Sara ordered Perrier with a slice of lemon, and the tall, lanky guy ordered gin and tonic, straight up, with lots of lemon.
"I guess we both like lemon," he said as the waitress took off.
"I guess so," Sara said.
"Just Perrier does it for you?"
She could see he was determined to make a connection. "Perrier's fine," Sara replied, looking at him from the corner of her eye. He was rubbing his foot back and forth on the floor and drumming his fingers on the edge of the sofa.
"You're better than me," he commented. "I need that shot of gin."
Sara felt badly for him but didn't want to talk more than that. Not to anyone. She didn't want to watch the dancers either. This was a duty call. She was here for Cynthia. She wanted to put her hour in and get out.
"You seem like a nice person," the lanky man groped for something to say.
"Thank you," she said.
"It's hard to talk to people here. Most don't want to. They either come to watch the dancers, look at the videos, or look at themselves in the mirrors. Do you know how many times I come and no one wants to talk?"
"I'm sorry," Sara barely managed.
"I know you don't feel like talking," he continued, gulping his drink fast. "It's obvious."
"You're right. But it's not you."
"That's what they all say."
"You seem like a nice person," Sara spoke quickly. "I've just come to keep a friend company."
"I've heard that one too. I've heard everything by now," he grinned again, finished the gin and tonic and motioned for the waitress to bring another. He muttered to himself, got up and walked towards the waitress, who seemed to know who he was.
After he left, Sara thought of getting up, milling in the crowd and looking for him, to talk a little, just a few words of consolation. Then she thought better of it. He wouldn't take it as friendship; he'd take it as an invitation for everything he'd been wanting his whole life long. When she finally said no, he'd be even more crushed, convinced she'd only been out to taunt him. The rest of the night he'd spend planning revenge. Sara felt sorry she'd come at all. She turned towards the dance floor and saw Cynthia dancing with a man twice her age. They looked nice together, though, and Cynthia seemed pleased. Sara felt better.
She turned back and looked around. The place was filling up fast. Rows of singles were trying to squeeze through the growing crowd. As Sara gazed at the mass of people, she could barely find the tall, lanky guy. Most of the crowd was pressed together, not talking, holding drinks and staring at the videos overhead. Sara stood up for a moment to get a better look, and as she inspected the club, her eyes froze in the corner.
A large man was standing at the back, in front of a marble column, as if he owned the place. He looked strong, tough, handsome, and solidly planted in the center of himself. He was looking over the crowd, as if everyone there belonged to him. Sara's heart started pounding. She couldn't move.
Suddenly, their eyes caught. Both of them stared. The little smile that was playing around the corners of his mouth disappeared. Sara leaned back against a sofa and decided to get out of there fast. She put her drink on the table, flew down the steps to the cocktail landing and disappeared in the crowd. It was comforting to be crushed between anonymous people; she didn't want to see that man again. She didn't want him to see her, either. Who was he anyway? Why was she terrified?
Sara let herself be bumped as she headed towards the door, pushed aimlessly among the waves of people still coming in. She'd wait outside for Cynthia. Then, suddenly, she was pushed hard and bumped like a rock into someone behind her.
"Sorry," Sara jumped back.
Two hands on her shoulders balanced her from behind. "It's gonna be all right," said a low, gruff voice in her ear. It was a street voice, one Sara recognized from the neighborhood near where she'd grown up. It was the voice of guys a few blocks away, street guys, who lived their lives like lightening. The sound of his voice brought her back to herself.
The voice calmed her immediately. She turned. It was him.
He stood like a mountain before her, less than two inches away. Her heart pounded into her mouth so she could not say another word.
His eyes smiled. They were blue, penetrating, daring eyes. Eyes that saw everything in a second. Eyes you could never lie to.
"Hello," she tried.
He grinned. "I'm Tony. I'm not from here." He talked without missing a beat. "I'm not usually at this place either. In fact I've never been here before. Just stopped in to meet someone in the bar downstairs about buying a horse."
"A horse?"
"He actually wanted money, though." He grinned, his nose crinkling like a boy. "Got to get on the road pretty soon. Just thought I'd stop in for a second."
Sara's head filled with cobwebs. He moved closer. She felt wobbly and warm and knew she couldn't run. "You're Italian?" she asked.
"Sicilian."
"I know Italian men."
"Not Italian, Sicilian. There's a big difference."
"I didn't realize."
"I know you didn't," he said softly. Sara felt as though he knew everything about her. His whole face went soft. "You're Jewish," he went on, "from Williamsburg. I could tell right away by the eyes. I used to live real close to Williamsburg when I was growing up. I'd go over there and look at the beautiful girls. You know, the minute I saw your incredible eyes, I knew you were one of them."
Sara smiled, imagining him meeting her mother.
"You're one of those kids, aren't you?" Tony said.
"In a way," answered Sara.
"Me too," he went on. "Never saw any dividend in growing up."
They grinned together and time and space disappeared. The noise in the disco vanished. Nothing existed but the two of them, smiling and looking into each other's eyes.
"You're divorced?" Sara asked.
"Alone," he answered.
"Kids?"
"Three that I know of."
Sara laughed, and in that crazy moment, in this chintzy disco, knew she wanted to marry this man.
"Now don't go getting any ideas," he said, as if reading her mind. "We only met two minutes ago."
Sara laughed again.
He looked excited; moved closer, whispering, "Whatever you do, don't take this serious."
She pretended surprise. "Are you crazy?"
"Yeah, I am."
She knew it was true, that she should believe him. But so what if he was crazy? So were every single one of them in this noisy, crowded place. Crazy or not, she felt that Tony belonged to her, completely.
"You got beautiful eyes," he said, "really beautiful."
"Thanks."
"I mean eyes like I never saw before."
He looked at her for a very long time, as if he'd found the holy grail.
"I knew you were coming. When it was getting rough out there, I knew it. For the past six years, almost," he said.
Sara felt weak in the knees.
"I came tonight to keep my friend company," Sara said.
"It's a good thing you did," he tilted his head to the side. "Cause I couldn't have waited much longer. Give me your number," he whispered urgently.
"I'll write it down," Sara opened her bag to get a scrap of paper.
He stopped her. "Don't write it down. Just tell me."
"You'll forget."
"I never forget a thing," he said in his scruffy tone, looking right into her eyes. And, standing there, giving him her phone number, Sara realized she'd fallen completely in love.
Cynthia breezed over.
"God, Sara I was looking for you." She stepped back, taking in the picture of Sara and Tony. "Very nice, but the hour's up," Cynthia continued. "I need to go home."
"It's time," Tony said. "Go. We'll talk."
Cynthia tugged on Sara's elbow, ushering her out. As she was propelled out against her will, Sara turned and saw Tony weaving his way after them.
Cynthia pulled Sara to the curb and gave the attendan
t her parking ticket; the two of them stood silently waiting for the car. Sara wondered how could she could have left like that? Then she looked over her shoulder and saw Tony standing behind the glass doors, watching, a little smile on his face.
The car came fast and Cynthia slipped into the driver's seat. Sara, unable to move, turned back to Tony, who motioned to her through the glass door to go. She got in slowly, and through the car window, saw him wave good-bye.
A rush of tears fell down Sara's face as the car pulled away. She looked through the blurry window, unable to say a word to Cynthia, who kept asking if she had a good time.
"Why don't you answer?" Cynthia turned to her.
"This is it," Sara could barely talk.
"This is what?"
"Tony."
"What about him?"
"I'm in love."Sara wiped her face.
"You got to be kidding," Cynthia slowed down.
"I'm not."
"You only met this guy for a few minutes!"
"So?" Sara started crying again.
"There's something tremendously wrong with you," Cynthia mumbled. "A guy like that? He's gorgeous, but -"
"But what?" Sara glared at Cynthia, who promptly shut up. "Say it!"
"I don't dare." Cynthia sounded frightened. "What happened between you, anyway? He took your number?"
"In a way."
Cynthia pulled the car to a halt and parked at a curb. "Did he take your number? Did he write it down?"
"I told it to him. He didn't write it. He said he never forgets a thing."
Cynthia's jaw clenched. "Get a grip, will you? Haven't you had enough? If they don't write down your number, they're not going to call."
Sara motioned to her. "Take me home."
Cynthia got going again. "But so what if they call or not?" she was trying to be conciliating. "We had some entertainment. You had a few hours of conversation. I danced all night. Let's leave it at that."
Sara's stomach started to flip. A longing for Tony gripped her, along with waves of terror that she might not ever see him again.
"This one was different," Sara finally managed.
"I know the type - he was charming, he might have said terrific things. Don't count on anything more."
"You don't know the type. You never met anyone like Tony."
Cynthia spun around, "How do you know?"
"There isn't anyone like him."
"God, you happen to be wrong. I do know guys like him - they enjoy fantasizing for a few hours. Then they go home and you're not even a memory. By the morning they forget you're alive. It doesn't mean anything. They're nothing like Arnold Beane."
"You're being rotten and cruel," Sara managed, and then completely choked up, as waves of tears fell silently.
The minute Cynthia pulled up to her house, Sara flew out of the car and dashed inside without even waving good night. She ran upstairs to her bedroom and kicked her shoes wildly across the floor. Damn it. Damn. Never see him again?
She jumped down on the edge of her bed, kicking her feet like a young girl in school, who couldn't get her dream date for the prom. A sliver of yellow moon shone in through the window. Not see him again?
A second later the telephone rang. Sara jumped, stunned. It rang again. She lurched forward and grabbed it.
"That you?" The sweet, gruff voice was on the other end of the phone.
"Tony?"
"That really you?"
They both stopped in shocked silence.
"I got scared," the voice said. "After you left I thought maybe you gave me the wrong number? Maybe I'd never see you again?"
Sara could barely hear him. The pounding of her heart drowned everything out. "Tony?"
"Yeah?"
"I can't believe it."
"Me either."
"When am I going to see you again?" she asked.
"Before you know it."
She felt him grinning on the other end. She felt his nose crinkling and threw her hand over her mouth to stop herself from yelling, Tony, come back this minute. I love you.
CHAPTER 13
Fantasies, like summer vines, grow quickly, entangling the mind and dislodging reason. Nevertheless, Sara could not keep them from encircling her. Sweet fantasies, that she barely realized had been growing inside, grew as if waiting to be born. She sat quietly at the kitchen table long after usual, absorbing what happened the night before and what it would be bring. Dreams rose, one after another, like fragrant sachet, soothing the edges of her heart. She saw herself running on the beach with Tony, standing next to him in the phone booth at the roadside. She saw them dancing together late at night in a little, ramshackle joint near the ocean, laughing all the while.
Sara wasn't able to eat a bite of food at breakfast or stop grinning. She looked out the window at a few stray starlings who landed on the sill, as if to congratulate her on last night. Chloe, came in for her usual scrambled eggs, and threw Sara an odd glance.
"What's the matter, mom?
"Nothing, why?"
"Why are you grinning like that?"
Sara's grin grew wider.
"What's wrong?"
Just then both Matt and Abel came in. Matt threw his books on the counter and Abel skidded into his chair.
"What's happening?" Abel asked, looking at Chloe.
"Mom can't stop smiling," Chloe chimed in.
"You look like you won the lottery," Abel said.
Chloe sat down squarely, opposite Sara. "Okay, mom, let's have it."
"It happened," Sara finally said. "I met him."
"Who?" Abel yelped.
"When?" Chloe drew closer. .
"Last night," said Sara.
Sara sensed a mixture of excitement and confusion descend upon them all. Then they were silent.
"Where did this happen?" Chloe said.
"Club G."
"Last night with Cynthia?" Chloe voice became shrill. "I thought you were only going to keep her company."
"That's what I thought too."
"That's a creepy place." Chloe's eyes grew narrower, as if sniffing around for something alarming.
"Club G?" Matt grumbled. "That place is filled with tough guys and losers."
"With people, Matt," Sara said. "Don't be judgmental."
"He's not judgmental," said Chloe, "just careful."
"You'll all meet him."
"When?" they all chimed in.
Sara didn't know.
* * * * *
Sara didn't call anyone for a few days, waiting at home to hear from Tony, who she expected to hear from at any second. Every time anything rustled or began to sound, she jumped for the phone, thinking it was him.
Berta, who came faithfully twice a week, watched this spectacle sadly.
"Get out, Miss Sara, take a walk. It's no good just sitting here by the phone. Go weed the garden. Spring is coming. If Mr. Tony calls, I'll take a message."
Sara smiled.
"Did you hang a red string in the North of the house?"
"What?"
"Protection. Keeps strange forces away. There's all kinds of spirits floating around, trying to stop love from happening" "
Sara tried to go about her chores, anything to stop thinking of him. This is ridiculous, she told herself. Maybe Cynthia was right. Maybe he wouldn't call again? Maybe it was only a fantasy? But in her heart she knew better. He was more real to her than the eople, walking in and out of her life day by day. He was hovering somewhere, she was sure, waiting for the perfect moment.
The next Saturday morning Sara left early to get groceries, buy tulip bulbs for early planting. When she came into the house around eleven o'clock, the telephone was ringing. She picked it up right away.
"Is that you?" he asked in that throaty tone.
Sara put the phone on her shoulder, trying to regain her composure. She couldn't.
"How come I can't stop thinking about you?" he asked. She felt him grinning on the other end. "Okay, I'll be by in an hour."
&nbs
p; "You'll what?"
"I'm picking you up. We're going to lunch."
* * * *
At around noon, a limo pulled up in front of the door. She rushed to get ready in the new cranberry suit she'd just bought and came downstairs looking lithe and lovely. The kids gathered waiting to see what was going on. Chloe watched through the window for him to arrive.
"He's here," Chloe suddenly shouted.
"A limo!" Abel called. "Oh brother!"
Sara looked out the window and saw a tall guy in a dark suit, who looked like a bodyguard, get out of the front seat and open the back door. Then Tony stepped out. "What's goin gon?" said Chloe.
"Wow," Abel said.
"Who is this guy?" Matt asked.
Sara went to the front door as Tony sauntered up towards the door. Her heart was racing.
"He's gorgeous," breathed Chloe.
"A Mobster!" Matt said.
Sara walked past the kids gallantly, and opened the door just moments before Tony knocked.
There he stood grinning, bigger than she remembered. He wore a light beige suit, the jacket open and a blue, silk tie that flapped in the wind. They both froze the minute their eyes met. Time disappeared, the sound of the birds on the trees became clearer.
He was shockingly handsome, with a dark suntan, full mouth, and piercing blue eyes. Sara wanted to invite him in and introduce him to the kids, but as he stood there before her, there were no thoughts in her mind.
"Come on," he said, not coming inside, or seeing the kids, who were huddled together a few steps away. She walked out of the front door and he took her elbow and lead her down the pathway to the waiting limo.
The bodyguard barely looked over as Tony helped Sara into the back seat. Once they were seated, he closed the door.
"That's Fillipo," Tony said.
It was dark inside, plush and velvety, and smelled like new leather.
"Roll," Tony called, and the car slowly pulled away.
Sara watched through the car window as the familiar streets blurred.
"Where are we going?"
"Giovanni's - Brooklyn." Tony grinned. "Want some champagne?" "Sure."
He pressed a button and a tray slid out, with two glasses surrounding a bottle of champagne.
Sara picked up the glass. He poured a little in hers, then his and moved closer.
"To everything," Tony whispered, his eyes sparkling.
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