The Leafing: the 2nd book in The Green Man series

by Sharon Brubaker

  Jon came up to talk to Tony and thank him again for the wine. Jon was subtlety interrogating Tony. Sylvia smiled and turned to talk with other acquaintances knowing Jon had her best interest at heart. She went to get refills on their champagne and a few nibbles when she turned and almost ran into Owen.

  “Oh!” she said, surprised and held the glasses high so they would not spill on either of them.

  “Hello, Sylvia,” Owen said.

  It was an awkward moment. Owen looked a little embarrassed and Sylvia blushed.

  “How are you?” Owen asked.

  Her anger welled within her, but she coolly answered, “Do you really want to know?” instead of snapping a biting comment to him.

  He paused at her answer and flushed. The moment of silence was awkward.

  “Um,” Sylvia began, “I need to get this back to my date,” she said and she nodded in Tony’s direction.

  Owen looked at where she nodded and realization struck him. He looked at Tony and then at Sylvia, aghast.

  “You came with Tony Capaselli?” he asked aghast, “I thought he was married? Isn’t he too old for you?” Owen asked.

  “He’s 35!” Sylvia nearly hissed at Owen. “And, what is it to you?” she asked. “You made it very clear you wanted nothing to do with me,” she spat, saying each word softly, deadly and distinctly, “and it’s none of your damn business!”

  A few heads turned in their direction. Sylvia felt as though she had been placed in the middle of a soap opera. Owen looked like he had been punched in the face. The color drained slowly from his face until Tony came up behind her and took one of the champagne glasses from her hand. Now the color rose up until his ears were beet red. Sylvia was pale and was shaking with anger.

  “Thank you,” he told Sylvia smoothly taking the drink from her hand. He had obviously overheard the question and said coolly while looking Owen straight in the eye, “Sylvia and I were both unceremoniously dumped by our significant others. Will you excuse us?” he asked.

  Owen had the grace to look embarrassed.

  Ignoring Owen, Tony turned to Sylvia and said, “Sylvia, come on over here and meet a mutual acquaintance.”

  They turned away from Owen and walked over to a group hovering near food. Sylvia had the childish notion to turn and stick her tongue out at him, but refrained.

  Tony took her arm. “Smile,” he said in her ear, “and laugh if you can.”

  He led her to the bar and picked up more champagne.

  “Down the hatch,” he said, “Don’t let the bubbles tickle your nose.”

  Sylvia smiled gratefully at him. “Oh, champagne,” she commented with a sigh, “I never get enough,” she quoted a line from The Philadelphia Story.

  “Look, I’m not Uncle Willie,” he said sarcastically.

  Sylvia looked surprised, “You got it!”

  “What?” he asked.

  “The movie! The Philadelphia Story! It’s one of my favorites,” Sylvia told him. “I was raised on Cary Grant’s romance and comedy movies with my grandmother!”

  “Excellent film,” Tony said. “Jimmy Stewart is superb in that film. I had a film class and the professor was a Jimmy Stewart fanatic. I saw every single one of his films. The Philadelphia Story is one of my favorites, too. Let’s mingle some more. Forget about Owen,” he ordered.

  Sylvia wasn’t sure she could forget about Owen. The fact that he had never bothered to call to explain or apologize really bothered and confused her. It bothered her that she was so apparently wrong about someone she liked and loved. It hurt deeply. Tony gave her yet another glass of champagne, and threatened to keep giving her glasses of the bubbly stuff until she smiled and kept on smiling. She did her best.

  When Tony took her home, the champagne hit her hard. He walked her to her door as she teetered on her very high heels.

  “Thank you,” she said, as he opened the door and helped her inside. “Thanks for helping me now and for coming to the party.”

  Tony didn’t answer. He had been holding her arm and turned to pull her gently too him. When he kissed her it was a long, sweet kiss that deepened. Sylvia, surprised at herself, returned the kiss. Tony pulled away apologizing.

  “You don’t need to apologize,” Sylvia started to say, but Tony put a finger to her lips.

  “To quote one of your favorite movies, you’ve had too much wine and there are rules about that,” he said somewhat quoting Jimmy Stewart from The Philadelphia Story. “If I knew you better, I would take you right upstairs and tuck you into bed and kiss you on the forehead,” he said quietly.

  Sylvia nodded and sighed.

  He let himself out with Sylvia standing quietly in the hallway. She went over to the front door and leaned her head on the cold door frame, watching him go out of the driveway, and down a few doors down to his house. Slowly she went up to bed.

  The shrilly ringing of the phone woke Sylvia the next morning. She squinted at the clock beside the bed before she reached for the blasted thing. Nine thirty. She answered with a croaky "hello."

  "Hello, Sylvia," an eager voice was on the other end.

  Sylvia was barely awake and did not recognize the voice and she hesitated a moment too long in answering.

  "It's Tony," an impatient voice answered. "How are you?"

  "Okay," Sylvia told him. "I'm just not awake yet. We had a bunch of champagne last night, or at least I did," she said with a yawn.

  "Well, throw on some clothes and come down for brunch," Tony requested, "I have a surprise for you."

  "A surprise?" Sylvia managed. She was more awake now.

  "Just get dressed and come down," Tony insisted.

  “All right, give me a couple of minutes,” she told him.

  “No need to make coffee, I already have it going,” he told her. “The cold air will wake you up as you walk down the street.”

  “Okay,” Sylvia said again and yawned. “I’ll be right there.”

  She dressed quickly and headed down the street to Tony’s house. He was right, the cold air was an eye opener. The wind off the bay zipped past her ears. She shoved her hands into her pockets and trotted the rest of the way to his house carefully avoiding icy patches. Once or twice she slid a bit, but kept her balance. She had never been inside Tony’s house, and its immense structure was a bit imposing. It had been built to look like a New England cottage, but it was huge. Sylvia walked up the few stairs to the door. It always confused her that the people on the water considered the door to the water as the front door. Tony’s house was oriented like those in a suburban development with the front door facing the road. There was a wrap-around porch with quaint rocking chairs stationed in pairs at intervals. She heard Percy bark as she walked up the stairs and the door opened when she raised her hand to knock.

  “Hi!” Tony greeted her cheerily. “Come in, come in!”

  Percy trotted up to her and put his nose to her coat pocket. She pulled out a dog biscuit and handed it to him when he plopped his bottom to the floor. She laughed.

  Tony handed her a hot cup of coffee and led her inside.

  The foyer was more of a gallery that led to the left and right of the house with a three quarters wall. A gallery of beautiful paintings graced the walls. She nearly gasped as he led her into the living room that was sun drenched in light from huge windows over the bay. A fireplace was at one end and large comfortable seating was grouped in conversational areas. A large artificial bouquet stood in an enormous vase on top of an ottoman. Tony continued to lead her through the living room. She glanced at a formal dining room. It had too much gilt for her taste on a brief glance. Tony led her to one of the largest kitchens she had ever seen in her life and asked her to sit on a stool at the end of an enormous island. He had a pitcher of a tomato-y substance and small dishes of olives, shrimp and spices.

  “Bloody Mary?” he offered.

  She nodded.

  “I thought of mimosas, but…” he winked at her. “And, possibly ‘hair of the dog’” he asked lookin
g at her quizzically.

  “Yes,” she admitted, “I do have a slight hangover.” She sighed, “You know, I’m usually a morning person and not very grumpy, but has anyone ever told you that you are entirely too cheery sometimes?” she teased.

  He gave her a pouting look.

  “Don’t be a grump. Besides, I think it’s your hangover talking,” he ordered. “I’m going to cook you a fabulous brunch.”

  “All right,” she said, “A bloody Mary would be lovely. Extra olives, please.”

  “It’s my secret recipe,” he said as she sipped it.

  “That’s amazing!” she said.

  “The frozen shrimp are in lieu of ice cubes,” he told her, “and there’s clam juice and a few other good things inside. You relax,” he ordered.

  Tony turned to a professional looking stove and cracked some eggs into a pan.

  Things sizzled and he flipped the eggs with a jerk. The eggs flew up and out of the pan and flipped over as she had seen on television. She was impressed. He added things from some small bowls next to the stove. Sylvia sat at the island sipping her drink watching him. Finally he turned a perfect omelet onto plates and took something warm and yeasty from the oven…cinnamon rolls.

  “Could you bring my drink?” he asked.

  He led her to a sunny breakfast nook that was like an enormous bay window adjacent to the kitchen. It looked out onto the bay. There was a small table that was set with fresh flowers and silverware.

  “I’m impressed,” she said. “You never told me you were a chef.”

  “I dabble,” Tony replied honestly. “When Joyce had this house built with all of its furbelows, I decided I needed to learn to use that stove. And, here you are,” he waved at the table. ”

  Sylvia took a bite of the omelet that was filled with vegetables, sausage and cheese.

  “Yummy,” she told him and he beamed.

  Sylvia noticed that Percy sat like a sentry at one of the windows, staring out at the bay.

  "Isn't that funny," Sylvia commented. "He stands like that in my living room, just staring out at the water. I wonder what he's seeing or thinking when he does that."

  "Percy! Lay down!" Tony ordered in a stern voice. He had ignored her comment, but muttered, "Crazy dog,” he muttered under his breath.

  Percy seemed to have heard and understood him, giving him a look and lay down under the breakfast table. Sylvia took a bite of the warm cinnamon bun pondering Tony's quicksilver moods. Summer people lived on either side of Tony and the yards were pure untouched snow that led down to the bay. Tony had a pier that jutted out into the water with a large deck at the end where Adirondack chairs could take in the sunset. Now the bay was frozen with pearly white ice that was nearly to the other shore. It looked very cold. Not even gulls were flying this morning. Still, it was beautiful in its pristine grace.

  “You have a lovely spot here,” she commented looking out the windows that nearly surrounded her. “It’s very quiet.”

  Tony looked up and saw where Sylvia gazed out the window. “I hardly see the neighbors,” he commented and reminded her, “and I’m one of those summer people too,” he reminded her.

  “Oh,” Sylvia said, “Not really. The people over there,” she gestured to her left, “only come about once a year from New Mexico or something like that. The others” and she gestured to her right, “live fairly close by, within an hour, I think , but only come once or twice a summer.”

  “You really love it here, don’t you,” he commented.

  Sylvia gave a little sigh and said, “I used to think it was magical when I was a little girl. There is something special about Bayside. I feel very lucky to be able to live here. I guess I have a hard time wondering how you ‘summer people’ can stand to stay away. If I had another home elsewhere, I think I would move heaven and earth so that I could live at Bayside fulltime,” she said honestly.

  Tony seemed to take this into consideration before he said, “I’ve never felt that way about a place. Our houses have been mostly places to sleep. You are very lucky.”

  “But, you’re here now,” she commented.

  “Yes,” he said drily, his mood changing, “and I would seriously consider living here fulltime, but now this house is a constant reminder of Joyce as well. She diddled me. This was only one more way to spend our money, one more way to collect things, one more way to fuck me over,” his voice taking on a hard edge and his eyes full of a stormy look. He downed the rest of his bloody Mary and gripped the glass hard.

  Sylvia was jolted out of her mellow musings. “I’m so sorry,” she said and she put her hand on his arm.

  His mood changed instantaneously. “I still have a surprise for you,” he said, his mood changing from tornadic anger to a happier tone. He picked up their plates and insisted she sit, then came back with fresh drinks.

  “Come with me,” he said and he led her back through the kitchen and down the hallway. They passed a staircase and stopped at a doorway.

  “After you,” he said and motioned for her to go in.

  Sylvia walked into what looked like an old fashioned movie theater. There was a small stage weighed down heavily with red velvet curtains and gold roping. About eight soft theater seats faced the stage.

  “Do you like to sit in the front or the back of the theater,” he teased.

  “Always in the back,” she said. “What is this?” she asked.

  “Just wait,” he told her and led her up to the back set of seats which actually rose slightly above the others. “Have a seat.”

  Sylvia sat and found drink holders next to the seats, just like in the theater. Tony took a remote and dimmed the lights. He took another remote and the curtain rose to reveal a large screen. A third remote clicked on a projector and music began to play. Sylvia recognized it immediately. It was the film The Philadelphia Story.

  “How?” she started to ask.

  “Shh.” Tony said with a grin on his face. “No talking during the movie,” he teased.

  Sylvia sat back and enjoyed watching one of her favorite movies. It was quite different to see it on a larger screen than on her small television. She marveled at the black and white photography. They were both intent on watching the movie, laughing at the slapstick comedy and the interplay between Cary Grant, Jimmy Stewart and Katherine Hepburn.

  When the credits rolled and Tony brought up the lights, Sylvia whispered, "Wow. That was great! "

  "It's fun, isn't it?" Tony asked with a smile, "to see it on a large screen, just as they did in 1940?"

  "Is it ever!" Sylvia commented. "Do you have a lot of old movies here?"

  "No," Tony admitted, "Just this one. I haven't really had the chance to use this home theater."

  Sylvia looked puzzled.

  "I have a similar set up in Jersey. I guess you could call it my 'man cave,'" he said. "I have a good collection of films there and this is one of them."

  "But, did you drive to New Jersey to get it last night after we talked about the movie?" Sylvia inquired, totally puzzled.

  Tony laughed. "No," he explained, "but, I was really restless after I dropped you off last night. I went to the Wal-Mart that's open twenty-four hours. I wandered around and they had it for sale. I guess you could say I was compelled to buy it," he told her. He looked a little sheepish.

  Their silence, hanging in the air, was awkward. Finally Tony asked, “Do you want a tour of the house?”

  “I would love one,” Sylvia answered.

  Tony went out of the room with Sylvia following and Percy trotting beside them.

  They dropped their glasses and cups in the kitchen sink and walked into the dining room. It was heavy with gold mirrors, and a huge golden chandelier with crystals. The furniture was heavy and ornate. The buffet had marble top and elaborate carvings.

  “It’s not my favorite room,” Tony said. “Joyce thought it was Italianate.”

  He led her out of the dining room and through the living room. On the other side of the fire place was
a room that had windows on three sides. It had stunning views of the bay, with comfortable plush chairs, a couch and a large driftwood and glass coffee table. The room was surprisingly warm.

  “If I lived here, I don’t think I would ever leave this room,” Sylvia commented.

  Tony grinned. “It’s pretty nice,” he said, “even in the winter, thanks to the radiant flooring.”

  “Oh!” Sylvia responded realizing belatedly that her feet were toasty. “Very nice.”

  “If you like this room, you’ll love the one directly above it,” Tony commented, “Come on.”

  He led Sylvia to the stairwell in the living room. Up the stairs he showed her a restful guest room in pale white and cream with bright floral throws and pictures. Another, was more masculine, with heavy mahogany furniture, a four poster, and cream and browns. Each room had its own bath and a window seat or a private balcony. Finally he led her to the end room which she guessed was the master suite. It was extremely large –almost as large as the living room. It was understated and modern with shades of slate blue that matched the bay outside. Very Zen piles of large polished rocks were stacked on the fireplace mantel as well as on the hearth. It looked a lot like a room from one of the design shows on television or a picture from a magazine. To Sylvia it looked like a room to view and not to live in.

  “I just had this room redone,” Tony told her. “Joyce had it filled with a lot of pillows and quilts.” His face darkened.

  “I had to change it,” he said more quietly in a strained voice, “after I learned what she was doing here.”

  Again, he changed his visage from a thundering, dark angry look to a peaceful smile.

  “If you liked the view downstairs, you’ll love this one,” he said and he took her hand and led her to the other side of the fireplace. They entered a room that mirrored the one below, but this one’s view was up a level and even more spectacular.

  “Wow,” was all Sylvia could say. She sank down into a chair that looked out over the bay, mesmerized by the view.

  Percy, who had stopped in the kitchen for a drink had trotted up to where they were. He saw Sylvia and started to whine quietly.