Читать книгу Tempted In The City - Jo Leigh - Страница 11

4

BY MONDAY AFTERNOON, Tony had finished transferring what he needed to make his father’s old office feel like his own. He’d also gotten more comfortable with being the boss, although there were a few decisions he wished his father could have made.

He heard a low voice in the reception area, one he’d recognize in a blackout. Well, at least the old man had lasted almost a whole week without coming to check up on his empire.

Tony was delighted to see that his mom had come, too, and that Joe was wearing a Hawaiian-print shirt, one he was allowed to wear only on vacations. They were both chatting with Gina as if their separation had been years instead of days. Tony joined them, giving his mother a kiss on the cheek. “Worried the place was falling apart?”

Joe gave him a scowl. “You think I don’t trust you? I trust you. The real question is do you trust you?”

“I’m working on it, Pop. I don’t know if I’ll ever figure out how you kept Luca and Dom in line.”

His mother frowned, although he knew the look was more for effect than anything. “All three of you were no picnic, believe me.”

“I know.” Tony grinned. “Honestly, though, they’ve both been fine. Luca, a little finer than Dominic. You know how he is. The kid thinks he’s Sinatra or something, and he’s tone deaf.”

“Sinatra was from Jersey,” Gina said. “Dom wants to be the king of Little Italy.”

“It’s a small kingdom.” Tony walked over to the whiteboard without really looking at it. “Getting smaller by the day.”

“We’re not going to talk about work,” his mother said. Theresa was really the boss of the family, and everyone knew that. She didn’t mind leaving the details to her brood, but anything big was Ma’s domain.

“All right,” Tony said. “Is this a stopover visit on your way to rehab?”

Joseph cursed in Italian the same second Tony’s mother said, “Yes. This stubborn mule of a husband thinks he’s wasting his time. You’d think the second heart attack would have gotten through his thick head.”

It actually felt good, hearing the two of them bicker. Like home.

Tony had to take a phone call, so he went to his office. It was Dave, the metalworker he’d called about Catherine’s staircase and fireplaces. Tony gave him some preliminary measurements and Catherine’s number.

Just as he ended the call, he realized his father had entered the room. He was looking at all the things Tony had changed. Slowly. Making a mental tally. The expression on his face broke Tony’s heart. Made him wish he’d never changed anything at all.

“It’s good,” Joe said. “You taking over.”

“It’s necessary,” Tony told him, walking around the desk to sit on the front corner to free up his pop’s old chair. “We need you to stick around as our dad way more than we need you to run this place.”

“I know the reasons. There’s just so damn many hours in the day. Even with three meals and a visit to the torture room, I’ve still got too much empty space.”

“Ma hasn’t put you to work?”

“Stupid things, sure. A real project, like painting that spare room? She thinks I’ll die on her Persian carpet.”

“Have you tried going to the park like we talked about?”

“I don’t like the way they changed the park. Too many strangers and kids.”

“They’re only strangers until you talk to them. You like chess. They play chess.”

“I like playing with people I know.”

“And what do you mean you don’t like kids? That’s not true.”

“I want grandkids,” Joe grumbled. “Not strangers’ kids. You and Angie should’ve had two bambinos by now, instead of getting divorced.”

Tony’s insides coiled into a knot. “Come on, Pop, we’re not going to talk about that.”

Joe shrugged. “So, I hear you’re working personally with Catherine Fox.”

“How do you know that?”

“I got ears that work. She’s got big pockets, that one. Very deep. She has some crazy ideas, but they’re not so crazy if you think about them.”

“You mean the restoration?”

“The value of the house will go up, you know that. Along with making the upgrades.”

“She wants a rooftop garden.”

Joe’s eyes widened. “No kidding.”

“What’s worse? She wants to live there. Full-time.”

Joe moved across the room and settled into his old black chair.

Tony smiled to himself and took one of the guest chairs.

“She could make a fortune selling that place. When she gets done with it, garden or no, it’ll be a jewel on that street.”

“I know. But she doesn’t want to go.”

“With those old ladies she’s got for neighbors? She’ll want to.”

Tony knew more about those two than he’d like. They’d both called him in the last couple days. Asked every question in the book about Catherine. He’d cut them off, refused to discuss his client with them. When all he’d wanted to do was tell them both where to go. But he was his mother’s son, so he’d been nice...ish.

Speaking of his mother, she walked in right at that moment and made her famous whimper of exasperation while throwing her hands up in the air. As if the world itself was ending.

She slapped Tony’s shoulder. “You just let him take over? The first time we come to visit you start talking business?”

Shaking his head, Tony held back a smile.

“What business?” his father said, gesturing expansively. “I’m sitting in my old chair. Is that a crime?”

She put her hands on her hips and glared at him.

“Fine. A little about business, but I was just making an observation. That’s not work.”

“Is that true, Tony?”

“That’s true.”

“Why am I listening to you?” she asked. “You’re your father’s son. We have to leave now, but next time I see you, Anthony Paladino, I expect you to be more careful with your father. He’s not a healthy man.”

She was right, although Tony couldn’t see cutting him off from the business cold turkey. But he’d try to make both his parents happy. Which hadn’t been possible in thirty-three years, so why he should keep trying was anyone’s guess.

“Try the park again,” Tony said, as they were leaving. “Play some chess.”

“And you...go make me some grandkids.”

“Stop it.” His mother bumped his dad’s shoulder. “What’s the matter with you? He’s divorced.” She glanced at Tony and shook her head. “Don’t listen to him. Angie was a nice girl, but she was too modern.”

He didn’t say a word. Angie was from the neighborhood. His parents had known her parents for years. She wasn’t a great cook, but that meant she wasn’t competition for the crown of Tony’s Favorite, which actually made his mother like Angie even more. She was exactly the kind of girl everyone had imagined for him, but the marriage hadn’t worked out. At least they’d parted amicably.

When his folks had left, he had to make two more phone calls, and then pay a visit to a new customer in Chinatown.

After that, he knew exactly where he was going.

Exactly where he shouldn’t.

Where he couldn’t wait to go.

* * *

THE LINE INTO Ferrara’s bakery was long, but it seemed to be moving pretty quickly. Catherine had been there several times, and loved their pastries, but this evening she was buying for two. Tony was coming over.

They were going to take a look at her rooftop. Sal was still in charge of the renovations, but Tony had decided to supervise the restoration and the garden project. He’d told her he’d be there around six thirty, after dinner with his parents. She hoped he hadn’t had any dessert.

The line moved again, this time allowing her a great view of the glass display case. Everything there looked wonderful, but she’d already decided what she’d get for this evening: three different pastries she could vouch for personally. He was bound to like at least one of them.

Two women a few people in front of her caught her attention because they were speaking in Italian. She thought one of them might be her neighbor. Catherine had seen the woman standing on her front stoop the other day. It was obvious they hadn’t noticed her because they didn’t bother to lower their voices, or consider that she might speak Italian.

“That one has workers all day, making so much noise I’m not getting a bit of work done.”

She strained to hear the other woman’s response but couldn’t.

“For all I know,” her neighbor went on, “she’s turning that beautiful place into apartments.”

The conversation stopped when the person in front of them left.

Catherine watched them place their orders with the woman behind the counter, torn between wishing she’d heard more and glad she hadn’t. Of course they were upset with the noise. And she hated for anyone to think she would turn the beautiful home into apartments, but now wasn’t the time to clear the air.

The women paid and left without any sign they’d noticed her. Thank goodness. Once the construction was over, she figured things would all work out.

“Great minds really do think alike.”

Catherine spun around at Tony’s voice. His smile was broad, his eyes crinkling at the edges.

“I was going to pick up dessert. For us,” she said. “For later.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Hmm,” she said, feeling awkward and pleased at the same time. Why she should feel tongue-tied around Tony when she could face off with Vladimir Putin, she had no idea. “Well, maybe it’s a good thing you’re here. I won’t have to guess what you might like.”

“What were you going to get?”

She shifted a bit to her left so he could move in closer, letting people pass him more easily. “No fair. I asked you first.”

“Technically, you didn’t ask, but it would be rude for me to point that out.”

“Wouldn’t want to be rude.”

Tony smiled. “There aren’t many things here I don’t like. But their cannoli are very good.” He leaned closer, so close that his breath tickled her ear. “Better than my mother’s, to be honest, but I would never tell her that. Ever. In fact, I need you to swear that you won’t ever speak of it again.”

Catherine crossed her heart, which remained inconveniently fluttery.

“Have you been here before?” he asked.

“Yes. Too often. I have a problem with pastries. I like them too much.”

“As much as Chinese food?”

Letting out a laugh, she narrowed her eyes at him. “You don’t need to speak of that again, either.”

“Guess we’re even,” he said with a wink.

She had no idea what to do with that. It wasn’t a flirty wink; at least she didn’t think so. Not many men had winked at her before. She kind of liked it. Her heart sure was getting a workout, though.

Luckily, the line moved again, putting them face-to-face with the counter girl. “Four cannoli,” Catherine said as quickly as possible, anxious to make this her treat, not his. “Two lobster tails and two panfortes.”

While she’d been faster on the draw with the order, Tony already had his wallet out. “Put that away,” she said. “You’re the one helping me out when you don’t have to.”

“I’m an Italian man in a bakery where they know me. You want everyone in town to talk about how I let you pay for my dessert?”

“Well, that’s incredibly chauvinistic. Please tell me you don’t mean it.”

His shrug said an awful lot.

“I lived in Italy,” she said, “and no one was that ridiculous.”

“I think you’ll find there are many anachronisms in our little village. We’re losing so much territory to the soaring encroachment from every angle, I think the old-timers are doing their best to keep everything old-fashioned even when it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference.”

“Fine,” Catherine said, when he pulled out some bills. She thought briefly about mentioning what she’d overheard, but dismissed the idea. “You buy them this time. But just the once.”

“I’ll even carry the box,” he said.

When the girl came back with his change, she barely looked at Tony. Instead, she was checking out Catherine as if there’d be a test. It didn’t surprise her at all when the young woman said, “See you later, Tony. And tell that brother of yours I saved him a slice of cheesecake.”

“Sorry,” Tony said, touching the back of Catherine’s blazer with his broad hand, steering her toward the exit. “I doubt I’ll see Dom anytime soon.”

“Maybe she meant Luca.”

Tony laughed. “Nope. Dom. Guaranteed.”

Once they were on the street, it wasn’t a long walk to her house, and the lowering sun made everything look golden and beautiful. She thought again about how he’d so recently taken over the business from his father, and yet, he kept showing up after hours. “You do know I can wait for Fred or George,” she said. “The list of things to be restored is daunting and I’m positive you have a great deal on your plate.”

“I don’t mind,” he said. “It’s been good for me to keep my hand in the game. I’d been doing more of the managing before my father finally retired. It’s all about delegating.” He slowed to a stop. “Would you mind a small detour? I know Sal’s going to be working with you on your front stoop, but there are two you might like to see. Both designed by the metalworker I told you about.”

“I’d love to see them.”

They turned at the next corner, and she realized that while she’d found places like the bakery and the dry cleaners, she really hadn’t spent any time at all exploring the side streets. Most of the buildings were old remodeled tenements. Five, six, even seven stories high. Almost every ground and basement floor was occupied by a retail business, everything from restaurants to art galleries to delis.

She’d given thought to renting out her own basement floor space. The last owners, Belaflore’s family, had run a popular resale clothing shop. Catherine had bought some things there before she’d purchased the building. One of her favorite dresses, in fact. There was still time to change her mind about using the entire two-story building with the bonus basement as her home. If she did decide to rent out the lower level, it would be only to help her fit in more with the community. But she doubted she would. She didn’t need the money, which was pure luck, having been born to a wealthy family, but more important, she wanted enough space to have children someday. Space was an extraordinary luxury in Manhattan, and wouldn’t it be something to pass down a family home like hers?

Her slice of Lafayette was an anomaly. But one she wanted to preserve.

“Hey, Tony.”

They turned to a portly man standing in the doorway of an electronics store. He was smiling as he gave Catherine a once-over.

“Hey, Pete,” Tony said.

“How’s your old man?”

“Hanging in there. Driving my mom crazy.”

“Tell him he still needs to come to the merchants’ meetings. No excuses.”

“I will, Pete. Thanks.” Tony kept walking, although he didn’t seem to be in any rush to move on. “Be warned,” he said, leaning closer to her so he could be heard above the street traffic. “That’s going to happen a lot.”

“I’d already figured out you were very popular among the citizenry.”

“If by popular you mean everyone wants to know my business, then yeah.”

“Does your business include you walking down the street with me? With your hand on the small of my back?”

His hand disappeared the next second. “Damn. Sorry.”

“I didn’t say I minded.”

He looked at her, a little puzzled. “It’s not so simple. None of these goombahs will stop to think you might be a client. They’ll jump the gun and assume we’re a couple. So if, you know, you’re engaged or anything...”

“That would be bad.”

“It would.”

“Good thing I’m not, then.”

He turned to look across the street just when she’d wanted to see his expression. Wouldn’t her mother be surprised at her brazen reply. Even in London she’d probably have been more circumspect. Maybe this was part of her becoming a New Yorker. Or maybe it just had to do with the man. He made her feel bolder, whether it was getting her hands dirty polishing old sconces, or buying pastry in the hopes he’d stay a little longer this time.

Of course, her mother would be appalled by all of it, but her mother would have been much happier if she’d been born in the Victorian age. Her father was more progressive...sort of. Then again, the man wore a suit, tie and waistcoat to work every day, and to dinner, even.

“See that,” Tony said, pointing to a stoop that had a gorgeous railing alongside its five steps. The railing matched a lantern that was so much more elegant than the utilitarian light fixture she had now.

“May I get a closer look?”

“Sure.”

At first she thought he was going to take her hand, but after checking for traffic, he simply gestured for them to cross.

“Oh, this is lovely,” she said, running her hand over the intricate work, the curlicues that weren’t at all overdone, just beautiful.

“Tony Paladino. You haven’t been by in a hundred years.” A tall trim woman with short brown hair stood in the doorway of a store next door.

“I don’t think it’s been quite that long, Mrs. Collette. But it’s nice to see you.”

“How is your father?”

“Doing better, thank you.”

“Good to hear it.” She eyed Catherine, though not in a rude manner. “And who’s your friend?”

“Catherine Fox, this is Mrs. Collette. I think you’ll like her store. There are quite a few antiques that could fit in well with your renovations.”

Catherine had already spotted a console table near the door that appealed to her...before she’d been distracted by Tony’s clever way of saying-without-saying she was a client. She smiled at Mrs. Collette. “I’d love to come back when I have enough time to really explore. Are you open on the weekend?”

“Saturday. You come back then. If you like real antiques, that is. Not like that avanzo Caliguiri sells.”

“I’ll be here the first Saturday I can manage. Thank you.”

“My pleasure. And Tony, I don’t think we’ve spoken since you and Angie... I was sorry about that. She’s a nice girl. I thought you two were made for each other.”

“Yeah, well, take care, Mrs. Collette,” Tony said, as he moved the two of them forward. “The second stoop is the next block over. Then what do you say we head to your place? These pastries are calling my name.”

Catherine was curious about Angie, but she would never ask him. “Absolutely.”

He put his hand on her back as they crossed the street, but dropped it again as soon as they were on the sidewalk. He wasn’t kidding around about this discretion business, although she’d liked the protective touch even if it was just a guy thing. Three other people asked about Tony’s father, and Tony was courteous to each one, despite the fact that they barely slowed to talk.

The second stoop was also gorgeous, and it made her very excited about the possibilities for her home. But by the time she opened her front door, she was thinking more about the evening that lay ahead than the prospects for her stoop.