist the new chandelier.
Deirdre nodded and motioned Avery closer as Kyra and Troy moved in for close-ups of the panels and their sculpted figures. There was no jockeying for position, no blocking the other.
Avery looked closely at the fixture. “The detail is exquisite. And Pamela had already replated hers,” she said. “It’s in far better shape than the original that hung here. But it is hard to picture this in a Prairie-style home in the suburbs of Chicago.”
“We were lucky to find it,” Deirdre said. “I can’t wait to see it hanging and lit.”
For the first time Deirdre’s modesty didn’t strike Avery as false. Deirdre had not allowed anything to stand in the way of finding and acquiring the chandelier and she seemed genuinely glad to have the piece for The Millicent, not to make herself look good, but because the project—and The Millicent—deserved it.
“It wouldn’t have happened without you.” Avery was surprised at the compliment as it left her lips. “You were like a dog with a bone. No one else would have gone to the trouble you did over one design element.”
“I think that was a compliment?” Madeline sounded unsure.
Nicole pretended to look out the window. “Oh my God,” she said. “It’s been pushing a hundred for days, but I think hell is about to freeze over!”
“Very funny,” Avery said. “She did a good job and I’m saying so. You don’t have to make a federal case of it.”
Madeline wore a strange look of satisfaction, but Deirdre’s eyes glowed with…Avery didn’t want to think a simple compliment could create all that happiness.
Max smiled and leaned on Madeline’s arm as Deirdre began to direct the installation. “Okay, Ted’s going to go up his ladder and handle the pulley. Andrew and Avery are going to each go up a ladder and steady the chandelier as it’s raised.”
Avery nodded at the efficiency of the plan, more than a little impressed by Deirdre’s attention to detail. She could find no fault with Deirdre’s approach and ability to orchestrate the installation. Even more surprisingly, she wasn’t looking for one.
Maddie spent the rest of the day cooking in The Millicent’s new kitchen while Dustin played happily on the floor and everyone else flitted in and out in no discernible order to lend a hand or keep her company.
Giraldi was bringing the wine for that night’s celebratory dinner and Mario had dropped off homemade tiramisu for dessert. He’d stayed for more than an hour to help Madeline with some of the intricacies of his recipe for veal scaloppine.
“It’s not right for you to cook half the meal and not stay for dinner,” Maddie told him when he bowed over her hand and told her what a pleasure it had been to work with and get to know her.
“It’s completely right,” he said in his heavily accented English. “I do not think workmen, not even the best of the best like me, are meant to be a part of the celebration tonight. It’s for famiglia, family, and…what is it called…significant others like Giraldi.” He looked into her eyes, a question in his. “Your husband, he is not coming?”
She looked down at her hand. “No, he couldn’t make it,” she lied, withdrawing her hand. The truth was, she hadn’t heard from Steve since the phone call in which she’d told him off and she hadn’t had the heart to call him. She knew the kids had spoken to him, but she had no idea whether he thought she’d simply come home when they were done here or had given her no thought at all. Resolutely, she pushed thoughts of their relationship aside to be dealt with after The Millicent was finished. She wished she could do the same with Tonja Kay’s threat, but the actress was like a loose cannon that might ignite and blow a hole in them and their future at any time.
“Well then,” he said with a smile. “I will say arrivederci. But I will count on us meeting again.” A moment later he was gone.
Madeline went into the dining room to check on Kyra’s progress.
The dining room credenza, table, and skyscraper-back chairs had been beautifully refinished. Ten place settings of Millie’s Minton china and Reed & Barton silver gleamed atop a cutwork tablecloth. An arrangement of birds of paradise and white spider lilies plucked fresh from the yard sat at the table’s center.
Maddie set out wineglasses and an ice bucket on the kitchen table and then began to toss the Caesar salad while Kyra pulled salad plates from the cupboard.
“This kitchen rocks,” Kyra said. “I love the teak countertops and the wavy backsplash. The whole nautical thing is so cool.”
Looking up, Maddie took in the beach-ball-shaped light fixture now hanging above the sink and the mass of clear bubbles floating on clear thread that dangled from the ceiling above the banquette, which had been re-covered in a sunshine-yellow leather. “I know, I’m not sure how Deirdre managed to make it fun and sophisticated at the same time,” she said even as she tried to picture Max
alone in here making his instant coffee and eating his meager meals.
She refused to try even to picture where the rest of them would be if Tonja Kay convinced the network to cancel the show.
“Have you heard from Daniel?” Maddie asked Kyra tentatively. Not long ago she’d wished that the celebrity would disappear. Now she wasn’t sure how such a disappearance might impact them.
“No,” Kyra said. “I haven’t seen him since Tonja’s phone call. And ever since the headlines about him and that production assistant, he’s stopped answering my calls. I don’t know if someone else is screening them or he’s just not bothering to listen to my messages.” She stopped looking at her hands and met Maddie’s eye. “There was an article on one of the blog sites that said he and Tonja and the children were taking a vacation together.
“It’s just like last summer when I was trying to reach him to tell him I was pregnant. Only now it’s not just me and my future on the line.”
And far too similar to Steve’s behavior, minus the exotic vacation, Maddie thought, wondering for the second time that day why men so often opted for avoidance. She wanted so much more for Kyra and Dustin.
“I keep waiting for something to happen with the network,” Kyra said. “I’d almost feel better if Lisa Hogan called and told us she’d heard from Tonja Kay and they wanted to cancel us so I could try to talk her out of it. Anything would be better than having the threat of cancellation hanging over us.”
Maddie nodded. Like an invisible elephant in the room, Tonja’s threat continued to infuse everything.
“Maybe she was just trying to scare us,” Kyra said.
“Then she succeeded,” Maddie said.
“Yeah.” Kyra hesitated. “Do you think Daniel’s new…affair…distracted her enough to lose interest in Dustin?”
“I don’t know. I imagine they’ve left town to let things blow over a bit, and put on a united front,” Maddie said carefully. “But I wouldn’t count on Tonja having a change of heart. The woman is not exactly rational or predictable.”
“I know.” Kyra shivered. “I can’t stomach the thought of Tonja Kay having a hand of any kind in Dustin’s upbringing. There has to be some way to stop her.”
The scaloppine di Vitello alla Senese was a culinary success. There were actual moans of pleasure when the first bites of it were taken.
Giraldi kissed his fingers in a classic Italian gesture of approval. “This veal scaloppine is wonderful. Almost as good as my mother’s,” he said with a smile. “And that’s saying a lot.”
Madeline glowed at the praise and everyone’s enjoyment of the meal. Max ate appreciatively. Dustin’s face was smeared with the bits of pasta and veal that had been put on his plastic plate and that he’d been happily cramming into his mouth.
“I hope Millie’s watching,” Max said as he reached for a glass of the Borolo that Giraldi had paired with the main course. “She would love to see the house looking like this and her things being used by people who appreciate them.”
“You know, Max, there are a lot of people who would love to see this house,” Deirdre said. “I had a call from a Miami Design Preservation League tour volunteer who’s interested in adding The Millicent to his tour of the Ocean Beach Historic District. And Lori Bakkum and Nate Miller are interested in hosting a mixer here to showcase the house now that it’s complete.”
Max listened but didn’t comment.
“Then, if a time ever came when you wanted to put it on the market, it would already have a high profile. People would know its name.”
“But I don’t want to sell,” Max said. “I promised Millie I’d leave it for Aaron. Now that it’s ready, I feel even more strongly about saving it for him—or his offspring.”
Maddie felt a tug of sadness. She looked around the table and knew they were all thinking the same thing. They had no reason to believe Aaron Golden was alive or had remained alive long enough to have children. Could they all simply walk away a week from now and leave Max sitting here alone waiting for a child that had most likely been dead for over fifty years?
Dustin began to fuss to get down from his high chair. The more mobile he became, the less he liked to be confined for long periods of time. Dustin held on to chair legs as he worked his way around the table toward Max. As they all watched, he flung his arms wide, shouted “Gax!,” and took a long step toward the old man before plopping down on his diapered behind.
Max applauded and threw a big kiss to the little boy. “He’s so close,” he said. “Any day now he’ll be walking.” He fell silent and Maddie knew he was seeing his own child taking those first steps. “Aaron means ‘strong’ in Hebrew, you know,” Max said. “And he was.” He swallowed. “Maybe he still is.”
There was a silence and then Giraldi got up and brought a large envelope over to Max. He removed a photograph and placed it in Max’s hand. “An artist at the FBI did this from Aaron’s last photos. This is what he would look like as an adult.”
Max studied the photograph. His shoulders shook. Tears seeped out from beneath his lashes.
“We know it’s not the same as having him back,” Maddie said. “Or knowing what happened. But we wanted you to have at least something of him.”
All of them were fighting to hold back tears, some more successfully than others. Maddie could barely see through the blur. Troy kept his camera pressed to his face. Even Anthony had buried his face in his equipment bag.
Max passed the photo around so that they could each see it. “He looks like me, doesn’t he? I always thought he had Millie’s nose, but it grew into mine.” He smiled at that.
Maddie looked at the photograph when it came to her. The artist was skillful, the face complete and very real-looking. Her brow furrowed as she considered it. There was something about it…something familiar. She handed it back to Max and dismissed the thought. It was probably just how closely he resembled Max.
Max stood and said, “You’ve done such an incredible job on the house. I can never thank you all enough. Or tell you how much it means to me. And to Millie. You appeared in my life when I was feeling the most alone, and as far as I’m concerned, you’re family now.
“I know what you’re thinking about me holding on to the house,” he continued quietly and with no sign of the comedian that he was. “I would probably think the same thing if I were you. But The Millicent has become my field of dreams. I just feel certain that now that the house is ready, Aaron—or at least some word of him—will come.”
Chapter Thirty-three
Nikki woke naked and cocooned in the warmth of Giraldi’s arms. It was early, the morning light just beginning to pierce the dark of his bedroom, and she sighed in quiet contentment. The first time he’d cradled her to him after lovemaking, pulling her bottom tight against him, tucking her head under his chin, and wrapping his arms loosely around her, she’d been so stunned that she’d lain awake all night afraid to move, afraid that she’d disturb him, afraid to believe that he’d wanted that closeness even after sex, when, so often in her experience, a man’s tenderness ended with orgasm and reappeared only when he was ready for another.
Over the last months Giraldi had blown so many of her long-held beliefs about men that it was hard to keep her bearings around him. For a man whose career often called for subterfuge, he was amazingly direct. He enjoyed being with her and he told her so. He thought she was smart and appreciated her dry wit and he told her that, too. When they were together his eyes didn’t stray to younger, firmer women, though there were an infinite supply of them all over South Beach and she could tell from the looks they sent him that Giraldi could have had any or all of them that he chose. For all of the reasons he continued to spell out for her, but that she still couldn’t quite grasp, he continued to choose her.
He pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck and she felt him come awake behind her.
“Mmm.” The sound rumbled in his chest and vibrated against the bare skin of her back. His hands tightened across her abdome
n.
She sighed and turned in his arms. Dark stubble covered his jaw. His eyes were warm and liquid. She felt a tug of desire as he pulled her closer. She kept her eyes open as he kissed her, intent on memorizing his face and the way he looked at her, refusing to think about how much she’d miss him and this surprising intimacy when it was time to leave Miami.
“How long do we have until you have to report for garden duty?” he asked, skimming a hand down the curve of her hip.
“Long enough,” Nicole murmured, slipping her arms around his neck and pulling his face down to hers. “I’m hoping Maddie and Avery will be so busy organizing the volunteers that they won’t even notice what time I get there.”
“Perfect.” He brushed his lips against hers and skimmed his hand up to her breast. “That’s exactly how long I was planning to take.”
By the time Nikki got to The Millicent, the street and grounds were already swimming in a sea of gardeners. After some aggressive circling, she pulled the Jag into a spot several blocks away and walked through the open gates. Madeline and a tall, thin woman with coffee-colored skin and a pith helmet of a sun hat stood at the top of the front steps preparing to address their volunteer workforce. The Millicent in all her freshly painted glory soared and curved behind them. Her windows and portholes sparkled in the sunlight. Her smokestacks seemed to signal “full speed ahead.”
With a small wave to Maddie, Nikki wended her way through the crowd and back to the pool house, where she drank a glass of orange juice, ate a banana, and went inside the main house, hoping she was going to get to stay there. She found Avery and Deirdre in the living room contemplating paintings and artwork that leaned against the walls. A rolled-up carpet sat beside a sofa. Dustin stood in his playpen near the piano bending and straightening his knees, an exercise he seemed to be finding very amusing.
