by Gina Ardito
Sadness floated over Gianna’s face, and she shook her head. “I’m not coming back to school, Megan.”
“Never?”
“I might come by to visit now and then. But I won’t be teaching there anymore.”
“But I promised my little brother you’d be his teacher,” Ashley said. “He starts kindergarten next year.”
As if in pain, Gianna grimaced. “I-I’m s-sorry, Ashley. But I work somewhere else now.”
The child’s lower lip protruded and puckered. Then she snuffled. While the drama unfolded, Kyle didn’t know with whom he sympathized more. Ashley was crestfallen, but Gianna’s eyes threatened to overflow. Neither female maintained full emotional control.
“Gianna?” He moved one step closer, and his action must have alerted her to her tenuous state.
Rising again, she quickly wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. “You girls should go back to your parents before they begin to worry.”
Instantly, four heads dropped to stare at the floor.
“O-kay,” Ashley said, scuffing her pink sneakers across the ecru carpet. “Promise you’ll come visit soon.”
“I promise. Now, go.” She waved them off.
The girls scampered away, but not without one last aria. “Goodbye, Miss Randazzo and Mr. Hayden.”
“So long.” He turned to Gianna, who leaned against the copy machine as if her legs lacked the strength to keep her upright. “You okay?”
Brushing off some imaginary lint, she ran her hands down the front of her jeans. “Oh, sure. I’m great. Why wouldn’t I be?” If the unshed tears didn’t give her away, her pallor spoke volumes.
Nevertheless, he shrugged. “No reason.”
“Come on.” A ghost of a smile flickered between them. “Let’s go cash that check and spend it.”
Linking her arm through his, she led him out of the store. He noticed how she purposely avoided the aisle where the little girls clamored around two harried-looking women, but he said nothing and followed her into the mall.
Their next stop was two doors down. Keeping with the atmosphere around them, this bank more closely resembled a department store than the staid branches he normally visited in Manhattan. Pale pink walls, burgundy carpet, and tellers dressed in bright colors contrasted with the austere white-gray-and-black ensembles Wall Street offices wore like uniforms. Velvet ropes penned customers in a serpentine procession. Impatience etched a permanent residence in every tightened mouth, every wrinkled forehead, every knitted pair of eyebrows, and every sigh.
“You go there.” Gianna pointed to the end of the line, somewhere in Albuquerque. “I have some personal business to attend to. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”
While Gianna walked toward the row of desks to the right, he headed to the end of the line on the left. His attention, however, remained fixed on her. He watched as a woman in an ill-fitting purple pinstriped suit and lavender blouse came forward, one hand outstretched in greeting. After shaking the offered hand, Gianna followed the woman to one of the desks and sat. The usual pleasantries followed—a smile, a few nods, and a nervous giggle he knew came from Gianna when the sound rippled from the nape of his neck to the base of his spine.
He shook his head. Useless to force a lighthearted air to disguise her anxiety. Anyone who knew her moods would see right through her deliberate attempt. Did Ms. Purple Pinstripe sense Gianna’s nervousness? Dumb question. Did a shark sense wounded prey in bloodied waters?
A moment later, Gianna placed her hands on the edge of the desk to pull her chair closer. Tension snapped and crackled in the air. Meanwhile, the woman on the other side lost all pretense of friendliness. Her expression froze into a business demeanor he recognized from images in his mirror at home. The downcast mouth and narrowed eyes communicated the firm, unequivocal, no-holds-barred message, “No.”
But “no” to what? He hadn’t a clue.
A poke in his right shoulder prompted him to look forward. While he’d pondered the interaction between Gianna and the purple lady, the line had moved. To prevent another finger stab from the beefy woman behind him, he shuffled up the three footsteps and closed the gap. By the time he returned his gaze to the desk area, Gianna had risen, nodding solemnly. The misery on her face had the force of a prizefighter’s punch to his stomach. Jeez, her world had crumbled. Disaster flashed like a neon sign. The misty eyes, slumped shoulders, and shaky smile all added up to bad news.
“Next!”
His head snapped to the row of tellers in front of him, and more specifically, to the woman at the end beckoning with an impatient finger. When he reached the counter, Gianna met him, her face failing to hide her sorrow.
“What was that all about?”
“Nothing important.”
Every impulse crackling between them assured him she lied.
****
Denied.
Gianna sank deeper into the hot water and citrus-scented bubbles, wishing to drown her troubles.
The bank had turned down her loan application, citing her lack of business experience and suitable collateral as reasons for destroying every dream she’d harbored for the last ten years.
“Perhaps if you had a co-signer?” Ms. Manning had suggested with a haughty sneer. “If your parents would be willing to—”
No! Not in a million years. Somehow, she’d raise the money, but she refused to ask her parents. She wasn’t nineteen, for God’s sake—she was ten years older. Ten years older, and not much wiser, still floundering for a future.
Without the bank loan, she’d never get enough financing for her daycare center. A state grant would only take her so far. And since this was an election year for local representatives, every penny of state funds would be carefully monitored before filling public coffers.
A pity she didn’t have a rich and powerful lobbyist backing her. Then, she’d have no trouble getting her congressman to approve the funds. But a woman of moderate means doing something important for the underprivileged didn’t stand a chance of receiving the monies supposedly earmarked for just that cause. How ironic.
The telephone’s wail interrupted her melancholy, but she sank lower, immersing her earlobes, and ignored the nagging ring. She didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. The noise stopped when the machine clicked on, but the caller left no message. Good thing she hadn’t bothered to climb out to answer. Probably Hayley on the other end, anyway. And the last thing she wanted was an “I told you so” lecture from a woman who couldn’t balance her checkbook without an army of CPAs standing by. What did Hayley know about finance? Even if she happened to be right this time.
Oh, eventually, she’d have to tell her best friend. But not now. Definitely not now. Right now, she couldn’t bear the thought of Hayley rubbing her nose in her own stupid mess.
She’d had a hard enough time getting through a full day’s work, especially after the fruitless shopping trip to the mall. Who knew Kyle would turn into such a pain in the butt during a routine shopping trip? For a man who was wearing filthy rags a week and a half ago, he sure was particular about his clothing. Three wasted hours spent roaming the mall—minus the thirty minutes lost at the card shop and bank—and what did the man finally buy? A pair of socks! No shirts, no pants, no shoes. Just socks.
In between his berating the unfortunate salespeople, he hammered her with questions. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, Kyle, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” At his dubious look, she added, “Really.”
“Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong? Maybe I can help you.”
Yeah, right! As if he’d suddenly transformed from a down-on-his-luck homeless man to a fairy godfather. She could just picture that conversation.
Well, Kyle, it’s like this. I need a hundred thousand dollars to open a daycare center for low-income families.
Is that all? Wait here, Gianna. I’ll get my checkbook…
She raised a trem
bling hand out of the water for the glass of chilled Chardonnay beside the tub. God, what a day! Even now, she didn’t know how she’d kept from bursting into tears when Ashley mentioned her baby brother attending kindergarten next year.
Then to suffer through the debacle at the bank! Once she’d left Ms. Manning’s desk, all she wanted was to pick up a few items for Kyle and get out of there. Get out of the mall, far from the innocent questions of starry-eyed six-year olds, far from Savings Bank of Long Island and its sanctimonious loan officer, far from Kyle’s incessant curiosity. Get to the restaurant where she’d immerse herself in the day-to-day ennui of pizza and parmiagiana.
But when she arrived at Villa Mare, Claudio took over where Kyle left off. “Whassamatter for you? You walk around all day with a puss on. Somebody die or someding?”
Not somebody, Claudio. Something. My future. Maybe I can get Don McLean to write a song for me. “The day my future died…”
She took a sip of wine and let the cool liquid slide down her parched throat. The sweetness lingered on her tongue, but couldn’t soothe the sour memories of the events of fourteen hours ago. Nothing could. With a deep sigh, she placed the wineglass on the floor and, using her big toe, pushed the trap down on the tub. As the water drained away, she wished she could flush her troubles into the cesspool so easily.
Chapter Seven
“I finally got the listing for Dr. Weber’s old office.”
At the flatness in Hayley’s tone, Gianna stared into the black void inside her coffee cup. She still hadn’t told anyone about not getting the loan. Now, she’d have no choice. Hoping to buy time, she looked up. “And?”
“I think you can forget that place. Even if I waive my commission, you can’t afford the rent. Not unless you raise tuition rates by about a hundred bucks a month per child. Or you could budget a year’s worth of rent into the loan to get you by for a while, but then you’d have nothing left to pay for the renovations.” With her usual blow-blow-slurp routine, Hayley sipped her coffee. “I hate to say it, but that office needs a lot of changes for what you want to do.”
The news went from bad to worse. Beneath the weight of today’s headlines, Gianna’s posture became as stiff as overcooked pasta. “I told you the place was a long shot.”
“Yeah, well, don’t give up hope. Something’s gotta break for you soon.”
Time to come clean. “Not soon enough. I stopped at the bank the other day while Kyle cashed his paycheck. I didn’t get the loan.”
Hayley’s coffee cup slammed onto the table, sloshing tan liquid all over the cuff of her blouse. “Darn it! You’re kidding!”
Gianna grabbed a wad of napkins, blotted them on the stain. “Nope.”
“What’d they say?”
“Everything you warned me they’d say,” she admitted.
“So now what?”
Gianna shrugged.
“You mean you’re just gonna give up?”
Sometimes, Hayley could be so dense. Living rent-free in her mother’s beach house, she had no idea how other people juggled their finances for big-ticket items like cars or daycare centers. “What choice do I have?” Gianna demanded.
“Well, there has to be another option.”
“Yeah, sure. I could marry a wealthy man, and have him buy the school for me.”
Hayley rolled her eyes with all the impatience of a teenager. “Can the sarcasm, okay, Gi? I’m only trying to help.”
“If you really wanna help, drop the subject.”
“Fine.” She lifted the napkins to check the spreading stain and frowned at the results. “How’d the shopping trip go?”
Gianna sighed. “Honest to God, you’d think he’d never seen the inside of a mall before.”
“Well, maybe he hasn’t.” Her index finger bobbed toward Gianna’s nose. “You said yourself Kyle’s probably never really worked a day in his life. And trust me. A man who has enough money to afford a place on Central Park West does not buy his clothes off the rack.”
Again, Gianna sought answers in the coffee cup. She found none. Instead, she noticed the brew ate away the waxy interior and left translucent curls atop the black surface. Her stomach flip-flopped. “I guess you’re right.”
“What about you? Did you find something to wear to the wedding?”
Her head jerked up, nearly snapping her neck. “Who had time? Appeasing Kyle and his, ‘these cuffs are too wide,’ ‘this stitching is deplorable,’ ‘where on earth did you get such shoddy fabric?’ mentality ate up two hours of good shopping time. And in the end, do you know what he bought?”
Hayley’s grin grew wider than the shoreline at low tide. “A pair of socks?”
Oh my God. “How did you know?” Had she followed them?
“What?” Hayley shrugged. “You think your Kyle’s different than any other man?”
“He’s not my Kyle—”
“Yeah, yeah. Listen, kiddo. When the topic is shopping, there are two kinds of men.” Leaning back, she studied her French manicure as if reading answers in the pink polish. “The first kind hates to shop and will buy anything in order to get in and out of the store as quickly as possible. Those are the ones you see at restaurants wearing plaid pants, floral shirts, and striped ties.” With a hiss of inhaled breath, she shivered.
Shaking her head, Gianna grinned. No doubt Hayley referred to her coworker at the real estate office. Ryan McKnight, a nice enough guy who always looked like he dressed in the dark.
“Now, the second kind claims he hates to shop,” Hayley continued, “then spends hours looking for the right garment. If the buttons on a dress shirt are spaced an eighth of an inch too far apart, he’ll complain to the salesman. The salesman will convince him to try the shirt on anyway. He’ll walk around the store in it for three-quarters of an hour, asking you every five minutes what you think. And regardless of what you say, he won’t buy the damned shirt because of the abominable spacing of the buttons. Your Kyle sounds like the second kind of male shopper.” Theories aired, Hayley relaxed and folded her arms over her chest. Your Honor, I rest my case.
“Did I hear my name?”
Gianna whirled to see Kyle standing in the doorway. Fire consumed her neck and cheeks. How long had he been there? Had he overheard their conversation? No, a ridiculous thought. Hayley would have said something earlier.
She whipped around again to take note of any guilt in her best friend’s face. Judging by the sparkle in Hayley’s eyes, he’d only appeared in the doorway a moment ago.
“Good morning,” Hayley purred in a smoky, come-hither voice Gianna didn’t recognize.
Great. A good-looking man walks into the restaurant and suddenly I’m sitting with Scarlett Johansson.
“You must be Kyle.” The new voice floated through the air, wafting like heavy perfume on a spring breeze. In one fluid motion, Hayley rose and extended a hand. “I’m Hayley. Hayley Jeffords.”
“Kyle Hayden,” he replied, shaking her hand.
Still burning with humiliation, Gianna felt a new emotion tighten her face. Envy. With her peaches and cream complexion, thick honey blond hair, baby blue eyes, and luscious curves—all packaged in a five-foot-three-inch frame—Hayley had a way with men. Everything about her suggested she was a helpless female in dire need of a big, strong, handsome man to carry her off to a faraway kingdom and make love to her for hours on end. Hayley was a human candy box, for God’s sake.
When near her, Gianna always felt like a clumsy stork. Too tall for most men, long-legged and gangly, hair usually unkempt, blotchy skin with a smattering of freckles over her nose.
Hayley flashed a wink. “This one’s perfect for the wedding, Gi. You couldn’t have obtained a better specimen if you’d sent a detailed description to Santa Claus.”
Ears buzzing with the full impact of Hayley’s remark, Gianna dropped her head to the table to hide her face in the crook of her arm. If only she could bury herself deep in the earth, far from Hayley’s smirk and Kyle’s curious stare.
&
nbsp; Over the noisy bees in her head, she heard Kyle ask, “What’s the deal with this wedding anyway?”
“You mean she hasn’t told you?”
Hayley’s gaze bored into her neck with the power of a speed drill, and she lifted her head to form some kind of explanation. Too late.
“Frank dumped poor Gianna for this woman, Rachel,” Hayley provided. “Then, he booked the most expensive catering hall in the county for the wedding. Now to add insult to injury, Rachel had the audacity to invite poor Gianna to this shindig!”
“Hayley, you call me ‘poor Gianna’ once more, I’m gonna—”
“Shut up and drink your coffee.” Hayley softened the blow by giving Gianna’s hand a quick squeeze, then fluttered an index finger at Kyle. “Now, you are the perfect weapon for poor Gianna’s revenge. I only wish I could see Frank’s face. Next to you, he’ll resemble a weasel. A weasel in a tuxedo, but a weasel, nonetheless.”
“Hayley,” Gianna murmured. “Could we please change the subject?”
Hayley’s tongue cluck dismissed her. “You’ll have to play the role of smitten suitor. Really cozy up to poor Gi, lots of slow dances—-you can dance, can’t you?”
“I’ve had a few lessons,” Kyle replied, leaning one hand on the edge of the booth near Gianna’s shoulder.
God, he smelled good. Like sun and citrus.
“Mmm,” Hayley said, fingers dancing across her chin. “I figured as much. Society waltzes and such, right? In the good old days?” Panic flashed in her baby blues. “Oh, but Frank mustn’t find out you work here. God, that would ruin everything. Gianna said you were a stockbroker or something before you met her. Right?”
“Or something.” His words held a trace of laughter, as if he only humored Hayley until a more interesting topic stole his attention.
“Okay, that’ll work. You’re still a stockbroker. Now, where did you two meet? You can’t tell people you met in the garbage.” She held up a hand. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s a cute story for your grandkids someday, but totally inappropriate for this crowd.”
Grandkids? Gianna’s coffee erupted in her throat, and she coughed. Who’d said anything about grandkids? Or kid-kids, for that matter? This was supposed to be a one-night date, nothing more.
