I TOOK A LONG HOT SHOWER, THE WATER EASING the soreness outside. My brain was as swollen as all my womanly tissues. Last night was how I’d imagined my wedding night would have been with Alex. Instead, we’d had greasy hamburgers from room service and an obligatory fuck while Alex had one eye on a football game on TV. I should have known then I wouldn’t ever have his full attention.
The doorbell was ringing as I got out of the shower. I twisted my hair up in a towel and threw on my Hello Kitty terry-cloth robe. It was probably Molly from next door, wanting to know how things had gone with Marco. I debated telling her what had happened. I wanted to keep the memories to myself for a while. Who would believe me, anyway?
I threw open the door with a smile, expecting Molly’s freckled face. It was Marco lounging against the iron railing, smoking a cigarette.
“Do you always kiss and run?”
“Goodbyes aren’t my thing, Marco. I left a note.”
He fished a crumpled piece of paper out of his front pocket. He smoothed it open and read it aloud. “Thanks for a lovely evening. I can refer you to another agent about the house. See you around town. Christine.” He balled it up again and tossed it behind his shoulder. “What kind of crap is that?”
I leaned against the door for support and pushed my toes into the foyer’s cold tile. I felt like a schoolkid being reprimanded by a teacher. “It’s polite crap.”
“Jesus, woman. What do I have to do to get through to you?” He ran his hand through his hair, clutching it at the top of his skull. I had seen him do that at a cooking exhibition one time when the portable burners wouldn’t work. “May I come in?” His tone was rather surly.
“You can’t smoke in here.”
“Fine.” He chopped the word out as he dropped the cigarette on the concrete and stubbed it out with his snakeskin boot. Then, to my surprise, he leaned down and picked up the butt and brought it inside with him. I waved him into the kitchen and over to the garbage can. He ran the butt under the faucet, then disposed of it.
“Don’t look so surprised. Just because I’m a smoker doesn’t mean I’m not responsible.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just said, “Juice?” and waved the cranberry juice container toward him.
He shook his head, then turned one of the kitchen chairs around and straddled it. I sat down across from him, holding my paper cup of coffee with both hands. He looked as if he wanted to strangle me.
“I’m leaving for France this afternoon. We’re doing a pilot taping for a possible new show. Food history.”
“That sounds fun.”
“I hope so. I don’t believe in doing it if it isn’t fun. We could have had fun this morning, Christine. I was planning to make you breakfast. Hoping we could talk some more.”
I took a sip of my coffee. It was lukewarm now but a welcome diversion. “Sorry. I just thought it would be more comfortable for both of us if I just left. I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Why would I be worried about that?”
I shrugged. “Working with Alex, or why you have to find another real estate agent.”
Marco leaned forward and rapped his knuckles on the table. “I’m not selling the house, so I don’t need another agent. And I don’t give a rat’s ass about any loyalty to Alex. You do know he’s going to La Grange? I found out yesterday that he tried to poach half my staff.”
“Yesterday. I see. So this was more like a revenge fuck? Hmm?” I got up and threw my coffee into the sink, wishing I had the guts to throw it at Marco. I kept staring out the window across Spa Creek, where I could see the top of the hotel where all this started, two days ago. How soon had Marco called me after Alex resigned? The scene blurred and I blinked away tears. I knew the night had been too good to be true.
“Christine, stop it.” His finger stroked the back of my neck. I shivered and stepped away, but he pulled me into his arms and held me tight like he had last night. His deep voice rumbled against my chest as he spoke. “I’ve wanted to be with you for two years, Christine. You know that. You can’t deny the attraction we had—do have—for each other. But I didn’t want to barge in when you separated. And I wanted to give you time after the divorce. Give you time to get back on your feet. I didn’t want to be the fallback guy. Yeah, there might have been some feelings of revenge going on yesterday.”
I tried to pull away from him but he wouldn’t let me go. “But you know what, Christine? It was revenge that I’m the smarter man. I don’t know how he let you go. He’s a damn fool. I’ve told you that before and I will say it a thousand times over. Any man would be a fool to let you go.” He tilted my chin up, so I would look into his agate-green eyes. “Will you give me a chance, Christine? When I get back, will you give me a chance to show you how smart I’m going to be?”
I smiled against his mouth and kissed his love-bruised lips. “Yes,” I said. “And I’ll show you how I’m even smarter.” He squeezed me even tighter and lifted my feet off the floor.
“That’s my girl. Now give me something to take with me.” With that he opened my robe and ran his fingers down my belly to cup between my legs. He stroked a finger over my soreness and I gasped. “Ah. I’ll give you a month to heal up.” He knelt down and pushed my thighs open. I grabbed the edge of the sink above his head. He licked and sucked and drove his tongue into me until I came against his mouth, keening with pleasure. He stood up and I fell against him, clinging to his waist. He kissed me and I tasted myself on him, musky and salty. He set me back down on the kitchen chair, knowing I would fall over if he let me go. Then he was gone, leaving only a hint of smoke.
Work was busy for three weeks. Marco and I talked every day about the new show, my business, the restaurant changes, everything. I never knew when he would call and he was adamant that I call back. He needed a partnership, not a power struggle, he insisted. It was hard for me. Alex and I had always had very traditional roles. He talked, I listened, he earned money, I spent it, he was on top, I was on bottom. Marco asked for my opinions, reveled in my work successes and gossiped just like a girl about people on the set.
Two days after he left, I found the linen contract napkin in my purse and bought a frame for it. I hung it across from my bed to remind me of that treasured night. I still hadn’t told Claire or Molly anything except that I thought we were dating—at least phone dating, if that counted.
By the third week, I was ready for Marco to be home so we could go out on a real date. I got a call from Don Franco telling me he had some papers for me to sign.
“What is this about, Don?” I asked. “Marco told me you were his banker.”
“Banker, lawyer, Indian chief. Just come on over. I think you’ll be pleased.”
Everybody’s a comedian. Bursting with curiosity, I picked up Don’s lunch order from The Alley and made my way through lunchtime traffic to his office. The restaurant had packed enough food for a dozen people. Don, his secretary, Myra, and I sat on their waterside balcony to eat. Myra kept giving me little smiles and Don was much more attentive than he had been the night I met him. We were spooning up the panna cotta pudding when Don had Myra bring in the file. It was the deed to Marco’s house. He was signing it over to me free and clear, with a provision of five years of maintenance expenses.
“He must love you very much,” said Myra as she handed me a ballpoint pen. I felt as if I was going to throw up.
“I don’t want it,” I said to Don. Myra looked crushed; her pert little face crumpled as if I had just stomped on a Christmas present.
“You have three days to change your mind.” He pushed the papers a fraction closer to me. “Why don’t you just give it a look-see, and if you change your mind you can come see me tomorrow.” He put a gold key ring with a large round gold disk and a gold key on the polished teak table next to the papers.
I signed in a daze next to each little paper arrow sticky. Myra picked up the key ring and put it in my hand. The shiny disk had a C engraved on it. I looked at Myra, wondering what she must think of me, what Marco had told them. She closed my fingers over the key ring.
“Enjoy it, honey. It’s a true gift.”
I could only nod, and left their office as I had Marco’s that morning, with wobbly legs. I drove over to his house—my house?—slowly, thinking I would get a call any minute telling me this was a joke. I glided down the driveway, surprised to see landscape workers mowing the lawn and trimming the bushes. The doorbell echoed through the empty house when I rang. No housekeeper came, no maid, no Marco. I let myself in. The key worked perfectly. I drifted through the house, up to the bedroom, where the bed was neatly made as if we had never been there, down to the kitchen, which was as clean as a model home. On the island was a huge bouquet of mixed flowers, spilling over the vase in their lushness. There was an envelope propped against it with my name on it.
I opened it.
“Christine—As promised. Love, Marco. P.S. Something in the fridge to keep you occupied until I get home. Love again, M.”
I opened the refrigerator and there was a whole shelf full of kosher dills.
I closed the fridge, slid to the floor and burst into tears. This wasn’t a partnership. This was a buyout. I had a good long cry, then wiped my tears. I stood up and looked at Marco’s card. Love. Twice. Jesus, the man was scaring the shit out of me. I locked the house and drove home still in a daze.