by Gina Ardito
“How about if I say I saw her across a crowded room? I swept her off her feet, and then we flew to the moon on gossamer wings of love.”
Hayley didn’t recognize the sarcasm lacing Kyle’s suggestion, but Gianna did. Flinching, she reached for Hayley’s wrist to stop her, but Hayley was on a roll. And no one stopped a rolling Hayley. “Ooh, I like that! Love at first sight. The guests will eat it up with a spoon.”
“All except Frank and Rachel, of course,” he added.
Can’t she tell he’s toying with her?
“Of course.” Apparently not. “But you’ll really have to dress the part. And not in little Joey’s hand-me-downs.” Heated eyes scanned him from the top of his head to his midsection. “As much as they do for your physique and my heart rate, you’ll need something more devastating. We want Frank to think poor Gianna came out on top in their sorry little episode. Plus, the wedding’s a formal affair. God, I hate the idea of putting someone as scrumptious as you into a rented tux!”
“Don’t worry. I already told Gianna I know where to get my hands on a decent tuxedo for the occasion.”
“Well, that may take care of you, but poor Gianna still needs a decent dress.” Hayley’s calculating gaze moved from Kyle to Gianna, giving off vibes of day-old fish lying on a bed of cracked ice. “Maybe you could borrow the little green number in my closet.”
To break eye contact, Gianna waved her off. “Forget it, Hayley. It would be way too short on me.”
“You’re probably right. That dress is a petite, after all. But we’ll have to find something…”
“Why don’t you let me worry about the details? I’ll find something to wear.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.” Gianna placed her hands palm up on the table. “I’ll find something. Will you drop the subject already?”
“I can’t drop the subject. You have to look purrrrrrrrfect for this event.” One finger under her chin, she tilted her head, first to the right, and then the left. You know what you need?”
Borrowing a phrase from Kyle, Gianna replied, “A better caliber of friends?”
Hayley’s lips twisted in a frown. “I’ll ignore that. You need a fairy godmother. Someone who can give you a head-to-toe makeover before you see that no-good, cheating rat again. Like so.” She raised a hand and pretended to wave an invisible magic wand. “Bibbidy-bobbidy-boo!” Then she studied Gianna with a critical eye. “Hmmm...no change.”
No surprise. “Why don’t we hire an actress to play my part for the day?”
“I’d love to, but Frank knows what you look like,” Hayley said with a wide grin. “I’m not trying to hurt your feelings, sweetie. But think. When a woman is in love, she gets this glow.”
“I thought pregnancy made a woman glow.”
“That’s a different glow. Love has a glow all its own. When you’re in love, you look like you, but happier. Everything’s wonderful in your world. Right now, you look like your world’s been flushed down the toilet. We need to artificially create an in-love glow.”
To keep from slapping Hayley silly, Gianna sat on her hands. “Gee, is it too late to call in George Lucas and his special effects team?”
Kyle and Hayley both stared as if she were a new specimen in the science lab, and she prayed lightning would strike her dead on the spot. No such luck. She’d have to make her own escape from this situation. “Don’t you have to go to work, Hayley? And Kyle, I bet Claudio could use some help in the kitchen.”
“Actually,” Kyle replied, “I just realized I forgot something upstairs. I’ll be back in a flash.”
****
Kyle turned to leave the dining room, but still caught Hayley’s next remark. “Damn, I wish I’d been invited to this wedding! I’d give anything to see Rachel’s face when you walk in on Kyle’s arm. She may have stolen Frank from you, but you definitely got the best man.”
Gianna sighed, mournful as a phantom moaning in a graveyard. “Hayley, let the wedding go. Please.”
Her patience was obviously stretched to the breaking point. No wonder, with a friend like Hayley. God, the woman exhausted him within five minutes of their meeting. And what gave her the right to tell a complete stranger about Gianna’s troubles?
When he closed the door, he lost the conversation, but didn’t care. His mind still whirled around the subject they’d discussed when he first walked into the restaurant. What had he overheard? Something about Gianna getting turned down for a loan? Well, that explained what happened at the bank the other day. At least to some degree. He still had no idea why she needed a loan.
For such a transparent woman, Gianna certainly kept a lot of secrets—big secrets. No matter. He’d found out the secret behind the wedding, hadn’t he? He’d learn all about the loan, as well. Five more minutes in Hayley’s company should be enough. Which was fine, because five minutes was about all he could stand of Hayley’s company.
Right now, though, he had a phone call to make. With an itchy trigger finger, he dialed the number. God, hadn’t they heard of touch-tone phones in this town time forgot? While he waited for the secretary to pick up, the rings buzzed like angry mosquitoes in his brain. When she finally answered, he got right to the point.
“Rory Abernathy,” he barked.
“Just a moment, Mr. Hayden,” her slightly nasal voice replied. “He’s expecting your call. I’ll put you right through.”
Good old Doreen, the epitome of efficiency. Even with everything that had gone wrong, some things never changed.
A second later he heard a click. Then a booming male voice came on the line. “Kyle? Is that you?”
He didn’t bother to confirm his identity. If the secretary could recognize him, Rory should as well. “Did you get my package in the mail?”
“It was on my desk first thing this morning.” Rory’s tone filled with open admiration. “I don’t know how you managed, but I guess congratulations are in order.”
Yeah, right. Like he didn’t picture Aurora slipping farther and farther out of reach as he stared at the papers Kyle had sent.
“Stuff the congratulations. I’m only calling to make sure you hold to your end of our deal.”
“What are you doing for this Villa Mare place? Consulting work?”
Since he had no intention of telling Rory about his life as a busboy, he deftly set the conversation on course. “According to the rules, I’m entitled to two favors for my little package.”
“Okay, so what do you want?”
“First, I want a set of formalwear. My Dior tux will do. And not just the tux. The whole outfit. From the skin out.” He paced the kitchen as far as the coiled phone cord would allow. “Underwear, shirt, socks, and dress shoes, too. Lana knows where everything is.”
“Yeah, well, about Lana…” Rory’s tone changed from the exuberance of admiration to condescending pity.
No need for a brick to fall on his head. “She’s gone, right?”
“Moved back to Boston two days after you left Manhattan.”
All motion stopped. Not that Lana’s swift departure surprised him. After all, they’d said their goodbyes when he told her of the sudden change in his finances. What surprised him, though, was how the news made him feel. Numb. No sadness or sense of mourning, no bitterness or thoughts of betrayal. Her loss affected him with the same ambivalence he’d feel for a clipped toenail.
His eyes focused on the photograph of Gianna standing with her brother during his graduation. Gianna would never abandon the man she loved. Hell, Gianna wouldn’t abandon a stranger fallen on hard times.
He’d known her two weeks and already understood that should tragedy befall someone close to her, she’d sell her soul to buy that someone a new start in life. Long past time someone bought something special for Gianna in return.
“I’m sorry,” Rory said. “If you want to go back on our agreement, I’ll understand.”
“Oh, sure. You just want to get your hands on Aurora.” His pacing resumed, this time
quicker. “Thanks anyway, but I’ll stick to the original deal. I’ve got twenty-eight days left, and I can do that standing on my head if I have to. Now, about the tux—”
“I’ll get the tux. What else?”
His attention returned to the photograph, and he smiled. “Call Lucinda at Bergdorf’s.” With the terse moderated tone of a drill sergeant, he barked out a list of what he expected Rory to do and how Lucinda should handle her role. “Have her cook up some kind of sweepstakes or free gift or something. You got all this?”
“Yes. But one question. What’s all this for? I mean, Gianna Randazzo. Isn’t she the one who signed the paycheck you sent me?”
“Yes. So?”
“Well, now,” Rory said slowly. “I’m going to have to run this past David—”
He nearly laughed, but kept his emotions in check between gritted teeth. “Go ahead. Run everything past David. I want our legal eagle to see his dire predictions didn’t come true. Show him I’m doing fine.”
“That’s not what worries me, Kyle. This could be considered a conflict of interest and therefore, inadmissible under the rules of the agreement.”
“Why the hell would you think that?”
“Think, okay? How can David and I be certain Gianna Randazzo didn’t sign a phony check on your behalf so we’ll assume you’re succeeding when you’re not? Particularly if she’s receiving something from you in return.”
Was he kidding? The blood in Kyle’s veins chilled to ice water. “Call the bank and verify I cashed the damned thing.”
“Still wouldn’t be enough. David and I will have to talk about this and get back to you. You have a phone number where I can reach you?”
He read the blurry numbers from the tiny strip in the center of the dial.
“Okay,” Rory replied. “I’ll call you as soon as David and I come up with a solution.”
A solution for what? If Rory planned to stall in the hope Kyle would stumble, he obviously underestimated Gianna, who’d pick him up before he hit the ground. All the more reason to make this dream happen.
“I want this to happen within the next twenty-four hours,” he insisted.
“Hey, take it easy!” Rory exclaimed. “You’re not in charge anymore, remember? You’re now no different than any other average Joe to this firm, and you’ll hear from me when you hear from me.”
“You have stock in Nike, don’t you, Rory?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Remember their motto and ‘Just do it.’ You got that?” Without waiting for a response, he slammed the phone back on the cradle for effect. Why hadn’t he ever noticed before now that his best friend was a pencil-pushing idiot?
***
That Tuesday evening, the ROMEOs arrived at precisely seven o’clock. Well accustomed to their routine, Gianna had kept their traditional corner table set and waiting. Within minutes, the five men sat in their usual seats, placing their usual orders. Naturally, the usual banter rang around them.
“How’s my favorite schoolteacher doing?” bald, heavy-set Angelo DiNunzio, former electrician, asked.
“I’m fine,” Gianna replied. “What’s up with you guys?”
“Same old,” tall, slender Mike said, raking a hand through his snow white hair. “Did you see the Islander game last night?”
“You guys were at the Coliseum?” Gianna asked.
Angelo jerked his head toward the man on his right. “Curt knows a guy who works for the food distributor. Got us some great seats.”
“You ever wanna attend anything there; concert, game, ice show, let me know, Gi,” the third member, Curtis Washington, retired accountant, chimed in. “Depending upon the demand, my pal Don can usually finagle a coupla chairs on the floor. Sometimes he gets box seats.”
“You shoulda been there last night,” Angelo exclaimed. “The game was tied with less than two minutes left in the third period. Then, Sillinger makes this shot.” In imitation of a hockey puck gliding over the ice, he slid his hand over the tablecloth. “Beautiful. Just beautiful. You oughta go with us sometime, Gianna. We even got Hayley over her ‘all Yankees, all the time’ fixation to attend once. She had a blast.”
Yeah, Hayley had gone into great detail about that trip, bringing Gianna to belly-aching laughter with her descriptions of a night with the ROMEOs.
Before they left Setquott Beach, Angelo stopped at the supermarket to buy a five pound pound bag of unshelled peanuts. Once at Nassau Coliseum, he insisted she stuff the nuts in her purse to get them past Security. After they found their seats, the five men polished off the entire bag, letting peanut shells fall on their laps and the floor because, “that’s what the cleaning crew gets paid for.” Cups of beer flowed like water from Niagara Falls, and when the nuts finally ran out, the men turned their appetites to hot dogs.
During the game, they cheered every punch thrown by the players, booed every call the ref made against the home team, and got to their feet to argue with another fan about a questionable penalty charge. At the end of the night, before taking Hayley home, they made a run to the nearest drug store for antacids and Tylenol. Throughout the evening, poor Hayley wound up acting like a den mother at a Cub Scout jamboree. She broke up arguments, mopped spilled beer from shirtfronts, and then chipped in for gas for the ride home.
Thanks, Gianna thought, but no thanks.
“Can we get some of those little flat breads, Gi?” Curtis asked, bringing her back to the here and now.
“You bet.” Gianna headed for the kitchen.
Curtis grabbed her hand. “And a house salad? With dressing on the side? Balsamic vinegar and olive oil, if you’ve got it.”
“Are you on a diet, Curt?” Number four, retired police officer Patrick O’Mara, asked.
“Yep.” Curtis circled his round belly with the flat of his hand. “I need to lose a few pounds. I even started working out.”
Sol Fuchs, the last of the red-hot ROMEOs, chortled. “Sounds like Curt’s got a new lady friend.”
All five of them were unattached, widowed or divorced. After all, Angelo always said, “What wife would allow her husband to go out without her three times a week?” Not to mention the many golf excursions, pilgrimages to every major sporting event from baseball to wrestling, and other field trips the ROMEOs took on a regular basis.
“Nah.” Still holding Gianna’s wrist, Curt lifted her hand to his lips. “This lady here’s the only girl for me. What’s the date of that wedding again, Gianna? I’ll make sure my best suit’s cleaned and pressed for the occasion.”
With a gentle tug, Gianna pulled her hand away. “Umm…”
“You?” Angelo scoffed, puffing out his barrel chest. “Why would she take you when she could go with me?”
A quick hand wave and Sol sneered, “Please. Neither of you can dance worth a damn. I, on the other hand, used to teach at Arthur Murray.”
“Yeah,” Mike added with a snort. “In the forties. Trust me, Sol, dancing’s changed a lot in the last sixty years.”
Sensing a crisis brewing in this United Nations, Gianna attempted to halt the speculation before fists flew. “Actually, I’ve—”
Too late. Curtis plucked ice from his water glass and tossed a cube at Mike’s nose. In retaliation, Mike balled his napkin and pitched the white paper, missing Curtis and hitting ten-year-old Gabriella Tullo’s head.
With a shocked gasp, Gabbie whirled. “Hey!”
The men broke into guffaws of laughter while Mike effused red-faced apologies to the entire Tullo family.
When Mr. Tullo continued to glare daggers, Mike announced, “Their dinner’s on me, Gi,” which instantly won them over.
“I’ll tell Kyle,” she said. “That’s his table.”
As if summoned by her mention, Kyle strode past her then, a round tray filled with dirty dishes and half-empty plastic soda tumblers hoisted over his shoulder.
Before she could mention the Tullos’ check, however, Angelo chimed in. “So, who’s it gonna be, sweetheart? Which of the RO
MEOs gets to take you out on the town?”
“Actually,” she said again, “Kyle has agreed to take me.”
“Kyle?” Mike’s voice boomed off the walls, and several diners turned to stare. “Who’s Kyle?”
“I am.” When Kyle spoke, his breath brushed her ear.
How had he slipped up behind her so quietly? While the old men had distracted her, Kyle had somehow managed to drop off his tray and pop up inches from her side.
Curtis slid his thick bifocals down his nose and peered over them. “You? Who are you?”
At the same time, Sol asked, “Can you dance?”
“Yes, I can dance.”
Sol harrumphed. “Prove it. Take Gi here for a whirl.”
The room spun. As if she held a life preserver, she gripped her order pad and clung. “Now?” she croaked through a tight throat. “Here?”
“Yes, here and yes, now,” Sol insisted.
A flurry of applause erupted, from the ROMEOs, the other patrons, even a grinning Sal, who leaned in the doorway near the kitchen. When she flashed him a look meant to send him scurrying, he did just that. Seconds later, the sounds of Tony Bennett singing, “The Very Thought of You” filled the room.
Arms open, Kyle waited. No panic reflected on his features. What drugs had he taken, and where could she get some? The idea of slow dancing in the middle of this dining room made her feet leaden. Muscles constricted. Taking a step required more effort than a team of workhorses could muster.
He must have sensed her immobility because he came near and folded her into his embrace. One hand clasped hers, secure but not suffocating. When he bowed forward, she automatically tipped back. The music took control, or Kyle did. Either way, she no longer directed her movements. Some invisible puppeteer pulled her strings, making each step, each glide across the floor, like dancing on a cloud. Heaven. Kyle led her with effortless grace.
Beneath the colorful glow of the stained glass lamps, his eyes took on a rainbow of hues, warm and comforting, hot and intoxicating. Impossible to tear her gaze away. Only the music mattered, the music and the man. Tony’s voice crooned words echoed in her heart. The first song ended, and after a brief pause, Tony broke into the slightly up-tempo, “Rags to Riches.”
