A Little Slice of Heaven

by Gina Ardito

  Without missing a beat, Kyle swept her around the room, never brushing against a chair, a knee, or a tablecloth. Boneless, Gianna depended on him for everything but the air she breathed.

  The next song, “Steppin’ Out” sped their pace, but Kyle never faltered. While two and a half blissful minutes elapsed, the restaurant faded, the customers and staff disappeared. When the third song ended, Kyle slowed, and then stopped. Dropping his arms to his sides, he offered her a slight bow and returned to the Tullos’ table without a word. The moment he turned, Gianna left her celestial playground, crashing to earth on the applause of the entire population of Villa Mare.

  “I’d say that’s a big yes to the dancing question.” Mike’s awed tone filtered through her cloudy brain.

  Quick, she told herself. Do something. “Umm,” she managed, “I’ll get your salad.”

  Somehow, she managed to walk sedately to the kitchen where she headed straight for the Sub-Zero. Swinging the door of the giant freezer wide, she ducked her head inside to inhale frigid air and cool the fire crackling over her skin.

  Chapter Eight

  As he’d done for endless days and nights since his arrival at Villa Mare, Kyle pounded another ball of dough into a thin, round crust and ladled tomato sauce atop. While his gloved fingers gathered shredded mozzarella from the nearby stainless steel tray, his eyes watched Gianna. Nothing in her demeanor had changed over the last several days, and his impatience grew as the minutes ticked by. Dough, sauce, cheese. Pop in the oven. Dough, sauce, cheese. Pop in the oven.

  Damn Rory! He should have straightened out this mess by now. When the telephone rang for the millionth time since his conversation with his accountant, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Again.

  “Thank you for calling Villa Mare,” Claudio mumbled into the receiver. After a pause he continued, “Large-a pie, extra cheese. Anything else? No? Phone number?” Another pause as he scribbled the information on an order pad. “Ten-a minoots.”

  Nope, not Lucinda. Just another damn pizza order. Before Claudio hung up the phone and ripped the paper off the pad, Kyle had opened the refrigerator door beneath the counter and pulled out another ball of dough.

  “You got that, Jeeves?” Claudio waved the order. “One large-a pie with extra cheese.”

  “Got it, Mumbles.”

  Lord, he was sick of making pizzas. At least the dining room was closed on Wednesday nights, which meant less work than usual. Take-out orders consisted of the mundane—large pies, occasionally with toppings, a few heroes, several calzones, and the rare baked ziti or ravioli parmiagiana for a late working employee from the hospital or university.

  Only two weeks working here and he already thanked God for Wednesdays. Despite the lighter workload, though, on this particular Wednesday Gianna wore the same expression of thoughtful misery she’d donned since the morning with Hayley. Occasionally, she winced or sucked in a sharp breath, as if Hayley’s backhanded compliments and evil step-sisterly advice bounced around inside her brain with the force of a racquetball in eternal play. But she wouldn’t confide in him.

  He glared, willing the phone to ring with the power of his eyes. Come on already, Rory. How much time do you need to make a wish come true?

  The bell over the front door jangled, and he jumped. Shoot. Just another overweight lady, this one in her mid-thirties with three boisterous, dark-haired toddlers in tow.

  “Mrs. Melendez,” Gianna greeted her. “I haven’t seen you here in weeks. How’s the job hunt going?”

  “Eh.” With an exhausted sigh, the woman sank into the booth nearest the window. “I have an interview with a new computer company off the Expressway. You know the one, CompTech?”

  Order pad in hand, Gianna strode to the booth. “That’s wonderful!”

  “Not so wonderful. The interview’s tomorrow at eleven, and I don’t have anyone to watch the little ones.”

  Oh, God, no. Kyle knew exactly where this conversation would lead. Though the idea repulsed him, he could more easily stop a runaway train than keep Gianna from offering help to someone in need.

  “Bring them here,” Gianna suggested.

  Kyle cringed. Bethany and her gaggle of teenagers were bad enough, but these kids were no older than four years of age. And he’d be damned if he’d spend tomorrow changing diapers and potty-training someone else’s snot-nosed brats. No matter what agreements he’d made in the past, there were some lows to which a Hayden did not sink.

  “Oh, no, Gianna.” Mrs. Melendez’s eyes widened. “I couldn’t!”

  “Of course you could. I’ll be here by ten o’clock for the first delivery. Drop the children off here before ten-thirty, and you should have plenty of time to shoot down the Expressway for your interview.”

  The little girl tugged on her mother’s jacket sleeve. “Can we, Mama? Please?”

  Mrs. Melendez’s glance swerved from Gianna to the child and back again. “I don’t know. What if they want to hire me? I still don’t have a regular babysitter.”

  Smiling, Gianna tousled the girl’s curls. “My parents come home Friday morning. We’ll be closed for the day so I can pick them up at the airport. By Saturday, Dad will rule the roost again. And Mom will start insisting I look out for my own interests.”

  Wonderful. As if he could erase the scene, Kyle scrubbed the counter with a damp rag. One great, big, happy family reunion.

  “Even if CompTech wants you,” Gianna continued, “I doubt they’ll ask you to start before Monday. And if you can’t find anyone to watch them on a regular basis between now and then, I’ll be happy to care for them. I’ll no longer work here, so I can come to your house. This way the children will be in familiar surroundings and feel more comfortable.”

  Wait a minute! Once her parents returned, she didn’t plan to work here anymore? He’d be stuck with grumpy Claudio, Sal the devoted family man, pazzo Mr. Randazzo, and a woman who no doubt kowtowed to her husband’s despotic whims to keep the peace? Terrific.

  “I’m not sure,” the woman said. “I doubt I’d be able to pay enough to make the job worthwhile for you.”

  “I don’t look after children to become wealthy,” was Gianna’s reply. “I’m sure we can work out something to benefit each of us when the time comes.”

  “You’re an angel, Gianna.” Mrs. Melendez grabbed her hands and kissed them. “God bless you.”

  Quickly, Gianna pulled away. A familiar pink blush rose in her cheeks, warming Kyle’s frigid exterior. “It’s nothing, Mrs. Melendez. I only wish I could do more.”

  “You’ve had no luck then?”

  “Not so far.” On a sigh, she shrugged. “But Hayley keeps telling me something will break soon.”

  The woman fingered the thick gold cross around her neck. “And something will. The good Lord doesn’t ever give us more than we can handle.”

  Blinking rapid-fire, Gianna nodded with little enthusiasm. “The usual? Large pie, one diet cola, and three chocolate milks?”

  “Yes, please,” Mrs. Melendez replied.

  “You got it.” When she turned away from the booth, Kyle noted fear, similar to a trapped animal, shining behind her thick lashes.

  How could someone who sympathized with the plight of Everyman be so uncomfortable receiving that same sympathy for herself? Hoping to break the sudden tension in the air, he flashed another look at the black phone hanging on the wall.

  Dammit, Rory! Have Lucinda make the call already…

  ****

  Villa Mare’s telephone rang the following morning shortly after Mrs. Melendez had dropped off the children. Gianna left the three-year-old twins and their older brother occupied with coloring books and crayons, tousling their bent heads as she walked away from the booth.

  “Thank you for calling Villa Mare. May I help you?”

  “Good afternoon,” a clipped New England-accented twang intoned. “May I speak with Miss Gianna Randazzo, please?”

  “Speaking.”

  “Miss Randazzo, my name is Lucind
a Barrows and I have wonderful news! You’ve won a five thousand dollar shopping spree at Bergdorf Goodman and a day of beauty at the nearby Spalon de Soleil.”

  She snorted like a pig into the receiver. “Ha-ha, Hayley, very funny.”

  “Miss Randazzo, I assure you this is not a joke,” the woman on the other end replied. “You have truly won this fabulous grand prize. All you need do is provide a date that will be convenient for you to come to our Fifth Avenue store.”

  A thrill tickled her spine, but Gianna refused to be taken in by a sick joke. With effort, she kept her voice flat and moderated. “Uh-huh.”

  “I shall meet you outside the front entrance of Bergdorf’s at nine a.m. sharp on the day of your choice,” Ms. Barrows continued. “We’ll allow you three hours to peruse our aisles while I personally assist you in finding the right clothing to suit your needs, style, and figure.”

  I’m not falling for this, Hayley. Or whoever you are. “O-kay…”

  “Then you’re off to the fabulous Spalon de Soleil. After a wonderful infusion lunch in their dining area, you will receive a full body massage, facial, manicure, and pedicure, all with the finest members of the Spalon’s staff. And the pièce de résistance? You’ll be treated to a hair and makeup consultation with none other than the world famous Jean de Viv, himself.”

  Even Hayley wouldn’t go to this much trouble in the name of a joke. Would she? Excitement tingled her blood in sparkling rivulets. Was this what people called “synchronicity?” Then again, the timing sounded too good. Could this offer possibly be legitimate? No way. She’d never won a contest in her life and hadn’t entered anything in ages. So, if Hayley hadn’t dreamed this up as a great gag, someone signed her up for a promotional come-on of some sort. Tamping her enthusiastic skitters with deep, calming breaths, she shifted the receiver on her shoulder. “What’s the catch?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Catch? What catch?”

  “That’s my question. What’s the catch? What do I have to do to claim my prize? Spend four hours listening to a sales pitch for a new timeshare condominium in Oingo-Boingo? Sacrifice my first born male child on the altar of high fashion?”

  “You have a very strange sense of humor, Miss Randazzo.” A brief pause followed, and then a nasal giggle broke the silence. “I like that.”

  “Thank you. I think.” Unless this is one colossal joke. “May I ask you something, please? Do you know how I won this contest? I certainly don’t remember entering any raffles or sweepstakes. And I’d remember such a great first prize if I had.”

  “Oh, this wasn’t your typical sweepstakes. Your name, along with nine others, was chosen from a computerized list of eligible ladies in the tri-state area. This free gift is to celebrate Bergdorf Goodman’s eightieth anniversary.”

  “I see…” But she didn’t. Should she believe her good fortune? She turned to note if anyone listened to her conversation with more than idle curiosity.

  Nearby, Claudio, mumbling as usual, dragged a mop across the floor. Sal fussed with the commercial dishwasher. The children giggled and scribbled their crayons across ecru pages, paying no attention.

  Her gaze locked on Kyle’s. Curiosity glimmered in his bright eyes, but he smiled and turned away to cover the tables with fresh linens.

  Kyle. Could he have had something to do with this? Sometimes, when she caught him staring at her, she had visions of the iceberg from Titanic, the visible tip appearing harmless and negotiable while the danger hid beneath the surface. But she shook off the eerie spider scurrying up her backbone. Silly.

  “I’ll tell you what.” Her fingers clutched for the pen behind her ear, painfully yanking a stray tress of hair. “How about I take your number and get back to you?”

  “Very well,” the woman replied.

  She rattled off a phone number, which Gianna scribbled onto an order sheet. Then, she ripped the paper from the pad. “Thank you. I’ll call you as soon as I have a date in mind.”

  “Well, don’t wait too long, my dear. This offer expires two weeks from today.”

  “All right. Fine. Thank you.” While considering the expiration time, she hung up the receiver. A calendar hung above the butcher-block, and she flipped to November.

  Thirteen days from today put her at a very specific date, Frank and Rachel’s wedding day. A perfect day for a makeover.

  The more she thought about this fabulous grand prize, the more her radar beeped. Something didn’t sit right. Hayley suggested she needed a makeover, and Bibbidy-bobbidy-boo, she won one.

  This was no coincidence. The suspicion froze her bones, like a sudden chill in an overheated room. Someone planned this, someone who knew her current predicament and sought to repair the exterior damage for appearance’s sake. So who wanted her to look her absolute best for this upcoming affair?

  Claudio? No way. He loved her, but didn’t have the panache for this kind of subterfuge. Upon learning about the wedding invitation, he’d suggested she break into Frank’s house the night before and paint “Help Me” on the soles of his dress shoes.

  “Dis-a way, everyone in the church will have a good laugh every time that worm kneels, eh?”

  No, this definitely was not Claudio’s style.

  And since the apple never fell far from the tree, she discounted Sal for the same lack of imagination.

  Who else? Her parents were in Italy and didn’t know what she’d decided to do about the wedding invitation, which let them out. The ROMEOs? No way. Unless the Islanders hosted home games at Bergdorf’s.

  After several minutes of cataloging, she came to an inevitable conclusion. Only one of two people might have had a hand in this unexpected windfall—Hayley or Kyle. Leaning an elbow on the counter, she chewed the pen cap.

  Kyle was out of the question. The man depended on her for everything he had, from the roof over his head to the food in his mouth and the contents of his wallet. She knew he didn’t have that kind of money. After all, she signed his paycheck. So unless he’d won the lottery in the last few days, he couldn’t be the culprit.

  Which left Hayley. But where would Hayley get such an exorbitant sum? Even if she’d recently sold the Taj Mahal and made a killer commission, why would she spend her money on such a frivolous thing as a shopping spree at Bergdorf’s? And a day of beauty at the tony Spalon de Soleil?

  True, Hayley had always despised Frank, even before his marriage proposal to Rachel. But wasn’t this going too far in the name of friendship? After all, Frank hadn’t broken her heart.

  Like a rubber band, Gianna’s brain stretched and flexed, first in one direction, and then another. Still, she came up with no answers. Well, she knew where to start her investigation. And this couldn’t wait. In one smooth arc, she pulled the apron over her head and slapped it atop the counter. “Kyle? I’m going out for a few minutes. Would you keep an eye on the children for me?”

  An exaggerated moue, eyebrows drawn together in a tight line, told her the idea disgusted him.

  “They’re children, Kyle, not cockroaches.”

  “I think I’d rather have cockroaches underfoot,” he grumbled. “At least I can squash them.”

  Frustration coursed through her veins, and she slammed her palms on the countertop. An empty pizza pan went crashing to the floor. Clang! “Dammit, that isn’t funny! How could you say such a thing?” She thrust her arm toward the booth where the Melendez children sat, wide-eyed in alarm. “Look at them! Can’t you see the promise in their eyes, the innocence in their faces?”

  Her voice shook with fury, but she couldn’t stop. Angry words poured. “You make me sick! You and all your wealthy friends on Central Park West are the reason parents like Mrs. Melendez are stuck without proper daycare for their children. Oh, there’s always enough money for an evening out on the town or to buy the new hot stock your broker’s pushing, but never enough to fund a childcare center geared to molding the minds that will shape this country’s future. Do you realize the monthly rent on the apartment you liv
ed in would probably be enough to pay for an entire year’s care for one of these children? You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  He held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, take it easy. I was just kidding.”

  “You’re not funny.” Tears welled, and she squeezed her lids closed to keep them in check. When drops trickled down her cheeks despite her efforts, she headed for the front door. She needed to get outside before the trickle became a flood. Her sudden tantrum had frightened the children. She wouldn’t make the situation worse by breaking into tears. “Just watch the little ones. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

  As she strode away, the trembling descended into her legs. But she didn’t stop. If she fell to her knees, she’d crawl out of here, away from the children and away from Kyle’s snide manner. With all the force she’d stored in her fist, she shoved open the door. Bright sunlight streamed into her eyes, causing the tears to flow harder.

  Just get to the car. Then you can cry to your heart’s content without anyone else knowing.

  The tears fell in twin rivers, but she no longer cared. Dammit, she hurt! The last few months, hiding her true feelings, keeping everything walled up behind a façade of nonchalance, smiling until her cheeks felt like they’d crack. Well, she couldn’t take the pressure anymore.

  She’d only reached the sidewalk when Kyle’s voice halted her. “Gianna? Wait. Please?”

  “What?” She turned, glaring daggers. “What do you want?”

  He stood outside the door, arms open in surrender. “I’m sorry, okay?”

  Swallowed tears choked her, but she managed to rasp, “No, not okay. You’ve touched on a very sore subject with me.”

  “I can see that. I can also see you’re shaking.” He stepped closer. “Come here.”

  Without hesitation, she did so. He opened his arms wider, and she walked into his embrace. The moment he folded her against his hard chest, the talons of tension raking her spine melted and flowed into the pavement.