CHAPTER 12

R.J. arranged to meet Mary Kelley at Ferrini’s. He was starting to like the place, even without Angelo around. Besides, people from out of town almost never got down to that part of Manhattan. R.J. liked the area. It was naked New York, stripped of all pretense. It was pure city that might have been Calcutta or Hong Kong but somehow managed to be completely New York.

And Mary Kelley was young enough, and West Coast enough, to enjoy the kind of atmosphere the lower East Side had so much of. R.J. liked the thought of how she might react to the area. But he also told her to be sure to take a cab. She could afford it, and he didn’t want any of the atmosphere to take a bite out of her.

A panhandler stopped R.J. outside the restaurant by shoving a hand under his nose, palm up. The guy had only part of one finger and that wasn’t in good shape. His skin was blotchy and he was missing a piece of his nose, too. R.J. dropped a buck on the guy and backed away, trying not to breathe the same air.

The headwaiter was not Ferrini himself, who was only there at night. But he remembered R.J. as one of Angelo’s friends and seated him with a good bit of ceremony. His English wasn’t good, but he managed to let R.J. know that anybody who wasn’t crazy would try the calamari.

R.J. had just finished a couple of breadsticks and a glass of acqua minerale when Mary Kelley came in. She was breathless, her face flushed red in the cheeks, and she looked about as good as a client can look. Especially a client that young. The headwaiter showed her over to R.J.’s table, looking so pleased and proud R.J. was afraid the guy might fall out of his skin. He gave R.J. a number of beautiful little winks and bowed four times getting Mary into the chair.

“Mr. Broo—I mean, R.J., um—what?” Mary said, trailing off as the headwaiter said something in melodramatic Italian with a couple hundred hand signals in case Mary was deaf.

“I’m not sure,” R.J. said, “but I think he wants to know if the beautiful lady would like a glass of vino.”

She looked pleased, then uncertain. “Oh,” she said. “I’m not sure. Would I? I mean, are you?”

“I don’t drink,” R.J. said, “but go ahead if you want to. It’ll make this guy’s day.”

“You don’t drink? But then—But don’t you mind if I have wine, then?”

“Go ahead,” R.J. said. “I like the smell.”

“All right,” she said, and turning to the headwaiter she added, “Si, vino russo, per favore.”

The headwaiter’s smile got so big it looked like it might stretch his face permanently. He bowed another three times and backed away, clapping his hands sharply and yelling for Giancarlo.

R.J. gave Mary a smile of his own. Not enough to cause any permanent damage. “Pretty good, kid.”

“What? The Italian? That’s nothing, I can just speak like a hundred words of it. I had an au pair from Udine. Uh, that’s in northern Italy. It was when I was twelve.” She frowned. “I had a lot of au pairs.”

She looked shyly at the table. A napkin was folded elegantly onto her plate. She poked at the napkin. It fell over.

“Um,” she said. “You said on the phone you had something to tell me…?”

“I found your old man,” R.J. told her. And the look on her face was all the payment R.J. wanted. It had been a long time since he’d made anybody that happy.

They had a pretty good lunch. The headwaiter and Giancarlo made sure of that. Mary looked so happy, and R.J. so smug, that the waiters were convinced that R.J. and Mary were in love, and Italian waiters are suckers for lovebirds. Always have been. Probably always would be.

They did try the calamari, and it was good. They munched away happily, talking about who they both knew, and places that had changed in Hollywood since R.J. had grown up there.

When the plates were cleared away R J. sat back contented, liking this girl. “Anyway, kiddo, if you want me to I’ll go over to Torrington and take a look—”

“Oh! No, that’s—I think I’d like to surprise him, if—I mean, it’s been an awfully long time.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, feeling full and almost happy. “Case closed.”

“How much do I owe you?” she said, reaching for her purse and breaking his train of thought.

“What? Christ, you don’t owe me anything.”

She pulled out a slim leather checkbook with gold letters on the front. “I hired you to do a job and you did it. How much?”

“Listen, Mary, I didn’t even break a sweat on this. Forget it.”

“All right,” she said. “Is five hundred enough?”

“Don’t make me get tough,” he told her. “I made two phone calls. Give me a buck for the tolls and we’ll call it square.”

“But it’s not like I’m even paying for it,” Mary said. “It’s my mother’s money.”

“That’s the problem,” R.J. told her. “I don’t want to take her money. Not even for you, kitten.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to insist.”

R.J. leaned over the table, accidentally knocking over the bread sticks. “Listen, doll. Don’t try the Hollywood Power Kitten act on me. I’ve seen that game, and I’ve played it out, a long time before you were born.”

She blushed. “All right, R.J., but I—”

“No.” He took her hand and patted it. “Not another word. Part of growing out of that West Coast spoiled movie-kid crap we both came from is learning to accept a favor. So learn.” R.J. put her hand down and leaned back, smiling at Mary. “Anyway, I made two phone calls to find your old man, and I got to watch you make a fool out of two Italian waiters. That’s payment in full.”

She smiled back. “And you got to do something that might piss off my mother?”

He nodded. “You’re learning, Mary. I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.”

Coffee came, elegant little bone china cups filled with rich dark espresso. Perfect ribbons of lemon peel curled on one side of the saucer, and tiny silver spoons balanced them on the other side. Giancarlo placed a small plate of biscotti in the center of the table with six bows and one smug grin.

“Oh,” Mary said. “But we didn’t—I mean, I’m not sure I want any dessert.”

“Relax, kid,” R.J. told her. “You sure don’t need to worry about calories.” As she blushed, he added, “Besides, I think it’s on the house. Their lovebird special.”

“Their—Oh, you mean they think—Oh.” She turned even redder and R.J. had to laugh. “I just feel funny taking advantage,” she said, not looking at him.

“You want me to tell them we’re not lovebirds?” he said, crunching into a biscotti.

Mary couldn’t even answer; too busy blushing. She picked up one of the cookies to give herself something to do. It seemed to calm her down. After a minute or so she was back to normal.

R.J. admired her control. A lot. They had similar roots, coming from the same strange background. He had fought long and hard to break away from the life he had been born into, had come about as far away from it as a guy could. Now she was trying to take the same trip, showing the same stubborn pride, and he was glad to help her.

As he realized where his thoughts were taking him, he thought of Casey. She hadn’t called him all weekend. Probably apartment hunting, too busy. He missed her a lot, but not as much while Mary was with him.

He shook it off. Christ, what was he thinking? Mary was just a kid. And he sure didn’t want to trade Casey for Mary, no matter how cute the kid was.

Luckily, the headwaiter brought the bill over and knocked R.J. out of chasing down any of those thoughts. The guy gave a more formal bow this time and stuck his hand out toward R J. He was holding a little hammered silver tray. The bill sat face down on the tray, on top of a doily.

“Oh,” said Mary. “Wait, I’m paying for this.”

The headwaiter ignored her, and so did R.J. One of the advantages of old-fashioned Italian elegance, R.J. thought as he handed the headwaiter his credit card. They’re completely unliberated. Totally sexist piggy. I like this place.

The headwaiter marched back to the cash register with his nose in the air, after giving R.J. another massive wink.

“Damn it, R.J., I wanted to pay for this.”

He leaned back and gave her a smug, well-fed shark smile. “Part of breaking away from your roots, Mary. You can’t always get what you want.”

“And part of it is learning to pay for what you get. I can pay my own way—”

“Forget it.”

She licked her lips. “There must be some way I can thank you.”

R.J. grinned. “You can get together with your father and enjoy it. That’ll piss off your mother so much I’m bound to be happy.”