When her relatives told her of the murders of her family—including her beloved twin sister Estrella—Elena wished she had stayed and met the same fate rather than be cast off here in this alien country with their strange ways, alone with no one but distant cousins.
Estrella Zareta was never heard from again, but Elena never wavered in her belief that her sister had somehow escaped and was alive and safe and perhaps hiding out in Cuba, waiting for the right time to reveal herself to her twin.
Meanwhile, that day Elena brought the family heirlooms to our shop was the beginning of two friendships, mine with Manny and my mother’s with Elena.
****
“What’s wrong with you?” Manny snapped, when he noticed that all my attention wasn’t focused on him. That jolted me out of my reverie.
“Oh, nothing,” I feigned. Just that everything was a mess right now. I desperately wanted him to leave. The last thing I needed was for Manny Gellar to walk back into my life and remind me of the last weekend we had spent together. I hardly needed him to remind me. Although I didn’t think it showed yet, I was carrying living proof of everything I had lost to him. My innocence, my trust, my love.
“Let me just get another good look at you, Jewels,” he insisted, pulling my hand into his. “It’s been so long.”
Suddenly he broke his grip and smoothed his warm hand over my stomach. I flinched. Our eyes locked and I was the first to blink. I never did have much of a poker face. Absolutely all my feelings were revealed in a single look.
“Holy shit, Julie,” Manny growled as he stood in front of the counter next to me. “You’re pregnant. How the hell did that happen?”
I had to choke back the bitter laughter before I became hysterical. He knew exactly how the hell that had happened. He had been there.
Chapter Seven:
Berenstain Bears—Too Much Pasta
[email protected]: Why should we get together again?
[email protected]: To complete the circle.
[email protected]: What good would that do?
[email protected]: I think we both want a taste of what we once had.
****
“Did you hear me, Julie?” Manny uttered the angry words as he paced the length of the watch counter like a restless panther before returning to stand directly in front of me. His eyes seared mine, searching for some truth.
What I saw reflected in his eyes was shock. He sagged against the counter, like someone had just knocked the breath out of him. His naturally tanned face was ashen. After he recovered from the initial impact of his discovery and gained a little color back, he just looked lost.
“I’m not pregnant,” I said lightly, calling on my keen sense of self-preservation and my ingrained need to please. But my first instinct had been to protect Manny from the truth. “I just ate a lot of pasta in Italy. You know, ‘Berenstain Bears: Too Much Pasta.’ ”
“Are you kidding me?” he sneered. “Is this some kind of a joke to you?”
“No,” I reasoned. “That’s your department. Do I look like I’m kidding?”
He looked around the showroom to make sure there were no customers, and then he twisted my arm and whispered, “I know every inch of your body, or have you forgotten? What I want to know is whose baby is this?”
Frowning, I bit my lower lip until I tasted blood.
“I told my father it was an immaculate conception.”
“I’m not buying that,” he said. “Did he?”
“He wanted to,” I began, “considering how close Florence was to the Holy City. But, being Jewish, he’s having a difficult time wrapping his arms around that concept.”
What my father really wanted to do was wrap his hands around the neck of the “son-of-a-bitch” who violated his daughter and then shoot him full of holes with the nearest available weapon in his considerable arsenal. But, fortunately for the baby’s father, my mother stopped him, and a speeding bullet, cold with The Look.
“Now I want a straight answer to my question,” Manny insisted. “How could this have happened?”
“Do I have to spell it out for you?” I asked.
“When we were together, I was...your first,” he said, lowering his voice. “Could the baby be mine?”
“Not likely,” I responded too quickly, staring up woodenly at the crystal chandelier, wishing, at that moment, that I was anywhere but here with Manny. He was hurting me, and my strongest impulse was to hurt him back. Make him feel the same pain I had been feeling for such a long time.
“Explain,” he said simply, tightening his grip on my arm.
“When we...after you...awakened my passions,” I said sarcastically, “I began to crave it.”
“Crave what?” he challenged, his eyes blazing.
“You know...”
“See, you can’t even say it. You’re such a prude. You don’t mean that. Look at me, Julie.”
If I were such a prude, how had I ended up pregnant?
I refused to look at him and continued to stare at the ceiling. I’d have to remind my brother to take care of the dust that was gathering on the prisms. The cobwebs on the chandelier were really getting out of hand. And Joel was the only one in the family tall enough to reach it, even with a ladder.
“And did you satisfy those cravings?” Manny demanded, boring his eyes cruelly into mine.
“At every opportunity.”
“It was Matt, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t have to answer that,” I said. “Maybe it was one of my many Italian lovers.”
“And where are all those Italian lovers now that you’re knocked up? Do you think they’ll be interested in you when you’re waddling around like a beached whale?”
I flinched but tried to joke my way out of it. “Manny, if I went into labor in Italy, those Italian lovers would be doing most of the panting and heavy breathing. We’re talking about Italian men, after all.”
I couldn’t believe I was having this silly conversation with him, and I didn’t want to be having it. And I couldn’t believe he actually thought I was so loose that I’d sleep with someone else so soon after we had made love.
Manny grabbed my shoulders and shook me.
“Stop that,” I hissed. “You’re hurting me. What right do you have to come into my shop and interrogate me? You think no one else could ever want me?”
He loosened his grip and spoke softly. “I know how easy it is to want you, Julie. I had you, remember?”
The glimpse of honesty was gone in a flash. Suddenly, his mood shifted again, like the wind-blown sands of the Sahara.
“Hey, let’s get out of here, have lunch, catch up on old times,” he cajoled, grabbing me again, this time gently, rubbing my arm to soothe away the soreness, seeking forgiveness.
I knew I shouldn’t go. But I never could resist him. I had a sinking feeling I was getting entangled in something that would lead to no good, but when it came to Manny Gellar I could never help myself and, following my natural pattern to take the path of least resistance, I capitulated. Apparently time had no lessons to teach me and history was doomed to repeat itself.
We reminisced about the past and spent a leisurely lunch catching up and covering every topic but the one that was uppermost in both of our minds, the elephant in the room (well, I wasn’t quite that big, yet)—my pregnancy.
Manny talked a lot about his life since we had last seen each other. I just listened—dumbstruck as I always was around him. I confided in him about my dream of buying into Goldsmith’s with my grandmother’s inheritance, totally revamping the shop, relocating and modernizing it, renaming it and fashioning it into something uniquely mine. Manny was encouraging and, as we talked, my plans began to take shape. In fact, they were more than plans at this stage. But before today, because of the pregnancy, I had seriously contemplated abandoning them.
Outside the restaurant, he walked me to the car and brushed against me so I was backed up to the door. And then he kissed me. It could charitably have bee
n considered a long-lost friendship kiss, except that his lips lingered a little too long on mine. I was pretty sure it was intentional. His lips felt warm, and the heat stirred something inside me.
“You do remember, don’t you?” he whispered against my ear.
“Remember what?” I said, in a valiant but futile attempt to sound annoyed and remain unmoved.
“The way it was with us,” he continued, not making any effort to let go of me and wrapping his arms so tightly around me I could barely breathe. His lips teased mine again. “How great it was.”
“You have a funny way of remembering the past,” I protested nervously. “This is silly. I’ve got to get back to the shop before they wonder what happened to me.”
“You know, I never got over you,” he said. He was still playing mind games. Maybe he couldn’t help himself.
“You’re crazy,” I said trying to disentangle myself from him, although I still found him difficult to resist even after all this time.
“Crazy about you.” He smiled.
“And you’re practically engaged,” I added. “Did you think Mackie wouldn’t tell me?”
That remark sent him into retreat, scurrying like a cornered rat.
“Or have you conveniently forgotten about Nita Weinstein?” Bonita “Nita” Weinstein, my arch nemesis, was not someone I could easily overlook. She was a rattlesnake. A woman who thought money could buy everything, including love.
“I’ve forgotten nothing,” Manny said pointedly, “and for your information I’m definitely not engaged to Nita Weinstein.”
“Are you sleeping with her?” I posed. I hated myself for asking that question, but I had to know.
“No!” he protested and even managed to sound appropriately offended.
I wondered how true his statement was. I found it hard to believe.
“Why not?” I demanded.
“Because I don’t want to.”
“But you are in bed with her father. Deny that,” I countered and slipped into the car as Manny ambled around to the driver’s seat.
“I’d rather be in bed with you,” he replied softly as he pulled out of the parking lot.
While I was in Italy, Mackie had kept me informed of Manny’s meteoric career rise that had been propelled by his girlfriend’s family connections. Nita’s father, Beauregard “Big Beau” Weinstein, who headed a real estate empire that generated large quantities of cash, some of unknown origins, was a force to be reckoned with. Although he was ensconced in Savannah, his influence not only reached far down the East Coast, all the way to Miami, but everyone in the Southeast and as far away as the West Coast, it seemed, owed Big Beau Weinstein a favor. And the way he wanted to be repaid was by the addition of clients to the regional branch of the prestigious real estate firm where Manny was employed.
Manny was on the fast track, and Nita’s father implied that if his future “son-in-law” played his cards right, he would guarantee a steady stream of wealthy clients.
Big Beau delivered in a big way. To his exclusive clientele, Manny sold multi-million-dollar luxury condos in Boca Raton and Naples, palatial estate homes on Star Island and in Palm Beach, and prestigious waterfront residences on the Intracoastal Waterway along elegant Las Olas Boulevard in downtown Fort Lauderdale. In a matter of months, courtesy of Big Beau Weinstein, Manny had already become a broker associate. Eventually, under Big Beau’s influence, Manny was destined for a partnership.
Manny’s success, of course, was predicated on the fact that he would marry Big Beau’s daughter. According to Mackie, he hadn’t yet taken the first step of proposing. Nita had more than hinted several times that she was ready for a lifetime commitment, but Manny, it seemed, was always more than ready with an excuse.
Despite his waffling, Nita proceeded to engineer his life and map out his path, and he was going along without protest. Manny had made the most of the opportunity he was given. Word of his talent spread and soon he had divas of all nationalities eating out of his hand and tripping over each other to sign up for a taste of Manny’s personal brand of service. Between Big Beau and Bonita, I didn’t stand a chance.
“Jewels, I need to see you again,” Manny said.
“Why?” I protested.
“Because this thing between us isn’t over.” Same old confident Manny.
“I—” was all I could manage, still flustered and tongue-tied whenever I was around him.
“Listen, you said at lunch you wanted to make a total change. There are some great spaces in Coral Gables I can show you. Very classy. I know you’d like them. That area is really growing. The Gables has character to spare. A real international flavor. They’ve got a lot of fine art galleries, great restaurants, and I have the perfect location in mind for you. They’ve just rezoned a section on Alhambra for commercial, and I’ve got the listing for an old Mediterranean-style house that would be ideal if you converted it to a business. You and your family can relocate the shop and make improvements at that time. I can help you, and that will give us a legitimate chance to see each other.”
“I don’t think Nita would like me working with you,” I said with certainty.
“You let me worry about Nita,” Manny said, as he pulled up to one of the spaces reserved for Goldsmith’s customers. “I can handle her. She doesn’t own me.”
I was sure he just wanted to see if I was still vulnerable to him, if he still had the same power over me, if he could draw me into his web again. He was still playing his irritating cat-and-mouse games.
Fuming, I couldn’t believe I was falling for his Romeo brand of bullshit again. But at the same time I found myself thinking about the kiss and the warmth of Manny’s body next to mine. The fact that he still wanted me was flattering. But I had to face facts. I had never gotten over him and I probably never would. There was too much between us.
“When can I pick you up for our next business lunch?” he spun, in his smooth-as-silk tone.
“I didn’t say you could,” I protested, knowing even then that I would go with him. “And if I said yes, it would really be a business lunch.”
“Like our study dates in college?” he taunted. “Okay, how about noon tomorrow?” Manny suggested. “I know this great Italian place out on Key Biscayne. Remote. We can talk there.”
Yeah, right. Talk.
“Well, tomorrow is my birthday—” I began, and I could tell by the way he hesitated that he had forgotten. Well, what did I expect?
“Even better. See you then, Jewels.”
“Manny, you never give up, do you?” I sighed. “It must be exhausting, being you,” but he had disappeared before I even had a chance to turn him down.
When I went into my office and closed the door to contemplate the afternoon, I was mad at Manny all over again, and surprised at how angry and isolated he still made me feel. I had never really examined or articulated those feelings.
It was obvious I wasn’t going to get any more work done, so I stretched out in my comfortable office wing chair, propped my feet up on the desk, shut my eyes, and let my mind drift into the cracks and crevices of my life that hadn’t been dusted in years.
Chapter Eight:
Early Memories
I could hardly remember a time I wasn’t infatuated with Manny Gellar. When we met, I was super skinny, with a smooth, creamy complexion, a pug nose, and pouty lips that seemed too big for my face at the time. My thick brown hair framed my oval face and fell to my shoulders in a perfectly manageable pageboy, except for one large, unruly curl that I was forever trying to tame and that I had to constantly blow off my face when it fell into my eyes.
Everyone said my eyes were my best feature. Big and blue, they were evenly set in my face and looked like the ocean on a calm day but flashed brightly when I was angry. I looked out at the world from behind what my best friend Mackie called the longest pair of lashes in creation.
Mine was the type of beauty you grew into, my mother explained. The beauty that adults instantly recognized as cla
ssic but that young boys didn’t yet find attractive.
To make matters worse, in the fourth grade, I got glasses and braces in the same year, so my stunning baby blues were hidden behind a set of thick lenses for most of my adolescence. Not to mention my chest was as flat as an ironing board. So in my early teens, I stuffed my padded bras with Kleenex. I was a late bloomer. But all that changed when I underwent a dramatic transformation on my sixteenth birthday.
I was named after my father’s younger sister, Julia Lee, who had died from rheumatic fever when she was only fifteen. My father blamed the death on malnutrition because of the extreme poverty in which his family had grown up.
“She was an angel,” my father used to say. “A beautiful girl. Too beautiful for this world.”
I spent my first fifteen years trying to live up to the ideal of the dead aunt I had never met. I kept a picture of my namesake under my pillow. Though the print was faded and crumpled, Aunt Julia Lee had an aura about her, with long ringlets of strawberry-blonde curls cascading down her angelic face. For most of my young life, I feared I was destined to suffer the same fate as Julia Lee had when she turned fifteen. As a result, I held my breath until the day I reached my sixteenth birthday. Then I believed the spell was broken, and I was free to grow and ready to live again and to finally put Julia Lee to rest.
But Aunt Julia Lee had other ideas. While Julia Lee’s photo was safely tucked away in my bottom dresser drawer and I had dismissed all thoughts of her from my mind, my aunt’s spirit somehow managed to cross over and “possess” me. If Aunt Julia Lee had been dormant, she was about to make up for lost time.
Beginning the morning I turned sixteen, my dark, straight hair grew in light and curly, and I developed curves in all the right places. Boys started to give me second looks because they now found me alluring, not aloof, and somehow they liked the total effect.
Stones Page 7
