Ask Mariah

by Barbara Freethy

  She'd already lost her father. Was she ready to lose her mother, too?

  * * *

  "Where is your mother?" Vincent demanded, flinging open the door to Tony's bedroom.

  Tony grimaced against the sound of his father's loud, booming voice. He slowly opened his eyes to see his father standing beside the bed, wearing a burgundy-colored bathrobe over a pair of cotton pajamas. His face was unshaven, his white hair sticking up in sleepy cowlicks.

  "Your mother," Vincent repeated, his dark eyes worried. "She's not here."

  "Maybe she went to the market."

  "She went to the market yesterday."

  "So she forgot something, and she went again. What's the big deal?" Tony muttered as he pulled himself into a sitting position. He rubbed his temple against the already pounding headache, probably the result of too many shots of tequila the night before.

  "She didn't make coffee. She didn't leave a note," Vincent said.

  "I'm sure she's fine."

  "You -- what do you know?" Vincent said scornfully, picking up the half-empty bottle from the dresser. "You're a bum. A drunk."

  The words cut to the quick, leaving sharp, painful, scarring wounds. "You know, I don't need this shit," Tony said as he got out of bed and pulled on his blue jeans from the night before. "I'll sleep on my boat from now on."

  "That's right. Run away. You always run away like a scared little boy, drowning your sorrows in a bottle of booze."

  "I'm not running away. I'm leaving. And who the hell do you think taught me how to drink, Papa?"

  "Don't swear at me."

  "Why not? You're swearing at me."

  "You're my son. I'm your father. You will show respect."

  "As soon as you start showing me some respect." He lifted his chin in the air, staring back at his father with anger and determination. This showdown had been coming for a long time.

  "What should I respect? You have no job, no wife, no money, no house."

  "Those things are important to you, not to me. I have a boat. I have a dream."

  "Dreams are for children. You are a man. When are you going to start acting like one?"

  "You won't consider me a man until I come to work at De Luca's. That's not going to happen."

  "Maybe it's for the best. You'd probably run it into the ground."

  "Yeah, I probably would. You know, maybe Mama ran away, too. Maybe she got tired of your domineering ways and that's why she's not here cooking you breakfast and pouring you coffee." Tony meant the words to hurt. He just didn't expect to see his father crumple on the bed, his anger, arrogance, and passion fading from his eyes, from his stance, from his voice.

  Vincent looked defeated, an old, tired warrior who simply couldn't keep up the fight. His hand shook as he reached for the bottle of tequila on the night table and put it to his lips, taking one long shot. His action surprised Tony even more. His father had always drunk red wine by the gallon, but not tequila and not at seven thirty in the morning.

  "This isn't about me at all, is it?" Tony asked.

  His father shook his head. "I love her, you know. All these years, I always loved her."

  "I know that."

  "I don't think Sophia does."

  "Don't be silly," he said, but he could see his father was being anything but silly. In fact, he was incredibly serious.

  "Sophia could have married anyone. She was so pretty, so full of life when I met her. I had to marry her quickly, before anyone else had a chance. My friends were filled with jealousy that such a beautiful woman would pick me."

  Tony sat down on the end of the bed. He didn't know what to say. He didn't understand his father in this mood.

  "But I had to work hard during our marriage. I couldn't take time off. There were many places Sophia wanted to go. That's why she collects the music boxes, so she can bring the rest of the world to her. Sometimes Sophia ..." Vincent shook his head and took another drink of the tequila.

  "She what?"

  Before Vincent could answer, the doorbell rang. Vincent immediately stood up.

  "Mama wouldn't ring the bell," Tony said, meeting his father's eyes.

  "It's too early for visitors."

  Vincent strode from the room. Tony pulled on a T-shirt and followed him down the stairs.

  His father glanced through the lacy curtain that covered the window panel next to the front door.

  "Who is it?" Tony asked.

  His father froze for a second, then backed away from the door. "It's no one."

  "It has to be someone."

  "A salesman. He'll go away if we don't answer it."

  "He'll go away if we answer it and tell him to go away," Tony said as he opened the door.

  It wasn't a salesman. It was Joanna Wingate, dressed in white jeans and a pink sleeveless sweater. Her long hair was swept off her face with an ivory comb, emphasizing her big brown eyes -- De Luca eyes, Tony thought, feeling a shiver of uneasiness.

  "I don't know if you remember me...." Joanna said, glancing from his father to him.

  "How could I forget you?"

  "Is your mother here?"

  "No."

  "It's early to be out."

  "It is early. So why are you here?"

  "I want to talk to your mother."

  "Why?"

  She hesitated. "I'd rather just discuss it with her. Do you know when she'll be back?"

  "I don't even know where she is," he admitted, crossing his arms in front of him.

  "Oh. I guess I'll catch up with her later."

  "Look, I don't know why you're here, but maybe it would be better if you didn't come back." Tony dug his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "It's nothing personal," he added belatedly. "It's just -- you know -- your looks."

  "I think that makes it very personal," she said quietly, "I need to know who I am, Mr. De Luca, and I think either your mother or your aunt knows the answer to that question."

  "What are you saying?" But he knew what she was saying. He knew what she was thinking. Because he thought it, too.

  "I'm saying my looks can't be a coincidence."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Skeletons in the closet."

  "There are no skeletons in my family's closet. The De Lucas have no secrets." God, he sounded as arrogant as his father, but despite his impatience with his father's attitudes, the De Lucas stuck together.

  "Do you think I just happen to have the same face as your sister?"

  "It could happen."

  "How? How could it happen?"

  "A freak of nature."

  "Are you calling your sister a freak, or me?"

  "Well, it certainly wasn't my sister."

  Joanna's brown eyes burned at his response, and Tony didn't have any trouble seeing the difference between Angela and Joanna. This woman didn't fly off the handle. She didn't hide behind sarcasm. She didn't burst into tears to gain sympathy. She was taller than Angela and tougher, too. He could see determination in every line of her face.

  "I will get to the bottom of this, and if it makes you or anyone else in your family uncomfortable, that's just too damn bad," she said. "If you see your mother, tell her I'm looking for her."

  "I'll do that." He shut the door. When he turned around, he saw his father standing on the stairs, gripping the railing with one hand.

  "Is she gone?" Vincent asked.

  "Yes. But she said she'll be back."

  Vincent sank down on the stairs. "God help us."

  "Do you know who she is?"

  "She's a stranger, that's who she is."

  "She seems to think she's related to us."

  Vincent jumped to his feet, his eyes filled with new light. "I'll call the travel agent. I'll take Sophia away. Surprise her for our anniversary. We can leave tonight."

  "Tonight? Uh -- " Tony thought about the party on Saturday night and knew he needed to protest. But his father's mood seemed to change with each passing second. "Why don't you wait until next week? Take some t
ime to plan where you want to go."

  "I don't have time."

  "Why not?"

  "Because our anniversary is tomorrow."

  That was true, but he thought his father's sudden decision to leave had more to do with Joanna than with his anniversary.

  "Don't try to talk me out of leaving," Vincent said. "I should have thought of this days ago. I better get dressed so I can make the arrangements."

  Tony watched his father jog up the stairs. In fifteen minutes the man had gone from furiously angry to defeated to determined. What the hell was going on? He walked over to the phone on the table and picked up the receiver.

  His brother answered on the third ring. "Hello."

  "Frankie, we've got a problem."

  Chapter Eighteen

  He had a problem, Michael decided as he studied his design. The Connaught office building was as exciting as a shoe box. He might as well kiss any hope for a raise and a partnership good-bye. He simply could not come up with the right idea for the building.

  Getting up from his drafting table, he stretched his arms high above his head, then walked over to the window and looked out at the city of San Francisco. He could see a cable car chugging up and down the steep hills between downtown and Chinatown, eventually making its way to the end of the line at Fisherman's Wharf. He could see the Stratton Hotel from his window, too, the future site of the Connaught building.

  From a distance the Stratton still looked like an elegant lady. From here he could see only the beauty, not the age. But in a couple of months, the Stratton would be gone, erased from history like a bad mistake. In its place would be a building of his design, sleek, modern, rising like a phoenix out of the ashes.

  With the Connaught building he could make a name for himself and for the firm. It was the biggest project he had ever handled. A dream come true.

  So why was he stuck? Why was he dreaming about old Victorian houses with crumbling stonework instead of envisioning the ultimate skyscraper? Because of Joanna, he decided, resting his hands on the windowsill. He could hear her voice ringing in his head -- her disgust that the Stratton was being torn down in the name of progress. Joanna was a dreamer, and it was easy to be idealistic when you didn't have children depending on you for food and clothing -- when you didn't have a mortgage to pay or insurance to buy.

  He didn't have time for dreams.

  Then he thought about the Seacliff house, the architecture that stirred his blood, reminding him of why he'd gotten into the business in the first place.

  The intercom buzzed and Helen's voice came over the speaker. "Iris Sandbury is on line one," she said.

  "Thanks. Hello, Iris? How's your vacation?"

  "Wonderful. How's the house?"

  He sat down in his chair. "It's great. A real find."

  "How much is it going to cost me to fix it?"

  "A lot."

  "Do I tear it down and start over, or remodel?"

  "You could do either, but I would recommend ..." He stopped, his mind flashing on Joanna's face, her joy on discovering Ruby Mae's house. He saw her in the attic, dancing around the room with the costumes. He saw her in the living room, telling his children stories by candlelight. He saw her in the kitchen, a string of cheese pizza clinging to her chin. He shook his head, trying to dislodge her image from his mind, but she and the house seemed to be one. He couldn't let Iris tear it down.

  "Michael, are you there?"

  He started. "I'm here. I think you should remodel. Iris. The architecture is too unique, too special to tear down. I also think there's a possibility the house could be declared a historic landmark. There are all kinds of papers and diaries in there."

  "Oh, dear. It's not that I don't like history, but if it's declared a landmark, I might have a hard time doing what I want with it, wouldn't I?"

  "Possibly."

  "Maybe I should buy it and tear it down before anyone catches up with me. I don't care about history or old houses, but I'd love a piece of property by the ocean, and this one is perfect for that, isn't it?"

  "It has a great view and it's secluded," he conceded.

  "Exactly what I want. I'll be back on Sunday, and I'll make an offer on Monday before Mr. Gladstone puts it on the market. Thanks for checking it out for me. You're a dear."

  He hung up the phone. He wasn't a dear. He was an ass. He was tearing down buildings right and left. A few more weeks like this, he'd probably have the city bulldozed. Joanna would hate the idea of Iris tearing down Ruby Mae's house. She'd grown attached to it -- as he had grown attached to Joanna.

  Sitting back in his chair, he twisted a paper clip between his fingertips. Somehow, he'd fallen for Joanna. It was wrong. It was ridiculous. It was absurd. He couldn't think of enough adjectives to describe the impossibility of their relationship. How could he be with a woman who looked like Angela? But Joanna wasn't Angela, and he no longer saw her as a mirror image. But other people would.

  What the hell did he care what other people thought? Except some of those other people included the De Luca's. And they wouldn't be able to handle a relationship between him and Joanna.

  Still he wanted her, deep down -- with his heart and his soul, and the realization shook him. What the hell was he going to do?

  Helen opened his office door and stepped in. "You had four messages while you were on the phone. Sophia De Luca, Frank De Luca, Marlena De Luca, and Tony De Luca."

  "Damn. What did they all want?"

  "Sophia wants to talk to you about Joanna. Frank wants to talk to you about Vincent, and Tony wants to talk to you about Sophia. Oh, and Marlena said not to forget she's picking up Lily and Rose from school to take them to Andrea's birthday party for the sleep over." She smiled. "Shall I get someone on the phone for you?"

  "How about an airline? I'd like to get out of town."

  She smiled. "Family getting a little close?"

  "You could say that."

  "I thought you adored the De Lucas. They were the family you always wanted."

  "Yeah, well, it's funny how sometimes we get exactly what we want, only then we don't want it anymore."

  Her smile vanished. "Don't say that."

  "I wasn't talking about you."

  "I know, but I don't even want to think that I might marry Joey, then not want him anymore. What would I do?"

  You'd stick it out, Michael thought, as he and Angela had done, trying to make the best of the situation, trying to pretend that the love would come back.

  Helen walked into the room and perched on the corner of his desk. "I'm just having normal pre-wedding jitters, right?"

  "Probably, but if you have any doubts, wait."

  "I didn't have doubts until Tony came back. He's tempting, like chocolate cake when I'm on a diet. But I know Joey is the right man for me. I can't let Tony's charm derail my life anymore." She drew in a deep breath and let it out. "So,are you going to Joey's bachelor party tonight?"

  "That's right, the bachelor party." He rubbed the tight muscle in his shoulder. The last thing he wanted to do was get drunk with a bunch of guys from the neighborhood and reminisce about old times. But Helen was not just a secretary; she was a good friend, and he owed it to her to go. "Sure, I guess."

  "You don't sound happy about it."

  "I've got a lot on my mind."

  "The other woman," she said knowingly.

  "She's not the other woman. She's just -- Joanna."

  Helen sent him a thoughtful look. "You've got it bad."

  "I don't have anything bad, except a headache."

  "You're lying. But Michael, if she looks so much like Angela, is it smart?"

  "Whoever said I was smart? I rushed into marriage with Angela and look where that got me." He shook his head. "But I'm not jumping into anything now."

  She gave him a thoughtful look. "Maybe not yet. But love can turn smart people into the biggest fools on earth."

  "Tell me about it."

  * * *

  "He's back," Kathleen Shannon
said with a saucy smile as Tony walked into De Luca's late Friday morning.

  He scowled at her cheerful demeanor. "Do you work here every hour of the day?"

  "Sometimes it seems like that, doesn't it?" she said as she finished setting a table for lunch.

  "Is my brother here? He's supposed to meet me."

  "Not yet. Your uncle Louis and your cousin Rico with the fast hands are in the kitchen."

  Tony raised an eyebrow. "Are you familiar with my cousin's hands?"

  "No, but he's familiar with my fist." She waved her fist in the air with a proud smile.

  He couldn't help grinning back at her. She was a piece of work. "So you gave him that bruise on his cheekbone. He said he ran into a door."

  "He did -- a closed door."

  Kathleen had the sharpest tongue of any woman he had ever met. "Just out of curiosity, what does it take to get you to open that door?"

  "That will be my secret, I think."

  "I like secrets."

  "Do you now? And I suppose next you'll be saying you like me." Her eyes twinkled with mischief.

  He laughed. "How could I say that when you dumped me on Frank and Linda the other night?"

  "It's not my fault you read anything into it."

  Kathleen laughed, and Tony watched in fascination as her long earrings dangled against her ears. Her hair was a glorious shade of red, shining, soft, silky. Her eyes were like the sea, dark blue, mesmerizing, and just as dangerous and unpredictable, he decided. It was better to throw this fish back.

  "I was just playing along," he said.

  "Oh, sure."

  "I knew we weren't going to -- you know."

  "What if I had wanted to -- you know?"

  That was a loaded question. In fact, every conversation with this woman left him feeling off balance, as if he'd been on land too long and hadn't gotten his sea legs back. "If you wanted to, I could have shown you heaven in less than five minutes."

  "Less than five minutes?" She laughed again. "You are a cocky one, aren't you?"

  "I haven't had any complaints."

  "You probably don't stick around long enough to hear them."

  "I think I'll go find my brother."