by Jill G. Hall
Two days ago she decided she didn’t have anything to lose and found a cheap flight on Jetblue. She considered just showing up at Sergio’s, but instead, on her way to the airport this morning, she’d sent him a text: Surprise! Happy Birthday. On my way. Boarding. Plane gets in at 4:00.
When her plane landed, she checked her cell to see his text. But since she’d listened to music most of the flight, her phone had run out of juice. He probably would meet her at the baggage claim as usual.
She anticipated the ride into town with glee. Last time in the back of the town car she had thrown her velvet coat over them, and they’d fondled each other all the way to his place. When they got upstairs, he pulled her inside and kissed her long and deep. She clung to him as he carried her down the hall and into his bedroom with the view overlooking Central Park as twinkle lights had begun to blink on. He threw her on the king-size bed and ravished her for hours, exactly what she had wanted. Would he be all over her again this time?
Now she rode the escalator down into the baggage area, but she didn’t see him. Instead, among the row of black-suited drivers, one held a sign that said: Big Foot. She laughed, held up her foot, and pointed to her shoe.
“Mr. Parmeggianno asked me to tell you that he will meet you at his place later.”
Disappointed, Anne followed the driver to his car. The June sun vibrated down on her while they rode into the city, and she began to get nervous. She’d taken a big chance by coming to New York unannounced. What if he had made other plans?
Nearing his co-op, clouds had begun to fill the blue sky. She tried to smooth her frizzy airplane hair. Out of her backpack, she removed the lace-doily collaged birthday card she’d made and smoothed it out on her leg.
At Sergio’s building, the driver handed her suitcase to the doorman.
“Welcome back, Ms. McFarland.”
Anne tipped the driver and followed the doorman inside. “Mr. Parmeggianno is still out and asked that you go on up.”
He must be at work and would probably be home soon. Anne rolled her suitcase into Sergio’s bedroom, which smelled of his honeysuckle aftershave. She tamped down her hair in the mirror, pulled it up into a scrunchie, and hung her coat in the closet.
In the kitchen, she flattened out his birthday card again and leaned it against the bowl with the pearls. A Coke can sat on the counter. That was curious—Sergio hated sodas. Thinking how meticulous he was, she tossed the can in the recycling bin.
She tried to recharge her phone on his desk, but another cell, with a sexy Kate Spade black lace cover, was plugged in. That certainly wasn’t his phone. A lump formed in the pit of Anne’s stomach.
Oh, God! Had he already found someone else?
Anne resisted the urge to rip the black lace phone out of the cord.
She looked at the elevator entrance. Where was he? Should she bolt?
Instead, she took a deep breath, sat on the leather couch, and grabbed a magazine from the coffee table with Taylor Swift on the cover, sporting the cutest short haircut. Anne started to flip through the pages. Wait a minute. She closed it and studied the magazine cover. Why did Sergio have Glamour? He was into fashion but wasn’t the type to read a strickly women’s magazine.
The elevator stopped, and the door opened to the sound of Sergio’s laugh and a female voice. Anne grew hot. She ran over, wadded up his birthday card, stuffed it in the trash compactor, and stepped on the squish button. Had he forgotten she would be here? No, he had sent the car.
She stood up straight, grounded her feet, and clenched her fists, ready for a fight. Sergio moved toward her with a grin, removing the delectable fedora she had bought him at Goorin Bros. for Christmas. His hair had been cut quite short, making him look like a GQ model.
Beside him, a petite woman about his age smiled at her— straight dark hair draped to her waist, perfectly applied makeup accentuating large eyes, and spike-heeled boots on her tiny feet.
“You must be the famous Big Anne.” The woman rushed toward her, reached up, and placed air kisses above each cheek. “I’ve heard so much about you.” She let Anne go, then took a Coke from the kitchen fridge as if she owned the place.
“All good, I hope.” Anne tried to keep her composure.
“Not really,” Sergio teased.
“We just came from the Chinese exhibit at the Met, high fashion juxtaposed with Chinese costumes. Incredible. You must see it.” The woman hurried toward the bathroom. “Un momento.”
Anne walked away and sat on the couch.
“I’m glad you are here, amore.” Sergio sat beside her and leaned in for a kiss.
She backed away and crossed her arms. “So, just who is . . .”
The woman returned and sat on the other side of Sergio, snuggling up on his arm, showcasing flawlessly manicured nails. Anne hid her paint-stained hands in her armpits. She’d been working on his card until the last minute.
“Who are you?” Anne finally blurted out.
“Anne, this is Bella, my sister.”
39
Bella slept in the guest room. After Sergio’s breakfast frittata, he and Anne rode down to the lobby with her.
“Ciao. I’m so glad I got to meet you.” Bella kissed Anne on both cheeks.
“Me, too.” Embarrassed that she had imagined Bella was a rival, Anne kissed her back.
Sergio put Bella’s Louis Vuitton luggage in the town car trunk and hugged her. “I thought I’d be spending my birthday all alone, and you both showed up to surprise me.”
“I’m glad I could come, even if it was for only two nights,” Bella said out the window. She waved as the town car cruised down the street.
As Sergio and Anne rode the elevator up to his place, he pulled her close. “Thanks for coming.”
“What shall we do today, birthday boy?” she asked. Were they back together?
He kissed her lips. “I’ve missed you so. How about another birthday surprise?”
“Okeydoke. It’s right inside.” Back in the kitchen, she dug his card out of the trash compactor, laid it on the counter, and tried to straighten the wrinkles out of it. She held it up to him with a laugh. “Here’s your surprise.”
“Not exactly what I had in mind. But it will do, since it is an Anne McFarland original. What happened to it?” He took it with a smile, ran his fingers over the lace doily, and leaned it against the bowl.
“I tried giving it a distressed look.” She paused. “I have a confession to make. When I saw Bella’s things here yesterday, I was afraid you’d started seeing someone else.”
“Non c’è modo.” He shook his head and put his hands on her shoulders.
“Are you sure you aren’t playing the field?”
“How could I? You are on my mind all the time. It would take me forever to find someone else I love as much as you.”
That knocked the wind out of her—in a good way—and she couldn’t speak.
He pulled her close, but then let go. “Are you seeing someone else?”
“No way!” She laughed. “I told you, I don’t care if we ever get married. I just want to be with you.”
“I’m sorry I hurt you, but let’s not talk about it now. Bella’s gone and we are alone, so how about a different birthday surprise?”
“Maybe.”
He lifted her up in his arms. “Come on. Hey, have you lost weight?”
“A little.”
“I’d say a lot. Were you dieting?”
“Not really.” No way would she tell him how distraught she’d been about the breakup.
He carried her into his bedroom. They were definitely back together. But what did it really mean?
Later, Anne lounged on the couch wearing Sergio’s velour robe. “I’m excited to go to Rudy’s tonight.”
“Don’t get your hopes up. It’s seedy. Choose a matinee for this afternoon while I get you a ‘pop’.”
She laughed and picked up the copy of the morning New York Times Bella had left strewn on the coffee table. “What are
you in the mood for?”
“Anything but Cats.”
“How about Hamilton?” she asked.
He handed her a Coke on ice and sat beside her. “I can’t get tickets for under a million dollars on such short notice.”
“Is that too much?” she teased.
“I’ll take you next time you come to town.”
He said come, not move. He must not be convinced she didn’t care about the engagement anymore. What could she do to let him know she was serious about moving here without it?
She handed him the paper and sipped her Coke. “You decide, but let’s not go to a musical where little girls sing off-key in sober tones about something they shouldn’t even know about.”
He scanned the listings. “Avenue Q?”
“No way. I hate the idea of puppets talking dirty. They’re puppets, for God’s sake!” she laughed.
“I’ve got it! Beautiful: The Carole King Musical.”
“Really, you’d go to that with me?”
“Of course.”
“I’m warning you. You’ll need to hold me back from singing aloud.” Her mom and Aunt Tootie would play Carole King’s songs over and over again.
He laughed. “I’ll take my chances.” He opened his phone and hit a few buttons. “Done! We’ll go by the antique shop first.”
“While you’re in the shower, I’ll write a letter to the shop guy.”
“Great idea. Then get ready.”
Anne neatly folded up the newspaper and set it on the coffee table. She ripped out a piece of paper from her journal and wrote:
Dear Sir:
Remember me? I’m the one who bought the rhinestone shoes. In the
bottom of the box, I found a pearl necklace. Please contact me to return
the pearls.
Sincerely,
Anne McFarland
She wrote her cell number, folded the note, and put it in her coat pocket. From her suitcase she donned jeans and a black lace blouse, and put on the pearls and her coat.
Sergio, in a sports coat and jaunty plaid cap, took her hand, and they made their way, arm in arm, down the sidewalk and into a cab.
At Timely Treasures, drapes were drawn like theater curtains. The closed sign had been replaced by one that read: Reopening Soon!
“Look!” Anne yelled. “Someone has been here!” She spotted a crack between the curtains and peeked inside. “There’s a light on, and something just moved!”
“I told you someone had been here.”
She knocked on the door and waited, but no one answered. Disappointed, she fingered the pearls and knocked again. “Let’s wait a few minutes.”
Sergio put his hand on her back. “We’d better go, or we’ll be late for the show.”
Finding no mail slot, she stuck the note under the door.
At Times Square, the crowds had begun to gather. Anne checked out the giant ads as the big-screen TV scrolled ticker-tape news at the bottom: A judge ordered the army to redo part of its environmental analysis for the Dakota Access pipeline.
Sergio and Anne made their way to the historic Sondheim Theatre on West Forty-Third Street. Inside the lobby, photos of past performers decorated the walls. Anne peered closely at them and stopped to inspect a black-and-white picture of a voluptuous girl wearing a gigantic frilly bonnet and another taller girl in a shorts outfit. “These are the same girls from the shoebox photo!”
“The flappers? It couldn’t be. That’s too much of a coincidence.”
“It might be. I believe in serendipity. Aren’t those the rhinestone shoes?” Anne pointed at the tall girl’s feet.
Sergio leaned in and studied them. “Could be.”
Anne could tell he didn’t really believe it and wished she could prove it to him somehow.
40
Beautiful turned out to be one of Anne’s favorite musicals ever. The actress playing Carole sounded just like her. Anne caught herself lip-syncing many of the songs, and tears pooled in her eyes during “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?”
Afterward, outside the theater, a cool wind stirred and rain began to fall. She started to back up under an awning and slipped on the slick sidewalk. Sergio caught her elbow, and she sang out loud, “I feel the earth move under my feet! I feel the sky tumbling down.”
The other people exiting the building stared at her.
Sergio laughed. “Let’s go, Carole. I’m starved.”
Anne smiled. “I’ve heard that before. Is Rudy’s far?”
“No. But we’ll take a cab. You wait here.”
Soon they were heading downtown in a big checkered taxi.
“Do we have reservations?” Anne brushed wet drops off the shoulders of her coat.
“They don’t take them.”
As they approached the restaurant, the “Rudy’s Bar & Grill” neon sign blinked on. A wooden facade had been built over the brick building. A kitschy sculptured pig in a red vest and bow tie smiled with a wave.
Sergio and Anne got out of the cab. A velvet rope cordoned off the entrance, and a sign said: Closed for a Special Event.
“Can’t we go in and just take a look?” Anne begged the short, skinny bouncer.
He shook his head. “Sorry. It’s a VIP reception.”
“But I found a picture of some flappers . . .”
“Excuse me.” A girl in a very short dress and very high heels pushed Anne aside and gave her name to the bouncer.
Anne looked at Sergio, and they stepped back. “Can you get us in?” she asked.
“I’ll try.”
The bouncer unleashed the rope for the girl. As she opened the door, music blasted out.
“Any chance you can find us a table?” Sergio smiled at the bouncer and tried to hand him a hundred.
He held up his hands and shook his head. “Sorry.”
“But my friend is working on some . . .”
The bouncer frowned at him. “Doesn’t matter.”
Anne didn’t want to embarrass Sergio, otherwise she would have pushed right past this scrawny guy. She could take him on any day.
Sergio walked back to her. “Sorry. I can get us in another time.” He pushed a number on his cell. “Ciao. It’s Sergio. Any reservations open for tonight?”
She could hear a male voice on the other end, but couldn’t make out the words.
Sergio laughed, hung up, and hailed them another cab. “We’re all set,” he told her as they settled into the back seat. “Pasta is specialty of the house.”
“Perfect. I’m warning you, I’m in a slurping mood. Pootie and I used to have contests to prove who could inhale the most noodles the loudest.”
“Bella and I used to do that, too!”
“No way.” Anne punched him gently on the arm.
“Way!”
“I’m louder.”
“No, I am.”
In no time, they arrived in front of an old apartment complex: no sign, no nothing. The building blended in with many on the street except red geraniums bloomed in a window box.
Sergio spoke into the intercom. “Ciao!” A buzzer let them in, and they ascended the dark stairs.
“Where are we?” Anne asked.
“A secret kitchen for locals.”
She squinted at him. “I’ve never heard of such a thing!”
“Speakeasies were secret. You’ve heard of them. And besides, you aren’t a local.”
“At least not yet,” she mumbled.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She shook her head. Hopefully at dinner they would talk about her moving to New York.
They hiked up two floors, and he knocked on the door of Apartment 22.
A hefty Italian in an apron and tall chef’s hat ushered them inside. “Sergio! Pergio! It’s been a long time!” The men exchanged bear hugs.
“Cousin Connie. This is my girlfriend, Anne.”
So they were back together.
“Ana! Benvenuto.” Cousin Connie squeezed her, too—an embrace so st
rong she could hardly breathe. He ushered them into a room filled with empty tables covered in red-checkered cloths. Straw-covered wine bottles on each table held lit candles with dripping wax. A mural of an Italian vineyard graced one wall. Garlic permeated her senses as he led them down a narrow hall and into another room. This one with three tables must have been a bedroom at one time.
“Best seat in the casa! Or should I say, in the appartamento?”
Their small table next to a window looked down over a garden. Twinkle lights blinked on around it as the sun began to set. A Scottish terrier slept among the greens.
Connie delivered a bottle of Chianti, poured it for them, and left.
“Are you and your cousin close?” Anne asked.
“No. We don’t see each other much.”
“I don’t get to be with Pootie often, either, but we are very close.”
“Women are different.”
“That’s for sure.” Anne smiled. “Where’s the menu?”
“Connie doesn’t use one. It’s either pasta or pasta.”
“Pescatarian option?”
“I’m certain of it. Spicy or not?”
“Of course, for me the more garlic, the better. If we both have it, we can still kiss.”
“That’s important.” He took her hands and leaned toward her. “I am sooo glad you’re here.”
“Me, too. Happy birthday.” Anne nodded. She wanted to ask him if he had decided if she could move here with him, but she’d wait and see if he brought up the topic first.
Connie seated two other couples at the tables in the room. He left and returned to deliver bread to Sergio and Anne.
“What type of pasta do you have tonight?” Sergio asked.
“Mushroom Fantastico.”
“Spicy and spicy.” Sergio pointed to each of them. He chatted with his cousin, and Anne leaned back in her chair. Sergio seemed at ease in this unusual eatery; he spoke Italian using big gestures that matched Connie’s in size.
They sipped their wine slowly, and each ate a piece of melt-in-your-mouth garlic bread.
