Jon Fixx

by Jason Squire Fluck

  A serious look crossed Maggie’s face. “Was Marco truly friendly and forthcoming this morning?”

  I forced a relaxed smile. “Most definitely. He’s excited about this whole process. At least that was my impression.”

  Maggie’s eyes locked on mine, searching. I kept the smile planted on my face. She turned away. Suddenly, her mood seemed to lighten and she shrugged off whatever thoughts had been weighing her down. “Then, I guess we’ll have to see if you give me the same courtesy. I may just pass you a few secrets that Marco doesn’t know, and we’ll find out how honorable you are.”

  “You won’t have to worry. I’m like a vault,” I promised.

  “I’m not worried,” she replied, laughing.

  We’d gone almost eight blocks when she prodded me with her elbow in a playful nudge. “C’mon, just tell me about one big indiscretion you discovered, no names of course, confidentiality and all.”

  I decided there was little harm as long as I kept the story anonymous, so I told her about a couple from Atlanta where the groom had been having a long affair with the bride’s maid-of-honor. During my interview process, the terrible secret was discovered and the wedding never happened. When I finished, Maggie had a pained look on her face.

  “Oh, how terrible. Did they ever reconcile?”

  “The groom ended up marrying the bride’s best friend, so maybe in the long run it was best for everyone. But they didn’t hire me to write their story. I’m not sure they wanted everyone to read about how they had been dating on the D.L. for almost a year, both cheating on their mates.”

  Maggie laughed. “No, I can understand why they wouldn’t want that. What an unusual job you have. It really must be interesting.”

  Suddenly, Maggie stopped in her tracks. I stopped as well, not sure if I’d done something wrong when Maggie pointed to a building before us and I realized we were at our destination. A green awning hung over a small, quaint Italian restaurant. “Fanelli’s” was printed across the door of the establishment. The place was packed, tables jammed together. I could see servers rushing in and out of the double doors in the back of the restaurant.

  I glanced over at Maggie. “Cranston’s place?”

  “This is it.”

  I couldn’t hide my excitement. “Is Cranston usually here?”

  “Sometimes,” she replied. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  We stepped inside Fanelli’s and were hit with the hustle and bustle of the lunch hour. I followed Maggie to a two-seater just vacated by men in suits. A busboy cleared our table as we sat down.

  “This okay?” Maggie asked.

  “This is great,” I said, as I looked around, impressed with Cranston’s business acumen.

  An attractive young woman hustled to the table, handing us menus. “Hey, Maggie, good to see you, darlin’,” she said, leaning over and trading kisses with Maggie on the cheek.

  “Hi, Janene. Meet my friend Jon Fixx,” Maggie said, smiling at me from across the table.

  “Hey, Jon Fixx, glad to meet you.” Janene quickly looked back at Maggie. “Where do you find these good lookin’ boys?”

  I blushed.

  “And he’s modest. Good combination,” she added. “Your usual, Maggie?” Maggie nodded. “And you, Jon Fixx, what do you want to drink?”

  “I’ll take a Coke.”

  Janene disappeared to get our drinks.

  When she was out of earshot, I said, “She’s a piece of work.”

  “She’s great. Been here since they opened. Want to split a pizza with the works, make it easy on Janene?”

  I hesitated, thinking about a bride eating pizza before her wedding. Most brides were usually so consumed with losing weight that I barely ever saw them eat while I was interviewing them, and they would definitely not eat a pizza.

  “Don’t feel obligated. We can get something else,” Maggie said, apologetically.

  “No, no,” I protested. “Pizza with the works sounds great. I’m accustomed to my brides eating like a bird before their wedding.”

  Maggie laughed. “That’s never been my style.”

  “Plus, Sara hates pizza, so I rarely get to order it.”

  “Sara, the lawyer?” Maggie asked, curiously.

  “The same,” I answered.

  “So what if she doesn’t like pizza. Why can’t you order it for yourself?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. When you’re eating out, pizza is something you want to share with someone.”

  “I never thought of it like that, but I guess you’re right. It’s not a food you want to eat solo.”

  I added, “This is one of the deep, philosophical facts I’ve learned on my journey writing love stories.”

  Maggie leaned forward conspiratorially. “Will there be a Jon Fixx love story about you and Sara one day?”

  I wanted to answer with a definitive “yes” but suddenly admitted to myself for the first time that given the current Sara-Jon state of affairs, the best I could say was “I don’t know.” Instantly uncomfortable at this realization and knowing Maggie would not stop questioning me if I gave her room, I immediately put the spotlight back on her. “I’m not the one getting married in a couple of months. So we should be talking about you and Marco.”

  “But it’s so much more fun talking about the Love Doctor’s own love life.”

  Love Doctor. Online, one of my past clients had referred to me as the Love Doctor in a review of my business. It had stuck. I hated it.

  “I read some of your samples on your website last night. I wanted to be prepared for our interview today,” she said, giving me a smile that captivated me.

  Janene appeared at our side, setting our drinks on the table. “What’ll it be?”

  “The works.”

  “Good choice. Best pizza in the whole state of New York. After you eat this pizza, you can die.”

  “I don’t have any plans on dying soon, but—”

  “Don’t worry, darlin’, it’s just a saying.” As she turned away, she said to Maggie, “He’s literal, this one.”

  “In more ways than one,” Maggie said, as she touched my hand, ever so briefly. “I knew you’d like this place.”

  “Jon?” A familiar voice interrupted Maggie.

  I looked up to see Cranston Jefferson standing over my shoulder. I stood up and hugged him. “Cranston, so good to see you!”

  “Well, well,” he said as he looked from me to Maggie. “Your father told me he’d be calling Jon to write your love story, but I wasn’t sure if he was serious.” Cranston gave me a wide smile. “So, Tony talked you into doing their story, huh?”

  “He can be very convincing.”

  “Yes, he can.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this place when I was working with you?” I asked Cranston.

  “The restaurant wasn’t open yet,” Cranston replied. “I owned the building, but I had to find a way to get the old tenants out without any fuss.” He glanced down at the table and quickly looked up. “Where’s that famous little tape recorder, Jon? Or are you off the clock? Have Maggie’s charms swept you off your feet, you giving her a little extra attention?”

  “Mr. Jefferson, if you were only a little younger,” Maggie said, flirting with the old man.

  “Maggie, I’m eighty-five years old, and you know what I’ve learned in that time? You can never give a beautiful woman too much attention.” Then, turning to me, he said, “Jon, did you move on from that girlfriend of yours?”

  I was at a loss, not expecting him to ask me about Sara. Coming right after Maggie’s question, Cranston hit a nerve. After a moment I forced a smile. “We’re still together.”

  Cranston put his hand on my shoulder. “Well, then, you two enjoy your lunch. And, Maggie, be careful, dear. You’ll be telling him your deepest, darkest secrets before you know it.”<
br />
  “Thanks for the warning, Mr. Jefferson,” Maggie said, standing up to kiss Cranston goodbye.

  “Jon, stop by the office, if you have time to visit,” he said. “You know where it is.”

  “I’d love to,” I answered. “Time with you, Cranston, is always time well spent.”

  Cranston wandered off to attend to his other patrons. Then, Maggie and I settled back down at the table.

  “After you left last night, my father told me Mr. Jefferson has a deep affection for you. Now I see what he meant. That’s why I wanted to eat here.”

  “And I have a deep affection for him and Judith,” I replied. “You could make a movie about the Jefferson’s story.” I suddenly found myself reminiscing about the hours I spent with him and Judith taping their story that led me to be sitting across the table with the daughter of a Mafia boss, in Cranston’s restaurant, no less.

  “I agree. Did my father tell you how they know each other?” Maggie asked.

  “He mentioned it, but not in great detail.”

  “My grandfather served in World War II, my father’s father. He and Mr. Jefferson crossed paths somewhere near the tail end of the war. As the story goes, Mr. Jefferson saved my grandfather from a German ambush. I’m not sure of the specifics.”

  “Wow, Cranston is full of surprises. In all the hours I spent interviewing him, he never mentioned that once.” I pulled out my small tape recorder and set it on the table. “Now, can we focus on you? Are you ready?”

  “Sure,” Maggie said agreeably. “Shoot.”

  Over the next hour, Maggie filled in the many holes left by her fiancé from the morning’s interview. Growing up, she saw Marco several times a year when the families got together over the holidays. She’d always had a crush on him. All the girls did. As a teenager, Marco had a bad-boy danger about him that the girls found attractive. He was five years older than Maggie, and he wasn’t interested in her until she turned sixteen and nature took over. Literally. Just like Marco had said. All the boys at school noticed her. Her boy’s body, as she described it, seemed to change overnight into a young woman’s. Requests for dates started coming and her father was suddenly interested in her social life. On her sixteenth birthday, he sat her down and told her that boys were going to be interested in her for more than just her mind. Therefore, any boy who wanted to date her had to meet Vespucci face to face. I laughed out loud. The thought of wanting to take Maggie out but having to meet her father first would have put a solid restraint on my desire. Once word got out about Vespucci’s rules, the dating requests almost came to a halt. At school, the boys still flirted with her, but few were brave enough to take the next step. At the same time, Marco’s attentions ramped up. Suddenly, at family functions, Marco was spending more time attending to Maggie’s needs. Maggie couldn’t say whether her father noticed, but she did and she liked it. I asked her why it never got serious. She stopped, considering her answer.

  “It did get serious.”

  Her voice had changed. I perked up. “We always spent New Year’s Eve with the Balduccis and a couple of other families. Marco asked me to meet him at a party somewhere else that night. My father would not let me go out un-chaperoned, so I lied to my parents and told them I was staying at my girlfriend’s house.”

  “Your father was old school. Did you rebel against him often?”

  “Are you kidding? No way. I did not argue with my father, at least not in a disrespectful manner. That was something neither Michael nor I ever did. We just weren’t raised that way. We were taught to respect our parents. Period. Plus, in the neighborhood, he had a reputation.”

  “Reputation?” Of course he did.

  She was trying to put the right words together. “He was known as the enforcer, as the guy who always did whatever he said he would do. Never an empty promise. That reputation has served him well in business.”

  I’ll bet it has. “Your dating life suffered because of it, though.”

  Maggie laughed. “But Marco was different. He didn’t seem to be intimidated by my father.”

  The back of my neck started tingling. This is what I was looking for. Hints of a possible conflict between father and future son-in-law.

  “That night on New Year’s Eve,” Maggie continued, “Marco and I figured my parents would stay at his parents’ house until well past midnight. That’s what they always did. But it didn’t turn out that way. I’m not sure why, but my parents left the party early and came home. They walked in on us in a compromising position, mostly an undressed compromising position. My father was beside himself. I’ve never seen him so angry before or since. My mother and I had to stop him from beating Marco to death on the spot.”

  “What happened after that?”

  “My father made me go to my room. I heard him call Giancarlo as I was heading up the stairs. After that, I don’t know what went on between them. For a while, I tried to find out, but my father wouldn’t talk about it. Marco wouldn’t talk about it, either. Even now.”

  “How did you and your father handle seeing Marco at the family gatherings after that?” I asked, aware Maggie was talking about a sensitive issue between her and her father and Marco and I wanted to keep her on track.

  “We didn’t. Marco went to Italy to open their foundry. I didn’t see Marco again for almost ten years.”

  “What about your father and Giancarlo? Was there a falling out?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. We still saw the Balduccis at family gatherings a few times a year. Only Marco wasn’t there. But since we got engaged, his parents have been really happy.” Maggie glanced down at the tape recorder, suddenly realizing all that she was revealing. She leaned forward and said in a whisper, “Jon, please don’t write about this. I don’t want my father and Marco to know I’ve told you this.”

  So this was the root of the tension I picked up between Vespucci and Marco. Vespucci still didn’t trust Marco, and Marco was still angry with Vespucci. There was a battle going on between them, I was sure of it.

  Before I could respond to Maggie’s request, she said, “Jon, you have to understand my father’s background. He operates according to the values of the old country. He’s a practicing Catholic. He interprets church doctrine literally. It’s old-fashioned and I don’t adhere to it, but a woman’s virginity before marriage is sacrosanct. After all, I’m his only daughter. So, until I went to college, I did what he told me to do. You can’t write about this, and you can’t let Marco or my father have any idea you know about it.”

  “I understand. Don’t worry, it won’t leave this table,” I promised.

  Maggie leaned back, relieved.

  “How did you feel after Marco left?” I asked her, gently.

  Maggie looked at me and sighed. “You’re looking for the long-lost love angle, I guess.”

  I laughed. “I’m just trying to get all the facts so I know how to write the best, most truthful story I can for you and Marco.”

  “Well, I’d love to say I was heartbroken and that it was a Romeo/Juliet scenario. But I was sixteen and curious and very attracted to Marco. Beyond that, I wouldn’t say I sat at home and pined for him. I had crushes on a couple of boys at that time, so it was more like a page in a story than a whole chapter.”

  “What did your father do after Marco left?”

  “That was the worst part. He grounded me for a month. When word got around about that night, I didn’t get asked out again by a boy until my senior year.”

  The idea of a beautiful teenage girl going dateless because of her father’s reputation made me chuckle. In the next moment, though, my laughter disappeared when I reminded myself that the man who instilled enough fear to override teenage boys’ hormones—a feat of gargantuan proportions—was also the man who had hired me for this job.

  “It’s not funny, Jon,” Maggie admonished me. “For a sixteen-year-old girl not to get asked ou
t, ever, it can do a number on a girl’s ego.”

  “Oh, c’mon, you can’t have thought there was anything wrong with you. You’re so beautiful, how could you think that?”

  I suddenly wished I could pull the words back. The compliment was over the professional line between polite and flirty.

  Maggie’s head tilted slightly as if she was looking at me in a new light, if only for a moment. Then she smiled. “Thank you. I wish you’d been around my senior year. Without any attention from the boys, a girl can begin to feel unattractive.”

  I grabbed my soda and took several long sips to avoid having to respond. Thankfully, Janene arrived with a large steaming pizza covered with pepperoni, sausage, mushrooms, onions, and a couple more items I wasn’t sure of. She set the pizza on the round insert on the table, adroitly slicing it into even pie sections.

  “Enjoy. Don’t eat too fast!” she quipped and placed more paper napkins on the table and left.

  Maggie and I looked at the pizza, then one another.

  “Looks fantastic,” I said, as I admired the pizza and Cranston even more.

  “Ready?” Maggie asked.

  “I am.”

  We each grabbed a slice and spent the next few minutes silently eating. Maggie raised her eyebrows as I took a bite. My mouth was too full of the best pizza I had ever eaten, so I could only nod. I would have to tell Cranston when I next saw him.

  After several slices were gone, I started the interview again. “What happened when you and Marco reconnected? How did your father react?”

  Maggie hesitated a moment. “When you write these love stories, you practice maximum discretion, right?”

  “Of course,” I assured her.

  “When Marco and I met last year, we were adults and my father couldn’t interfere the way he had when I was a teenager, which gave us a lot more room to get involved. At first, we kept it light. Over time, it grew more serious. I didn’t tell my father about our relationship right away because I didn’t think it would go anywhere. I assumed we were just having fun, taking care of a childhood crush that was never resolved. But Marco was serious about our relationship almost from the start. He was the one who suggested we be exclusive. In fact, if I’d left it up to him, we’d be married already. I wasn’t sure how I felt at first, but when he finally bought the ring and made the official proposal, I had no reason to say no.”