“You look great as always!” Gregory laughs, taking Connie’s appearance in.
I know my face must be contorted into a tight scowl as I’m breathing flames in Connie’s direction, warning her to back off from my guy. Whoa! My guy? We haven’t even begun our first date. Okay, Pia. Relax. Relax.
“Thanks, Greg.” Connie’s looking at me expectantly, no doubt waiting for Gregory to make introductions. I don’t detect any malice on her face, but I refuse to drop my guard just yet.
“Connie, this is Pia.” Gregory holds his hands out toward me as if I’m a show prize. It’s a harmless gesture, but it still irritates the hell out of me.
“Oh, you must be Antoniella’s niece? My mom’s told me about you.” Connie steps over and shakes my hand. “I’m Connie DeLuca.”
It takes me a moment to place the name. “You’re Olivia’s daughter?”
“Yes, well, one of her daughters. I also have two sisters.”
Except for mother and daughter both being petite, I don’t see any other resemblance.
I force myself to smile. Olivia has been nothing but kind to me, and I wouldn’t want to offend her or her daughter by my standoffish behavior.
“So, where are you two off to?” Connie asks as she pulls a compact out of her oversized tote and begins feverishly powdering her face even though I don’t detect a bead of shine on it.
“I’m taking her over to my hood. That’s all I can say. It’s a surprise.” Gregory smiles sheepishly.
Suddenly recognition dawns on Connie’s face that we’re on a date as she exclaims, “Ohhh! I shouldn’t keep you two. I’ll catch up with you another time, Greg.”
“Yeah, we should all hang out with Lou. It’s been ages.”
“He’s been working a lot and so have I. Don’t know how much longer I can keep up with the demands of all those nightmare Bridezillas we get.” Connie rolls her eyes.
“That must be pretty stressful.” I finally say something though it sounds lame.
“You have no idea! The stories I could tell you. Hey, you and me should have coffee some time. Let me get your number.” She pulls out her cell. Now I can see a trait she shares with her mother—their super-friendly nature.
I spit out the numbers of my cell and to be courteous, I ask for her number, too.
“Great! I’ll call you later in the week. Maybe Rita, my sister, can also join us.”
“I’d like that.”
Connie glances at her watch. “Shoot! I’m late for yoga. Good seeing you, Greg. Nice meeting you, Pia!” She turns around and begins jogging up the street. Her yoga mat is peeking through her tote bag as it bounces against her back. I’m amazed she can even manage a jog in her Louboutins.
Gregory laughs. “She’s such a character. But she’s one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet.”
“Really?” I suddenly realize how that must sound. “I mean how so?”
“She’s very generous. They all are—her mom and sisters, too. Her oldest sister, Valentina, lives in Venice now.”
“Olivia mentioned that to me. I can’t even imagine meeting your Prince Charming and then moving to Venice. It sounds like something from the movies.”
“Yeah, well, Valentina went through a lot. She deserves all the happiness she has.”
I nod my head. I want to ask Gregory what Valentina went through, but it’s none of my business. Maybe if Connie and I become friends, she’ll tell me someday. I can’t believe I let myself get so jealous of her without knowing anything about her. On the other hand, Connie immediately was kind and even invited me to have coffee with her.
We reach Gregory’s car. He unlocks the passenger door and holds it open.
“After you.” He bows deeply.
I giggle. “Oh, stop!”
When he gets into the car, I realize I should’ve thanked him for being a gentleman and holding the door for me. I’m being a total social klutz today.
“Thank you, Gregory.”
“For what?”
“For holding my door, of course.”
He smiles as he reaches over toward me. My pulse quickens. Is he going to kiss me already? Isn’t the kiss supposed to happen toward the end of the date? But just as I’m having this thought, he places his hand on the side of my seat and reaches toward the back.
“Whew! They’re still alive.” Gregory hands me a small bouquet of pink tulips.
My face blushes. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”
“I should’ve probably given them to you at your aunt’s house, but I got shy to do so in front of her.”
“That’s okay. I love them.” I inhale deeply and breathe in their scent. Tulips! Another sign from Erica? Tulips were her favorite flowers. I keep the flowers pressed to my face so Gregory doesn’t notice the tears in my eyes. He starts the car and pulls away from the curb.
I force myself to make some small talk before I totally lose it.
“So, you’re taking me to your hood?” I manage a small laugh.
“Yeah. We’re going to Long Island City. No more questions. As I told Connie, I want to surprise you.”
“Fine by me. I love surprises.”
“You do?”
“Ever since I was a little girl, I was never one to peek at the gifts under the Christmas tree like most other kids. I just love the thrill of being surprised.”
Gregory’s staring at me while we’re at a red light. He places his hand over mine.
“Great! That makes my job today that much easier.” He grins before he returns his gaze toward the road once the light has changed. But he continues holding my hand as he expertly steers us through the traffic.
Soon we’re in Long Island City. I’m amazed by how different the landscape looks from Astoria since Long Island City, or LIC as the residents often call it, isn’t that far. Long Island City has a much more industrial feel to it. Warehouses upon warehouses line the streets. But many of the warehouses have now been converted into lofts or luxury apartments. As Gregory turns onto Jackson Avenue, the Empire State Building looms larger than life in the distance.
“Wow! It seems so close from here!” I strain my neck to keep looking at it as we drive farther away.
“Yeah, LIC is just about ten minutes away from midtown Manhattan on the subway. After we eat, we’ll walk down toward the East River so you can see more of the skyline. They’ve really built the area up. There’s a beautiful promenade now.”
“So you live near here?”
“Yeah, over on Forty-Sixth Road, just off of Vernon Boulevard, which is where we’re headed.”
“We are?” The panic sounds off in my voice.
“Vernon is where all the restaurants are.” Gregory looks at me, confused.
“Oh, right, right.” I mentally slap my forehead.
He was referring to Vernon Boulevard and not his place when he said that’s where we were headed. Fortunately for me, he doesn’t seem to have realized why I sounded panicked. But I’m still not out of the woods. He might still suggest going to his place at the end of our date since he lives so close by.
We approach the Vernon Boulevard intersection, and as soon as the light changes, Gregory turns onto it. Immediately, I see the row of restaurants he was referring to. Trendy-looking clothing boutiques and other shops catering to yuppies and hipsters also dot the boulevard. There are a doggie daycare, a few coffeehouses, and several stylish hair salons. There’s a cozy, intimate vibe to the street. It’s reminiscent of what I’ve seen on TV of Manhattan’s Soho, but not as big. When Erica and I visited Zia Antoniella as kids, we’d gone a few times into Manhattan. But, except for the horse carriages strolling through Central Park and the crowded, busy streets, I don’t remember much else. Now that I’m interning at Profile, I’ve only had a chance to see midtown Manhattan, but I can’t wait to check out other areas such as Soho, Chelsea, and the Upper East and West Sides.
“What do you think?”
“I like it, a lot. I was just thinking how it reminds me of wha
t I’ve seen of Soho on TV, but, of course, on a much smaller scale.”
“Wow! You really haven’t gotten out much in the few weeks you’ve been here?”
I feel my face flush. I know he doesn’t mean it as a criticism, but I can’t help feeling slightly embarrassed.
Managing a little smile, I say, “I’ve been pretty busy with my internship, but I do plan on exploring more of Manhattan as well as other parts of New York.”
“Great! That’ll keep me busy.” Gregory winks at me.
I’m about to ask him what he means, but it suddenly dawns on me. He’s planning on being my personal tour guide around New York City. I’m tempted to say he doesn’t have to do that, but I refrain as I feel my lips slightly turn upward into a grin. The truth is I’d love to have Gregory show me his city. What better way to see it than with someone who’s lived here most of his life?
Gregory finally finds parking. I cringe as I watch him parallel park into a super-tight space. He maneuvers the car expertly without bumping either of the cars that are parked in front of and behind him.
“You’re a pro!” I laugh.
“After doing this for so many years, you get used to it.” Gregory shrugs his shoulders, but I can see he’s glowing from the compliment I’ve paid him. Unlike my earlier rule of never complimenting a guy’s appearance until you’re in a committed relationship, it’s okay to tell him he has great driving skills on the first date. Guys love being told they can drive and park well. It makes them feel very macho. And you have to give them some hint you’re interested.
I begin to open my door, but he yells out, “Wait! Stay right here. I have to check something out.”
Maybe I spoke too soon about his parking prowess, and he needs to make sure the car is parked correctly. But suddenly, Gregory whips open the passenger-side door and holds out his hand. Blushing again, I let him help me out.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
Believe it or not, no guy has ever held a door open for me. Again, I really thought chivalry had died and was something from my grandparents’ time.
“The restaurant is a couple of blocks away. Sorry, but you have to get your parking wherever you can.”
“Of course. I’m still getting used to all the . . .” I search my mind for a word that won’t offend Gregory’s New Yorker sensibilities. “Challenges. I’m still getting used to all the challenges that New Yorkers have to put up with.”
“Ha! ‘Challenges’ is a nice way of putting it. Yeah, we have a lot to put up with. Then outsiders wonder why we can be abrupt and rude. Try living in the largest city in the U.S. with eight million people bumping into you, blasting their car horns at you, and waiting in line for virtually everything!” Gregory shakes his head.
“I think the crowds are the hardest part for me to deal with, especially on the subway.”
“Your traffic in California is even worse than ours. You must still miss home though, right?”
I wrinkle up my face.
“No?” Gregory gives me a surprised look.
“No. Not yet at least. Besides, I needed a change.” I hope he leaves it at that and doesn’t pry me for details.
He nods his head. “I guess I can understand with your sister’s death and all.”
I avoid his gaze.
“So here we are. Tournesol. I hope you like French. If not, we can go to one of the other restaurants. It’s totally your call.” Gregory places his hand on my back and rubs it consolingly, but I get the feeling he’s comforting me more over the mention of my sister as opposed to cuisine choice.
“I love French. This is nice.” I flash him my most alluring smile, hoping to show him I’m fine and he can stop rubbing my back as if I’m going to break any second.
He stops and stares at my lips. My pulse quickens. He steps closer. His face leans toward mine until I can feel his warm breath.
“Something told me you’d appreciate French food,” he whispers to me.
This time, I’m the one who’s transfixed as I look into his eyes. His eyes crinkle lightly as he meets my gaze. Then, he takes my hand and leads me toward the restaurant’s entrance. He doesn’t let go as he opens the door, letting me enter first, of course. I’m about to disentangle my hand from his, but he grips it more firmly. As we walk into the dimly lit restaurant, I can feel him right up against me. I suddenly fantasize about turning around and kissing him wildly. Oh God! I need some air.
“Bonjour, mademoiselle et monsieur!” The hostess’s voice seems to sing as she greets us in French.
“Bonjour! Deux, s’il vous plaît.”
Gregory’s French accent sounds impeccable. I only took a year of French in college, not enough time to learn it well or master the accent. He’s turning out to be one surprise after another.
The hostess takes us to a table way in the back of the restaurant. The lunch crowd seems to be thinning out, so although the tables are quite close to each other, no one is seated at the moment near ours.
Gregory holds out my chair as I take my seat.
I decide to order a glass of white wine. Secretly, I really want a stiffer drink. My nerves could use it, but I’m trying to be demure and ladylike. And ordering a cocktail on a first date is far from demure.
“A scotch straight up.” Gregory has no qualms about going for the hard liquor.
As if reading my thoughts, he says, “Sorry. Now and then I like to have something a little stronger.”
“Oh, no. That’s fine.” I peruse the menu.
“Have you ever had duck?” Gregory asks me.
“I have, but I’m not crazy about it. A little too dry for me.”
“Have you had it at a French restaurant with the orange sauce?”
“No, actually, I haven’t.”
“Well, the sauce definitely compensates for any dryness the duck might have. I think I’m going to order it. You can try mine if you don’t want to commit yourself to it, just in case you still don’t like it.”
“Thanks. That’s thoughtful of you.” I smile at Gregory, which leads him to place his hand over mine as he nonchalantly looks back at the menu.
He strokes the back of my hand with his index finger. This guy is good, too good. My senses are going crazy. I try to focus on the entrees, but it’s near impossible with what Gregory is doing.
“I’m going to order an appetizer. Care to share?”
I glance up at him. He seems to be asking with his gaze if I care to share more than just an appetizer. I swallow hard and quickly look back down at my menu.
“Sure. Whatever you want is fine with me.”
“Even the escargots?”
“Yes, that’s fine.”
The waiter saves me. Gregory removes his hand from mine so he can point on the menu to what he’s ordering, even though he really doesn’t need to since his French is very good.
I decide to order the Chicken à l’Orange, which is chicken prepared the same way Gregory’s duck is being prepared.
“Would you care for another glass of wine, mademoiselle?”
“Oui, merci.”
Gregory looks amused as he stares at my almost-empty wineglass.
I hold up my hands apologetically. “Thirsty. I don’t normally drink this fast.”
Gregory laughs. “No need to explain. We’re here to have a good time and relax.”
He raises his glass to me. “Oh, I should wait till he brings you another one.”
The waiter returns with my Chardonnay.
“To Pia. May all your dreams be realized in New York.”
“Thank you. And may you paint a masterpiece of Francesca Donata.”
We clink our glasses and laugh before we take a sip.
“I guess neither of us believes in either of the toasts we made,” I say.
“I do. You’re hoping you get your start in journalism in New York. That is a dream of yours, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but that’s about it. You mentioned all of my dreams being fulfill
ed.”
“Well, that’s possible, too. Who knows what’s in store for you here.” Gregory’s eyes twinkle once again.
I’ve just decided his eyes and his sly little smiles are his best features. Deciding to turn the tables on him, I ask, “So why did you laugh after our toasts? You don’t think your painting of Francesca will be a masterpiece?”
Gregory wags his index finger at me, but first takes another swig of his Scotch.
“You’re good, Miss Santore. You’re a natural-born journalist.”
I giggle. Only halfway through my second glass of Chardonnay, I’m beginning to feel buzzed. I better hold off on drinking any more until I’ve had something to eat.
Gregory continues, “There’s only so much creative license an artist can have when painting a portrait.”
“Oh, come on! You don’t really believe that! Look at Picasso. He didn’t paint literal portraits of his subjects.” It’s my turn to wag my finger playfully at him.
Gregory grabs my finger, laughing, and gives it a playful tug. “You are a lightweight!” He gestures with his head toward my wineglass.
“Would you rather I be a lush?” I toss my head so that my hair falls seductively over my left eye, and forgetting my earlier promise, I take another sip of Chardonnay. I’m thoroughly enjoying flirting with him.
“No! You’re perfect the way you are.” Gregory’s eyes travel down to my cleavage and rest there.
I take a subtle, quick peek and am horrified to see that the top button of my blouse is undone, giving Gregory an eyeful of the deep cleavage my padded bra is giving me. But there’s nothing I can do about it now. I’ll have to wait until our food is brought out and then excuse myself to use the restroom.
The escargots arrive, and I’m horrified to suddenly remember what exactly they are—snails! I’d been so unnerved before by the feelings going off in me when Gregory was stroking my hand that my mind didn’t fully register when he asked me about them. I can feel my intestines twisting at the thought of eating the slimy creatures. They seem to be covered in a bread-crumb coating, so at least they don’t look like snails. Should I own up to my mistake or do I suffer in silence and force myself to eat them? I’ve never had escargots, so how do I know I won’t like them? I just have to not think of their gooey membrane-like texture.
Carissima Page 15
