by Caragh Bell
She noticed her phone on the end of her bed. Picking it up, she dialled her mother’s number.
‘Momma? I need you right now.’
‘Look! That’s the best dog vendor in New York!’
Tyler pointed to a brightly painted hot-dog stand near the entrance to Central Park. The owner was dressed in a pinstripe suit and wore a black hat. There was a big queue waiting for his fayre – a sure sign that he was popular.
Lydia linked arms with him as they strolled down the path.
‘Did Luca explain why I’m here?’ she asked quietly.
‘Nah,’ answered Tyler. ‘I didn’t ask neither. If he wants to tell me, he will.’
‘It’s all been pretty awful,’ she continued.
‘I guess.’ He stopped. ‘But you guys are happy, right?’
She nodded.
‘Then that’s the most important thing.’ He started to walk again, stepping sideways to avoid a skateboarder who whizzed past.
‘So, have you heard from Laura lately?’ he asked casually.
Lydia smiled. ‘Maybe. Are you interested?’
‘Well, I tried to contact her lots of times but she won’t pick up.’ His face fell. ‘I guess she’s not that into me, huh?’
‘Laura’s complicated,’ explained Lydia carefully. ‘She doesn’t like to be tied down.’
‘We had a blast!’
‘I’m sure you did, but relationships aren’t her style.’
‘Oh.’ He looked gloomy for a moment but then brightened. ‘If you guys get married, make her a bridesmaid so I get to dance with her.’
Lydia giggled. ‘Anything you say.’
They reached the end of the path and were confronted with a busy street filled with hooting yellow taxis, cars, people and noise. The sign read ‘DON’T WALK’, so they waited on the kerb.
‘Is Luca talking to Charlotte now?’ enquired Tyler.
She nodded, her stomach doing a somersault.
‘Everything will be okay.’ He squeezed her arm. ‘Didn’t that Shakespeare dude say some shit like, ‘the course of true love never did run smooth’?’
Lydia burst out laughing. ‘He did! You’re so funny.’
‘You see? Not just a pretty face!’ He grinned.
When they reached the apartment building, Tyler left her in the foyer, sensing that it wasn’t a good time to see Luca.
She used the key Luca had left for her and walked into the sitting room. Luca was slumped on the couch, a can of beer in his hand. There was a baseball game on the television.
‘Hey,’ she said softly, loitering in the doorway. ‘How did it go?’
He stared stonily ahead. ‘It was awful,’ he answered. ‘She’s devastated.’
‘Are you okay?’ she asked.
‘No.’
The crowd cheered on the screen, as the Yankees had just got a home run. Luca didn’t even react.
‘Is Mimi back?’ She shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably.
‘Briefly. She’s gone out again.’ He took a swig of beer. ‘She flipped when she heard I smacked Papa.’
‘Oh.’
‘Well, are you going to stand over there all night?’ He turned towards her and their eyes connected. ‘Or are you going to get over here?’
She bolted towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly. ‘I thought you were cross with me,’ she murmured, kissing him over and over. ‘I was afraid you regretted everything.’
He looked at her as if she were insane. ‘Why would I regret anything? The worst is over.’
‘I know, but I struggle to believe that I’m worth all this hassle.’
He stroked her cheek. ‘You are worth anything, do you understand that? I’d do anything for you.’
She snuggled into his neck. ‘So, this is the beginning?’
‘This is the start of our life together.’ He stroked her face gently. ‘Nothing will ever break us up.’
‘You mean it?’ she whispered.
‘I sure do. You’re my girl.’
Chapter 43
They ate dinner in the small Italian restaurant where Tara had met Christian. It was still owned by the same Italian man as then – Luca’s namesake.
‘Luca, buona sera,’ said the old man as they entered the dining room. ‘Who is this bella lady?’
Luca grinned. ‘Hey, Luca, this is my girl Lydia.’ He pushed her forward. ‘She’s Irish like my mom.’
‘Bella!’ said the old man, kissing her hand and winking.
Lydia blushed.
‘Have you got a table for us?’ Luca scanned the room.
‘Only the best for my boy, only the best.’ He led them to a secluded table for two near the window. A candle stood alight in a bottle of Chianti, the wax dripping down the sides. The tablecloth was the traditional red-and-white check pattern and the grissini stood upright in a glass.
‘How is your mama?’ he asked, shaking out their napkins and placing them on their laps.
‘She’s good. Really busy with her art.’
‘She was always so talented,’ said the old man wistfully. ‘She would draw me and Giorgia all the time.’
‘Luca draws,’ said Lydia proudly. ‘He’s really good.’
Old Luca smiled. ‘He is a good boy,’ he agreed, ruffling his hair. ‘Now, I get you some menus.’
He disappeared out the back and Lydia smiled. ‘I bet he can cook a better penne dish than me.’
‘I doubt that,’ said Luca playfully. ‘You are the pasta queen.’
‘Yeah, right.’
He broke a breadstick in half and fed her some. ‘These are awesome, huh?’ he said, munching some himself. ‘He double-bakes them or something.’
‘Awesome,’ she echoed, her heart brimming with love.
‘Now, here you go.’ Luca Senior arrived back with two handwritten menus. ‘I would recommend the linguine alle vongole.’ He smiled broadly. ‘Shellfish is buono for the bedroom, no?’
Luca laughed out loud.
‘We have no problem there, Luca,’ he said, patting his back. ‘I got that covered.’
‘So, what can I get you?’ The old man had his pen poised.
Lydia scanned the menu and then snapped it shut. ‘I’ll have the linguine alle vongole, like you suggested.’
Luca laughed. ‘Me too. I’ll have the same.’
‘Bellisima,’ said Luca Senior, taking the empty grissini container. ‘Wine?’
‘Some Chianti?’ said Luca. ‘Your best bottle, please.’
‘Coming right up.’
Lydia felt herself relax. It finally felt acceptable to be with Luca; it finally felt right and justified. A tenor sang Puccini in the background and the sound of various conversations filled the air. The door pinged every now and then, signalling the arrival of new customers.
The pasta arrived quickly and, taking a fork, Lydia dug in immediately. It was simply delicious; the sauce clung to each long strand and the clams were salty and fresh.
She groaned in delight. ‘This is unreal.’
He laughed. ‘You and your food!’
‘No, seriously. This is the best pasta I’ve ever tasted. It’s perfection.’ She sipped her wine and sighed. ‘Thank you for bringing me here.’
He took her hand in his. ‘I’m sorry that you had to see all that today. You know, with my parents.’
She shrugged. ‘I can understand why they’re angry …’
‘They will love you, you know. Just give them time.’
She wasn’t so sure. Still, she smiled and squeezed his hand. ‘Let’s forget about today, Luca. Let’s just enjoy tonight.’
He nodded and resumed twirling his pasta around his fork. ‘You got it.’
Mimi had gone to bed when they arrived home. She had left a note on the kitchen counter telling them she would see them in the morning. Her handwriting was beautiful: classic strokes written with an ink pen. Lydia traced the words with her fingers.
‘She writes so beautifully.’
�
�Finishing school,’ replied Luca, taking a carton of juice from the fridge. ‘She was like trained to do all kinds of things. Get in and out of cars like a lady, set tables, greet people, and how to write like a professional. Mimi has the whole etiquette thing down.’
‘I’d love to get to know her,’ said Lydia wistfully. ‘Do you think she’ll ever let me in?’
Luca wiped juice from his upper lip. ‘She will love you, Lyd. Give her a chance – it’s only a matter of time.’
She yawned, suddenly tired after her stressful day. He noticed immediately.
‘Do you want to go to bed?’
She nodded. ‘I’m pretty wrecked.’
‘Go on down. I’ll follow you in a minute.’
As soon as she left the room, he pulled out his phone. There were seven voicemails from Charlotte and five missed calls from Victoria. Charlotte’s messages ranged from angry to tearful; she wanted to meet him to talk things through. There was too much to cancel; there was too much to unravel with regards to the wedding. She was overwhelmed and upset; she needed help.
Victoria chose not to leave a voicemail. Luca frowned. She was a tough cookie; he was aware that there was steel under the honey-blonde hair and Southern belle exterior. There was no way he was calling her back; this was between him and Charlotte.
There was also a text from his mother. It simply read:
I’m sorry. Meet me TMRW at gallery. Mom
He knew she’d come round. She always did. His father was another story. He couldn’t see Christian making an effort to smooth things over. He would never accept Lydia – that much was plain.
He put his phone in his pocket. If that’s what his father wanted, then so be it. He would choose her over him any day.
She was half- asleep when he entered the bedroom, her long hair fanned over the pillow, her smooth shoulders visible at the top of the sheet.
He pulled off his T-shirt and pants. Removing his jocks, he slipped under the sheet and pressed his naked body against hers. She moaned slightly. He kissed her soft skin and cupped her breast with his hand.
‘We should go to see that painting, the Van Gogh one,’ he suggested, biting her skin lightly.
‘That sounds amazing,’ she whispered.
He turned her body around so that she was facing him. ‘Lydia,’ he said in a serious tone.
She caressed his chest. ‘Hmmmm?’
‘This is for real, isn’t it?’
She was startled. He looked insecure and vulnerable. She was surprised as she always saw him as so confident. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might be unsure of her. She pushed a stray lock of hair away from his face.
‘It is for me,’ she said simply. ‘You have to trust me.’
‘You promise?’ His eyes were dark.
‘I promise.’
Chapter 44
Lydia woke up the next morning to find Luca’s side of the bed empty. She activated her phone to check the time; it was nearly eleven. Yawning, she stretched and then threw back the duvet. A cup of coffee was a must; she couldn’t function without it first thing. Pulling on a pair of leggings and one of Luca’s T-shirts, she walked down the hall towards the kitchen. Mimi was drinking coffee at the table.
‘Oh!’ Lydia said in surprise, not expecting to see the old lady.
‘Leedia,’ she began, her half-moon spectacles perched on her nose. ‘Luca said to tell you that he go to zee gallery to meet his muzzer.’
‘Okay,’ she answered shyly. She wasn’t quite sure what to say or do. She was dying for a cup of coffee but didn’t have the confidence to just help herself.
‘Un café?’ Mimi asked, as if reading her thoughts.
Lydia nodded. ‘I’d love one, thank you.’ She took a seat at the table.
The old lady got to her feet and brought another china cup and saucer to the table.
‘Would you like somsing to eat?’ she asked Lydia.
Lydia shook her head. ‘No, thank you.’
Mimi brought a coffee pot from the counter and poured some for Lydia.
‘I just made zees,’ she said. ‘It ees still hot.’
‘Thank you.’
Mimi topped up her own cup and sat down, leaving the pot on the table.
‘Du sucre?’
Lydia shook her head. ‘No, thank you.’ She sipped her coffee tentatively. It was indeed hot and sit was strong.
Mimi sat down and regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Luca must like you vairy much,’ she observed. ‘He has sacrificed a lot for you.’
Lydia started, not expecting such a statement. ‘Well,’ she said carefully, ‘I like him too.’
The old lady said nothing. She stirred more sugar into her coffee with a silver spoon. ‘You ’ave plans today?’
‘I think so. He mentioned going to a gallery …’
Mimi brightened. ‘I take ’im to many galleries when he was leetle.’
‘Yes, he told me that you used to take him to exhibitions. He was really lucky.’
Mimi smiled: a much warmer smile than before. Lydia reciprocated, encouraged. They seemed to have found a common ground.
‘So, who is your favourite artist?’ she asked the older woman.
‘Moi? I love Braque. I saw an excellent exhibition of ’im in St Paul de Vence, back in 1994. It was incroyable – incredible?’
Lydia beamed back at her. ‘He’s like Picasso, isn’t he?’
‘Oui, you are correct. I prefer Braque myself …’
Luca arrived back an hour later to find them deep in conversation. His heart soared when he saw them together – his two favourite women discussing paintings over coffee.
‘Hey, you guys, did you miss me?’
He leaned in and kissed Lydia full on the lips. She blushed slightly. Then he turned to his grandmother.
‘Morning, Meems.’ He moved over and kissed her soft cheek. ‘What are you two talking about?’
‘I was telling Mimi that we might go to the museum today,’ said Lydia happily.
‘Hell, no. I can’t do that today. Mom needs me back at the gallery later. Can we do it tomorrow?’
She tried to mask her disappointment. ‘Of course, no problem.’
She made a mental note to email Adam later and see if he was amenable to accepting some articles. She needed to be busy; she couldn’t sit around this apartment all day drinking coffee and small-talking with Mimi.
‘I’m going to take a shower,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘Thank you for the coffee, Mimi.’
‘Pas de problème.’ The old lady smiled warmly.
Luca took Lydia’s empty seat after she left. ‘So, what do you think of Lydia?’
Mimi shrugged. ‘She ees nice. She ees interesting. I geeve you that.’
‘You see? I told you.’ He beamed at his grandmother. ‘I’m so happy, Meems. You are going to love her. I know it.’
‘Peut-être,’ she murmured. ‘Maybe.’ The old lady regarded her grandson warily. ‘Luca,’ she began. ‘I ’ave to talk to you about Christian …’
Luca put down his cup with a clatter. ‘Don’t go there, Meems.’
‘I don’t like to see zees dispute. I want you to talk to ’im.’ She traced the rim of her china cup with her beautifully manicured finger.
‘Aw, Mimi. Don’t do this. You know I can’t stand him right now.’
‘Christian ees your fazzer.’ She stood firm. ‘You cannot continue zees hatred. I want you to talk.’
‘I hate when you do this.’ He got up and started pacing the room. ‘You know I can’t say no to you.’
‘S’il te plait?’ Her dark eyes pleaded with him. ‘I cannot bear zees tension.’
He looked at her tiny frame and was again jolted at how frail she had become. Her skin was more lined than he remembered; he had no right to upset her. Christian was her son after all.
He relented. ‘Okay, okay, I’ll talk to him.’
She smiled. ‘I am so glad.’
Luca took the juice from the fridge and took an eno
rmous swig. ‘But if he berates me about Lydia, I’m out of there.’
Later that day, Luca met his mother for a drink in a bistro in Greenwich Village, two blocks from the gallery.
Tara nodded at the waitress. ‘Two beers, please,’ she said. ‘Budweiser is fine.’
They were sitting outside, shielded from the blazing sun by a large canopy that covered the al fresco tables.
Tara was anxious to smooth things over. She was no fool; she understood that her son was serious about this girl and she didn’t want to lose him. Christian, on the other hand, had washed his hands of the whole situation. He didn’t want to see his son nor did he want any sort of rapprochement.
