44 Charles Street

by Danielle Steel

  “So where’s Todd these days?” he asked her casually. She had told most of their artists verbally that she had bought him out, but hadn’t sent an official letter to them yet. She hadn’t had the heart. And most of them could figure out that he was no longer around. A few asked her, but most of them had guessed that he was gone when they didn’t see him.

  “I bought him out,” Francesca said equally off-handedly. “My father is my business partner now. Todd is practicing law again.” She thought it was all he needed to know, and the artist nodded.

  “You two still together?” he asked over his shoulder, as he put the ladder away.

  “No, we’re not,” Francesca said, and turned away, embarrassed and saddened by the question. She didn’t know why, but it made her feel like a failure, as though she had been unable to keep him or make it work. She hated feeling that way and wondered if Todd did too.

  “I wondered about it. I haven’t seen him around in a long time. Did you sell your house?”

  “No, it’s mine now, with three roommates.” It was more information than he needed.

  “I’m happy to hear it,” the young artist said with a broad smile. “I’ve been waiting for him to get out of the way for years. How about dinner some night?” He looked hopeful as he asked. He admired Francesca for how hard she worked and how good she was at what she did. She was fiercely dedicated to her artists, and did everything she could to promote their careers.

  Francesca took a breath before she answered his invitation to dinner. “I don’t think so, Bob. I’m not so keen on mixing business with pleasure. I’ve never gone out with any of my artists, and I don’t think I should start now.” She tried to look businesslike as she said it, and Bob seemed undaunted.

  “There’s always a first time,” he said hopefully.

  “Yeah, maybe, but I don’t think so. But thanks anyway. I’m really not ready to start dating yet. It’s kind of a big adjustment after five years.”

  “Yeah … I’m sorry …” He looked disappointed and left a few minutes later, and Francesca locked up the gallery and walked home. It was raining harder than it had been that morning, which matched her spirits. It depressed her to think of dating anyone, or sleeping with anyone except Todd, although they had stopped sleeping with each other months before. It was going to be hard getting used to someone new. She just didn’t want to yet. And she walked up the steps of 44 Charles Street, soaked to the skin, and with a heavy heart.

  She went straight to her room, without dinner, and cried herself to sleep that night. It told her that she wasn’t over Todd yet, and she wondered how long it would take. Maybe forever.

  Francesca felt better in the morning, and she smiled when she walked into the kitchen. It was early, and she thought she’d be alone, but instead she found Marya making pancakes for Ian. They looked like Mickey Mouse, had a cherry for a nose, and raisins for eyes when she put them on his plate. They had just met. It was Saturday, and one of Ian’s weekends with his father.

  “Hi, Ian,” Francesca said easily, as though they were old friends. “Pretty cool pancakes, huh?” she asked him, and he nodded with a grin as she smiled at Marya over his head. He was an irresistible child with a big happy smile and wise old eyes.

  “Marya’s going to make cookies with me later. Chocolate chip. My mom used to make those with me,” he said carefully. “She doesn’t anymore. She gets sick a lot, and she sleeps all the time. Sometimes she’s still asleep when I get home from school.” The two women exchanged a look but said nothing. Francesca wondered if she had an illness, but she didn’t want to ask.

  “I like chocolate chip cookies too,” Francesca added to lighten the moment.

  “You can make some with us if you want,” Ian said generously as Chris walked in. “Or we’ll save you some if you have to go to work.”

  “I’d love that,” Francesca said warmly, as Eileen walked in with the unattractive Doug, who asked for pancakes too. Francesca was quick to step in. Marya hadn’t been hired as a cook, she was a world-class chef who was doing them a favor and making them a gift by cooking anything for them. She wasn’t a short-order cook there to prepare them breakfast. “We’re doing self-service,” Francesca said quietly, “except for Ian.” Doug looked annoyed, shrugged, and helped himself to a cup of coffee as Marya looked at Francesca gratefully. Chris had taken due note of the scene, and didn’t like Doug either. He was crass and rude, and made it clear to everyone in the room that he and Eileen were sleeping together and when Ian left the room for a few minutes, Doug even intimated that they had had some pretty hot sex the night before. Eileen didn’t seem to mind his saying it, but the others did on her behalf. It was a lack of respect for her that she appeared not to notice or object to.

  Oblivious to the scene, Ian happily finished his pancakes and politely thanked Marya when he was through. He then carefully rinsed his dish and put it in the dishwasher. Francesca noticed and wondered if he had to take care of himself if his mother was sick or sleeping all the time. He seemed unusually capable for a child of seven.

  They were all still milling around the kitchen when the doorbell rang. Francesca went upstairs to answer, and was horrified to see her mother standing outside, waiting to come in. She was wearing a Chanel running suit and Dior sneakers, her hair was in a ponytail, and she looked beautiful even without makeup, but she was the last person Francesca wanted to see that morning. She had no desire to introduce her to her roommates or listen to her mother’s comments about them after.

  “Hi, Mom,” she said hesitantly, not sure what to do. “What are you doing here?” She was hoping she would leave without coming in, but doubted she would. Her mother was too persistent and curious for that.

  “I’m trying a new skin doctor in SoHo. I hear she’s fabulous, so I thought I’d drop over before I see her. May I come in?” She looked expectant and imperious, and Francesca stepped aside, feeling like a kid in trouble. She knew her mother would not like the scene in the kitchen.

  “Of course,” Francesca said, as her heart sank, thinking of the odd melee of people in her kitchen, and suspected her mother would be shocked, particularly by Doug and his tattoos.

  “Something smells delicious,” Thalia commented as Francesca debated between taking her upstairs to her bedroom, with the unmade bed, the living room where there was no place to sit, since she hadn’t gotten around to replacing the couch and chairs Todd had taken, or the kitchen, where all of her roommates were having breakfast. She hated to introduce them to her mother. But Marya had just taken a fresh tray of croissants out of the oven, which provided an irresistible lure toward the kitchen.

  “One of my roommates is a famous chef,” Francesca explained as her mother headed down the stairs toward the kitchen without her. Reluctantly, Francesca followed.

  Chris was at the kitchen table with his son doing a drawing, Marya was at the stove in her apron holding the fresh batch of croissants, and Doug with all his tattoos visible was wrapped around Eileen like a snake, while she giggled and was still wearing a slightly indiscreet nightgown with her robe hanging open. It was not the scene she wanted to present to her mother. She introduced her to all of them simply as her mother, as Thalia pursed her lips and stared over all of them to Marya. She seemed to be the only civilized person there, in Thalia’s opinion.

  “You must be the chef,” Thalia said, looking slightly daunted. The idea of her daughter living with all these people still upset her. And she had instantly noticed Doug and his tattoos and thought him dreadful.

  “I am. Would you like breakfast, Mrs. Thayer?” Marya asked kindly. She was slightly startled by the grandeur of Francesca’s mother. Even in a sweatsuit, she looked as though she should be wearing a ball gown.

  “I’m not Mrs. Thayer,” Thalia said quickly. “Countess di San Giovane,” she corrected in the accent her late husband had taught her. She only used the Italian pronounciation of her name for state occasions, which this wasn’t. But it was her way of letting them all know that she
was much more important than they were. They got the message. Chris glanced at her over Ian’s head, said nothing, and went back to talking to his son. Doug was nuzzling Eileen’s neck, and she couldn’t stop laughing. It was not the dignified welcome Thalia thought worthy of her. Francesca was cringing.

  “Of course, Countess,” Marya said politely without batting an eye. “May I offer you some croissants and a cup of coffee?”

  “I’d like that very much,” Thalia said, and sat down next to Ian. He looked up at her with interest, and went back to his drawing. And a moment later Marya set the plate of warm croissants and a steaming cup of coffee in front of her. Francesca sat down in the only spare seat at the table, across from her mother, silently dying, wishing she hadn’t come.

  The scene went on as it had been when she entered, for a few minutes, and then everyone went about their business. Marya cleaned up the kitchen, Chris went upstairs with Ian, and Doug and Eileen went back to her room, as Doug let them all know on the way out that they were going back to bed. Eileen’s girl-next-door halo was definitely slipping. A moment later only Francesca and her mother were left at the kitchen table as Marya buzzed around.

  “I can’t believe you’re living with those people,” Thalia said in horror, and looked as though she were about to burst into tears. “What are you thinking?” she said, ignoring Marya.

  “I’m thinking that I need to make my mortgage payments, and they’re all very nice,” Francesca said sternly, as Marya pretended not to hear them and finished the dishes.

  “That man with the tattoos?”

  “He doesn’t live here. He’s dating the girl who lives upstairs. She teaches autistic children.”

  “You’d never know it to look at her,” her mother said with a disapproving look. She wasn’t wrong. Her look had gotten racier as she got comfortable, and her skirts shorter.

  “She’s young,” Francesca said, trying to defend her, although she couldn’t stand Doug herself, and was also bothered that Eileen had come downstairs in a nightgown and robe. It was poor judgment and bad taste, but not a crime.

  “Everyone gets along very well,” Marya interjected, as she refilled Thalia’s cup with the delicious brew she had brought with her from Vermont. “They’re all very decent,” Marya reassured her, and Thalia looked at her mournfully, relieved to have found a friend and ally among them.

  “Doesn’t it upset you too?” Thalia asked her.

  “Not at all,” Marya answered. “I’m happy to be here. They’re all very kind young people. I lost my husband a few months ago, and I’m so glad to be here with them, and not alone at home in Vermont.”

  “What did he die of?” Thalia’s mother asked with interest.

  “A brain tumor. He was sick for a long time. The end was pretty rough. It’s a relief to get away now, and it will be good for me to be in New York.”

  “This is a hard town to find a man,” Francesca’s mother said bluntly, and Francesca was shocked and embarrassed, and then laughed. It was all Thalia ever thought of. That and herself. “Especially at our age,” she added, and Marya laughed. Thalia didn’t bother her at all. She had dealt with colleagues with far more imperious ways than Thalia. Many of the chefs she had worked with were notorious divas, and some had been downright nasty to her over the years, mostly out of jealousy or just because they were rotten people.

  “I’m not looking for a man,” Marya told her. “I don’t want one. I had the best one there ever was, for thirty-six years. No one else could ever measure up. I just want to have a nice time, do my work, and make some new friends.” Thalia looked as though Marya were speaking in tongues. She was a very attractive woman. Why on earth wouldn’t she want a man? She assumed that she was probably lying. In Thalia’s opinion, every woman wanted a man.

  “You’ll probably feel differently about it in a few months,” Thalia said knowingly, and then complimented her on the excellent coffee.

  “No, I won’t,” Marya said firmly. “I don’t need a man to be happy. I had a great one, that was good enough. I don’t expect to find another one like him, and why settle for anything less? I’m going to be perfectly content alone.” She looked certain of it, and Thalia stared at her as though she thought she was crazy.

  Francesca looked at her watch then. She was meeting a client at the gallery at ten, before they opened, so they would have time to look at paintings in the racks without being disturbed. “I hate to say it, but I have to go, Mom.”

  “That’s all right, dear,” her mother said, planted firmly in her chair with no intention of moving. “I can stay and chat with Marya. I still have time before my appointment.”

  Marya nodded at Francesca reassuringly, who was looking panicked, and then Marya turned to Thalia. “Countess, would you like another cup of coffee?” She said it as though she were calling her Your Highness, and Thalia smiled.

  “Please call me Thalia. I wouldn’t want the young people calling me that, but there’s no reason for you to use my title.” She had decided they were equals, in stature as well as age. “You know, I have two of your cookbooks. I particularly like your recipe for hollandaise. It’s so easy, even I can do it.”

  “Thank you, Thalia,” Marya said, beaming, and handed her another plate of croissants.

  “I hate to leave you, Mom,” Francesca said uncomfortably, but it was more that she didn’t trust her. She had no idea what she’d say to Marya, or how she would behave. And she didn’t want to offend Marya, who looked totally at ease with her mother.

  “Don’t be silly, dear. I’ll call you later.” Thalia had stopped complaining about the other tenants, and Francesca really had to leave. The client she was meeting had been referred to her by a satisfied client. She had never met him before, and she didn’t want to be late.

  Francesca gave a last anxious glance at Marya as she left, and hurried up the stairs to get her purse, and a moment later, she was hurrying down the street, thinking about her mother. She was sure she was going to get an earful about all of them at some point, except maybe Marya, whom her mother seemed to like.

  At that very moment, the two older women were bonding in the kitchen. Marya was amused by her, but it didn’t show. She could hold her own with people like the countess, and had with people who were infinitely worse.

  “You have no idea how I worry about her, especially with this insane arrangement,” Thalia was confiding to Marya. “She should have married Todd instead of buying real estate with him. He would have had to pay her a decent alimony, and she’d own the house free and clear. Living with all these people is just a crazy thing to do.” Thalia looked distressed, and Marya was very calm.

  “It seems to be working out very well. Chris is respectable, he seems well educated, and his son is very sweet. And I think the little girl upstairs is just young and a little silly. She’s fresh out of school. She’s all excited about being in the city and meeting men. She’ll calm down.”

  “Her friend looks like he’s fresh out of prison,” Thalia said, near tears. For the next hour, Marya reassured her, and by the time Thalia left to see her new skin doctor, she was feeling better. Marya sat in the kitchen for a few minutes, smiling to herself after she left. The Countess di San Giovane was definitely a handful. She couldn’t help wondering how Francesca had managed to be so normal and down to earth with a mother like that. But more than anything, Thalia seemed foolish to her, and most of what they’d talked about was her desperation about finding a man and getting married again. She had confessed shamelessly that without a husband, she didn’t even feel like a woman. Her entire identity was wrapped up in who she was married to. And without that she felt like no one at all. She was the exact opposite of Marya, who was self-respecting, confident, knew exactly who she was, and didn’t depend on anyone for her identity. The two women were as different as black and white. And in Francesca’s opinion, her mother’s obvious obsession with finding another husband had been scaring men away for years.

  And at the gallery, Francesca
had taken out nearly every painting she had in the racks. She kept a good selection of her artists’ work in stock. The client she was wooing wanted to buy a large painting, he said he had a fondness for emerging artists, but didn’t seem sure of what he liked. And whatever direction Francesca steered him, it didn’t feel right to him. He said he was divorced, and his wife had always selected all their art. He wanted to make a statement of his own now, but had no idea what it should be. He was a fifty-year-old dentist from New Jersey, and Francesca was utterly fed up with him by noon. He seemed to be incapable of making up his mind. He finally promised that he would think about it, and call her the following week if he made a decision. He said he liked everything she had showed him, but he was nervous about buying the wrong thing. It was always frustrating dealing with clients like him.

  She handed him photographs and information on all the artists he was interested in, and he looked even more confused, and then he looked up at her.

  “You wouldn’t like to talk about it over dinner, would you?” he asked, looking far more interested in her than in her art. But nothing about him appealed to her, she didn’t like him, and she wasn’t in the mood.

  “I’m sorry,” she said pleasantly, smiling at him, “I don’t go out with clients.” It was the perfect excuse.

  “I haven’t bought anything from you yet. I’m not a client,” he said cleverly. And she’d have much preferred to sell him something than go out with him. She was beginning to wonder if he had looked at the art as a ruse. And if so, he had wasted her time, and his own.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t.” She shook her head.