Unfortunate that she hadn’t memorized the Song of Solomon. What verses could top the last set? Something about the ex’s breasts, most likely. Solomon liked cleavage.
Scott’s breath warmed her ear. “Earth to Giulia.”
“Mm?”
“Have you heard anything I said?”
She replayed the noises his voice had made while she considered the note’s ramifications. “Battle training?”
The lights blinked off and on. A pause. Off and on.
“Rats. Intermission’s over.” They walked back amidst audience and orchestra members. “Here’s the gist. You. Me. Pizza. Tomorrow after the matinee.”
“I might have to...” No. Not anymore. No more job. “I’d love to.”
Scott stopped her at the conductor’s stand. “We will make a kick-ass team.” He leaned down and kissed her.
The sound of a throat being cleared broke them apart. The conductor raised an eyebrow and gave pointed looks toward their respective seats.
Giulia sidled to her stand and warmed her flute. When she looked up, Frank’s frown assumed biblical proportions.
_____
“Call is one-thirty tomorrow, people. Kindly forego the Pirates game and be on time.” The conductor stared at the clarinet and piano players. “And no texting until intermission.”
Giulia pulled a cleaning cloth through the flute body and shook it out. Frank loosened his bow and tucked his music into the case’s inner pouch. Giulia waited until he’d fastened all four latches and walked up to him.
“If you have a minute, Frank, there’s something—”
“Excuse me, Ms. Falcone, but I’m in a hurry.” He picked up the case. “An employee quit, and I have to cover her duties as well as my own.”
“Frank, stop being so pig-headed. I got a new—”
“Enjoy your date tomorrow. Remember to smile for any hidden photographers. At least your face is camera-ready this time.” He turned his back on her and walked away as fast as the unwieldy instrument allowed.
Giulia slammed her flute case. Her music slipped through the back of her folding chair and scattered.
Damn the man. Because of him, she’d cursed more this past week than in her entire life. If she hadn’t violated her service contract with God, she’d badger the angelic host to send down... Yes. To send Frank a particularly cranky messenger angel who’d whack him upside the head. And when he couldn’t do anything but hold an ice pack on the bump, the angel would give him the true explanation of everything that happened since the night she let Blake crash on her couch.
“Ms. Falcone?”
Giulia looked up at the first row of seats. “Sidney?”
“We could hear your flute. You play really well.”
“Thanks.” Why on earth had Sidney come here? With the landscaper/social worker boyfriend too.
“I, um, well, do you have to be anywhere right now?”
No rest for the wicked. Sidney and boyfriend must need advice. “No. Did you want to go for coffee?”
Sidney’s always-cheerful face got its “health lecture” expression. “Green tea, Ms. Falcone.”
Giulia weighed something invisible with both hands. “Chai?”
Sidney smiled. “Deal.”
“Olivier has the highest GPA in his class, Ms. Falcone. He’s not just a hunk.” Sidney leaned her head on her boyfriend’s shoulder, easy to do as even sitting next to each other he was a foot taller than her. “But you have to admit he is a hunk, isn’t he?”
“I admit it freely.” Giulia brushed a few verbena leaves off the table from the lush plant hanging overhead. “And I’m interested to see that you do wear something besides earth tones, Sidney.” Giulia smiled at Sidney’s instant blush. “You look good in hot pink and black. Did you ever think of getting a permanent? The waves you put in it frame your face just right.”
“A permanent?” Sidney shuddered. “Abrasive chemicals soaking into my hair for hours? Oh, no. And you should talk, Ms. Falcone. Who did your makeup? Do you have a date or something later?”
Giulia didn’t quite stop a grin. “Tomorrow. Mingmei showed me how to do a little more with makeup today. I just hope I remember what she did.”
“You look really good. Um... your date’s not with Mr. Driscoll, is it?”
Giulia’s smile shut off. “No.” A quick sip of chai had trouble getting past the rock in her throat. Frank and me. Not likely. Not ever.
She sipped more chai, and it went down easier. The Garden of Delights made the best chai in Cottonwood, and even at eleven p.m. the café was three-quarters full. Possibly related to their white-chocolate crème de menthe cake, which sold out almost every weekend.
A verbena leaf fell on Olivier’s short, rippled black hair. Another on his green silk shirtsleeve.
“At least it stayed out of my mocha and strawberry pie this time.” Olivier’s voice was like a good mocha: smooth and deep.
Sidney brushed them off. “His only imperfection is his accent.”
“I’m sorry?” Giulia looked at Olivier, who affected a martyr’s expression.
Sidney said, “He was born in Jamaica, but he talks just like you and me.”
“Ms. Falcone, my parents emigrated when I was six months old. My brothers were all born in Cottonwood. I ask you: how else should we talk?”
Sidney gave him her theatrical sigh. “I know, I know, sweetie, but I still wish you sounded mysterious and exotic.”
“Sidney, you know I love you, but I refuse to say things like ‘Hey, mon, do you feel da riddems?’ ”
Giulia laughed. “Olivier, please call me Giulia. Did I say how glad I am you haven’t asked me to produce a guitar and sing ‘Dominique?’ ”
“That’s right, Sidney told me you used to be a nun. We are therefore kindred spirits in our war against stereotypes.”
Sidney’s brow wrinkled. “Ms. Falcone, were you annoyed that first day when I asked you about The Sound of Music?”
Olivier groaned. “Sidney, you didn’t.”
“I, well, the convent is mysterious and exotic, just like Jamaica, you know? I never met a real live nun before. I’ve only seen them in movies and stuff. I was curious.”
“Don’t worry about it, Sidney. Everybody is curious. I’ll show you a picture of myself in habit sometime so you can laugh.”
“I’d never laugh at you, Ms. Falcone.” Sidney dropped her dessert spoon with a clatter. “I think you’re sweet and funny and sad.” She bit her lips. “I didn’t mean to say that.”
Giulia stirred her tea. She should’ve thought about poor Sidney, caught in the middle of this mess.
“Tell me the truth, Ms. Falcone, all that caffeine doesn’t keep you awake at night?” Sidney stared into her soy-milk decaf white chai and spoke much faster than normal.
“Sidney, I could’ve ordered espresso and I’d still be asleep five minutes after I got home.” Giulia smiled at her and watched her shoulders un-hunch. “And I did want to ask you if you’re feeling okay.”
“Sure I am. Why?”
“You’re eating ice cream.”
“Oh, no, Ms. Falcone. I’d never eat processed ice cream. This is frozen tofu with berry puree and sweetened with—”
“Honey. Sidney, you’re an example to us all. I am mortified, and shall finish my whole-milk chai with a contrite spirit.”
A shadow flitted across Sidney’s clear, open face. “Ms. Falcone, I don’t always understand your sense of humor.”
“It’s just self-deprecating sarcasm.”
“That’s another thing I don’t understand about you, Ms. Falcone. You’re so thoughtful and good. Why do you hide behind sarcasm? I asked Olivier about it, and he told me—”
“Sidney, you said you wanted to keep that between ourselves.” Olivier set down his forkful of strawberry pie. “Ms. Falcone—sorry. Giulia, Sidney’s worried about your office situation and because I’ll be receiving my Master’s in Social Work in December, she thinks I have all the answers.”
&nbs
p; “You do, sweetie. You were such a help to my last boyfriend when his new girlfriend dumped him and he wouldn’t come out of his room and nearly lost his job.”
Olivier kissed the top of Sidney’s head. “Your confidence is quite the ego-boost.”
Giulia smiled. Only Sidney could convince her new boyfriend to help her old one out of a jam. She was the perfect companion for a psychologist: Giulia could picture Olivier coming home to her after a long day of navigating other people’s complexes and obsessions and relaxing in her presence like in a favorite chair.
“Sidney, I appreciate that you’re only trying to help.”
“Ms. Falcone—”
“Please stop calling me Ms. Falcone. It makes me feel like a fossil. My name is Giulia.”
Sidney sipped her tea like she was buying time. Still holding the cup, she said, “You’re my supervisor.”
“Not anymore.”
Sidney gulped too much tea and coughed. “He didn’t—just a sec—” she snatched her napkin and hacked into it. Olivier rubbed her back and she took several deep breaths. “Mr. Driscoll fired you?”
“No. I quit this afternoon.”
“This afternoon? It’s Saturday. Why were you at work on Saturday? You already had to get up at four to watch one of the houses, too.” She held up one hand. “Wait a minute. All that’s not important right now. Why did you quit?” Sidney leaned across the tiny, round bistro table and lowered her voice. “Was it anything to do with Thursday’s mail?”
Giulia’s mouth quirked. “In part.” She caught Olivier’s eye, and he found an immediate need to stir his mocha. So he knew. Her chai soured in her mouth and she pushed the remains to one side.
“Ms.—Giulia—why did you say those terrible things about yourself? I didn’t mean to listen, but you left the door open and you were kind of yelling. You used to be a nun. There’s no way you’d be, well, selling yourself like you described.”
Olivier put a hand on Sidney’s arm. “Too loud, Sidney.”
“Yeah, the people two tables over may not be able to hear you.” Giulia pushed back her high bistro chair. “Olivier, please allow me to thank you for speaking to me like I was still a decent human being.”
“Ms. Falcone—Giulia—”
“It’s all right. I never expected Sidney would share our daily soap opera. I apologize for making you uncomfortable. Good night.”
Sidney caught Giulia’s sleeve as Giulia slid to the floor. “Ms. Falcone, wait. I know I shouldn’t have said anything to Olivier, but Mr. Driscoll shouldn’t have yelled at you like he did.”
“It’s a long story.” She shook off Sidney’s hand.
Olivier’s mellow voice penetrated the blood pounding in her ears. “Ms. Falcone, please sit down with us again. We’ve given you the wrong impression.”
Giulia stopped but kept her eyes on the polyurethaned wood floor. She wanted out. She wanted away from people.
“Ms. Falcone, I don’t believe you’ve ever done a bad thing in your life.” Sidney jogged Olivier’s arm. “Tell her what you told me.”
“Ms. Falcone, from Sidney’s description it appears that you’re the victim of hate mail. That’s a crime in Pennsylvania. Because it now seems to have adversely affected your livelihood, you might want to look into taking legal action.”
“Do you know who sent it, Ms. Falcone? Do you know why Mr. Driscoll is so off the wall about it?”
Giulia looked up for a moment to meet their eyes. “We don’t know specifically. We’re—Frank—is narrowing it down from a pool of five.” She switched her gaze to the floor again. “I appreciate your suggestion, Olivier, but when Frank finds out which one’s doing it, I don’t want to listen to a courtroom recital of all the disgusting things she’s written about me. That’s the trouble with innuendo. Like those supermarket tabloids, they’re scandalous and exciting and once the idea is planted it’s so easy to believe it—because it’s in print.”
Sidney’s voice squeaked. “Mr. Driscoll believes the hate mail? Is he on crack?”
Giulia laughed. After a moment, Sidney laughed too. When tears started rolling down their cheeks, Olivier reached a long arm to the next table and snagged several napkins. Giulia and Sidney wiped their faces and honked into them.
“Here, Ms. Falcone. Have some tofu. This kind is my number-one comfort food.” Sidney slid her melting dessert to the edge of the table near Giulia. “You can use my spoon; I never get sick.” When Giulia hesitated, she said, “And don’t even think you’re not good enough to share our table or anything so, so, asinine as that.”
The part of Giulia that had been freezing solid since Wednesday began to thaw around the edges.
“Sidney, you’re a perpetual ray of sunshine.” Giulia scooted back into her chair. “But I really don’t like tofu.”
Sidney shook her head. “Ms. Falcone, if you only knew the health benefits—”
Olivier waved a forkful of glazed strawberries and flaky crust beneath Sidney’s nose. “Giulia obviously knows the true bliss of butter, processed sugar, and refined flour.”
“Olivier, I was wrong. You have two imperfections.”
This time Olivier laughed. “Some people get married and sleep in separate bedrooms. When we get married, we’ll have to build a house with separate kitchens.”
“No, sweetie, once you see how much better you feel when you go 100 percent natural, you’ll—” She paused. “What did you say?”
“We’ll talk about it later. Right now we’re here for Giulia.” He gave Giulia a Change the subject? look.
Giulia tapped the back of Sidney’s hand. “Hey. Listen. Frank’s going to need your help on Monday with this stalker case. Do you have a pen and some paper? There are a lot of details.”
Sidney stared. “Me? Ms.—Giulia. I’ll remember, I promise. Giulia, can’t you take it back? Saying you quit, I mean.”
“Uh, no. We both said irrevocable things. And besides, it’ll be easier for you now. You told him I made you uncomfortable.”
“What? No, I didn’t. I told him that it was hard to work with you two all tense and snarky. After I said it, I realized I was way out of line and I apologized six or seven times. He said I didn’t do anything wrong, and he’d take care of the situation.”
“He did indeed.”
Olivier finished his pie and brought his mocha to the counter for a refill.
Sidney grasped both Giulia’s hands. “What changed? I was sure you and Mr. Driscoll were practically a couple. Besides, you made the office fun. I liked coming in and sitting behind a desk, and I never thought that’d happen. Whatever you said can’t be that final. Please come back on Monday.”
Giulia shook her head. “It wouldn’t be fun anymore. You’re better off with Frank and me in two different zip codes.”
Olivier returned with a flyer for yoga classes and a pen with The Garden of Delights in an ivy-leaf design. “Here you go. For the notes.”
Sidney tipped her glass bowl and drank melted tofu-berry slush. “I can’t do what you and Mr. Driscoll do. I barely know the filing system.”
Giulia waved that away. “I didn’t even know that when I started. You’ll do fine.”
Sidney frowned, although her facial muscles appeared out of practice. “I’ll take notes if you give me your phone number. I’m going to need lots of help.”
“That’s not a good idea. It could cause friction between you and Frank. Now, here’s an outline of Blake Parker and the stalker suspects.”
_____
Giulia leaned into the passenger window of Olivier’s Jeep an hour later. “Thanks for the ride, Olivier. Now, Sidney, when Frank asks you to be his new assistant Monday, what’s your response?”
“If you think so—”
Giulia slapped the windowsill. “Confidence! Any time an employer asks you to take on new responsibilities, your only response should be, ‘I’ll be happy to. When would you like me to start?’ ”
Sidney rested her forehead on Olivier’s shoulder. “Al
l right.”
“That’s the spirit. You’ll be raring to take this on when Monday hits.”
Sidney put her hands over Giulia’s. “Mr. Driscoll will realize what a jerk he was for not believing you. You’ll see. He’ll call you in a few days and apologize and everything will be back to normal.”
“You’re sweet. Good luck. Olivier, I’m very glad to have met you.”
“Likewise, Giulia.” He leaned across Sidney. “I think perhaps Sidney’s intuition is correct, and you’ll be working together again very soon.”
Giulia smiled. “ ’Night.”
She was inside her building before they turned the corner. Just because she didn’t see anyone lurking didn’t mean she should tempt fate.
Theirs was going to be an interesting wedding—just the kind those “food stations” were made for. Half would serve only all-natural, soy-based appetizers, and half would no doubt serve carnivorous creations. Two cakes, as well? One with carob and spelt flour and the other a vision in sugar and butter.
Mail. She forgot to check her mailbox this afternoon. Going into work and fighting with Frank threw off her Saturday schedule. Tucking her flute under her arm, she flipped her key ring around to the tiny silver mailbox key.
College alumni letter—that meant a request for money. Office-supplies sale brochure, postcard asking for animal shelter volunteers. The return address on the last envelope stopped her right under the dusty ceiling light. Office of the Superior General.
Dear Ms. Falcone,
October 3rd will mark the 125th year of the founding of the Sisters of Saint Francis of Greater Pittsburgh. In the spirit of Community, we are asking all former Sisters to join us for our three-day celebration of the life of Saint Francis and the anniversary of the SSFGP.
All Sisters of the Community will return to the Motherhouse for this momentous occasion. Unfortunately, this means that there will be no rooms available for former Community members. On the back of this letter you will find a list of hotels within a ten-mile radius of the Motherhouse. When you make reservations, mention the code “Franciscan” and you will receive a ten percent discount on a single room for Friday and Saturday nights.
Force of Habit: A Falcone & Driscoll Investigation Page 17
