Forging a Desire Line

by Mary P. Burns

  “Is this a blue diamond?” Joanna’s fingers brushed Charley’s throat as she moved the necklace’s clasp to the back of her neck.

  Charley stood stock-still and concentrated on not moving. Joanna was standing so close she was afraid she’d kiss her. “It’s zircon. My birthstone.”

  Neither of them moved, looking into each other’s eyes. Then Charley felt the keys in her pocket, pulled them out, and unlocked the door before she did something she’d regret.

  She shouldered the door open, picked up Joanna’s canvas bag, and swung it inside. Cedar and pine infused the apartment. Charley watched Joanna search for the source, her gaze settling on the small tree in the corner of the living room. “You got a Christmas tree?”

  “Such as it is. It’s too small for the cats to knock over. No ornaments for them to bat off in the middle of the night, either. Just lights.” The tree sat atop a small stool and Charley plugged the lights in. “I decided I couldn’t let the past be such an albatross anymore after our talk. So, thank you for that.” As if on cue, Bing appeared, sniffing at the bottom branches of the little tree. Charley shooed him away and hung up their coats in the closet.

  “And what’s this?” A bottle of Dom Perignon sat on the counter, a gift certificate from Charles Tyrwhitt leaning against it.

  “Oh. That’s from my neighbor Greg. He travels quite a bit, and I take care of his apartment while he’s gone.”

  “What does he have over there that merits these?”

  “He raises orchids. Tricky little things.”

  “Charles Tyrwhitt. Aren’t these the guys that make custom shirts?”

  “Greg introduced me to them when I told him I couldn’t find good shirts for my suits. I was actually kind of hoping he might get me a pair of diamond cuff links for them this year.”

  “What, you can’t afford them, Little Orphan Annie?”

  She snorted. “A girl can dream, can’t she?”

  Joanna unzipped the canvas bag, took out several foil-covered dishes, and turned to the convection oven. “How does this work? I need to warm the cassoulet and the green beans. And get out of that suit. You’re driving me a little nuts.”

  “I am?”

  “I’m a sucker for a woman in a well-cut suit and heels with a jewel at her throat.” Joanna tapped a manicured nail on the top of the oven.

  Charley turned it on and adjusted the temperature. “I think I may stick around and make whisky sours, then. Want one?”

  Joanna chuckled and slid the dishes into the oven. “Bitch. Yes, I’ll take one. So, tell me what a board meeting is like.”

  Joanna took a salad and a bottle of dressing out of the bag, and as Charley mixed the drinks, they talked. A splatter of froth hit her shirt when she wrenched the icy top off the shaker.

  “Damn it!”

  “Serves you right. Go on, I’ll take care of this.”

  Bob scampered into the kitchen and skidded to a stop in front of the food bowl, his fur a post-nap fright wig. Looking into the bowl’s emptiness, he pushed it with his nose.

  “I might as well feed them, too. Where’s the cat food?”

  When Charley returned to the kitchen in shorts and a T-shirt, her small kitchen table had been set, and a bottle of open red wine breathed in the middle of it. The cats cleaned their whiskers nearby, keeping an eye on what was happening on the counter. Charley also spotted the small beribboned box next to one of the place settings on the table. Joanna was standing at her desk, Charley’s pewter candlesticks in one hand, her other hand on the edge of the desk.

  “Is this your novel?” she looked at Charley.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you going to let me read it any time soon?”

  It had long been Charley’s hard and fast rule to keep whatever she was working on under wraps because she’d always felt revealing anything brought bad luck. But Neely had shown her how much could be gained from sharing. “I could. But you can’t be kind. You have to point out any problems.”

  “You mean typos, punctuation things?”

  Charley smirked. “There won’t be any of those.”

  “You want to know if it works.”

  “I want to know if it makes you forget the world while you’re reading.”

  Joanna nodded. “All right. Can I take it with me tonight?”

  Charley collected the dozens of sheets stacked on the corner of the desk, put them in a plastic sleeve, and handed it to Joanna. “Now, what’s that?” She pointed to the box at her place setting.

  “Here.” Joanna handed her the candlesticks. “You promised me candlelight tonight.”

  “I did no such thing. You said I’d have to provide it.”

  “Same thing.”

  “It is not the same thing, Miss Bossy Pants. And I don’t recall either one of us saying birthday presents were in play.”

  “I decided they are. Candles, please.” Joanna walked back to the kitchen. “I promised you a restaurant-like setting. Don’t drop the ball on me.”

  Charley sighed and went to the kitchen for a book of matches, lit the candles, and put them on the table. Joanna turned off the overhead light. With one floor lamp in the living room illuminating the rest of the apartment, the place had become an intimate restaurant for two. Joanna turned to the butcher block island where she’d set up her iPod and pushed the button. The Righteous Brothers’ “Unchained Melody” poured softly from the speakers.

  Charley put her hands in her pockets and shook her head. “You put Donna Reed to shame.”

  Joanna raised her eyebrow. “Really? You couldn’t maybe liken me to, say, Sophia Loren?”

  Charley loved how easy it was, the reference to a star from the 1960s, Joanna getting it and lobbing another one right back at her. Not like the education and research that had gone into being with Neely.

  “You’ve just turned my apartment from the Bailey Savings and Loan into the most romantic, intimate getaway, like Mary did for George Bailey when they couldn’t take their honeymoon trip. I thought Donna was a siren.” Charley put her hands on Joanna’s shoulders and lightly kissed the back of her neck as Joanna dished up dinner. “There is nothing more alluring than a beautiful take-charge woman who can bring a touch of magic to your life. Oh, that smells good,” Charley said as Joanna slipped out of her grasp and put the plates on the table. “You really are a good cook.”

  “You’ll have time to prove your culinary skills to me.”

  “I did that, with my chili.”

  “As I recall, I did that when you had your spice emergency meltdown. Sit down.” Joanna pointed to Charley’s chair.

  Charley sighed. “Fine. How about we do one of these dinners at your apartment, then, and I’ll cook. Of course, you’re buying the groceries.”

  Joanna nodded thoughtfully as she poured the wine. “I could do that.”

  Charley picked up her fork and eyed the little box.

  “Are you going to open it tonight?”

  “You know you shouldn’t have.”

  “Food’s getting cold.” Joanna started eating.

  Charley tugged the wide ribbon off and saw the familiar black Lord & Taylor script across the red rose on the white box. She opened it and moved the tissue aside. “Wait a minute…how did you do that? I just told you.”

  “I have an inside source.”

  Charley took the diamond cuff links out of the box. “Who? And you can’t do this. Oh, Jo, they’re beautiful. But you can’t spend this kind of money.”

  “You really think you can tell Miss Bossy Pants what to do? Not that it’s any of your business, but I went old-school with Lord and Taylor, and I hit a pre-Christmas fire sale. And, I never kiss and tell. Eat. Or I think Bob will swipe it out from under you.”

  He’d stretched up to put his front paws on the corner of the table and was poking his nose in the direction of Charley’s plate.

  “I’m going to find out eventually. You might as well tell me who told you.”

  Joanna shrugged. “You’re
welcome, birthday girl.”

  Charley sat back. “Thank you.”

  “I didn’t get you a card. I thought dinner said it better than Hallmark.”

  Charley smiled. “Okay, you win. For now. So, when is your birthday?”

  “April nineteenth.”

  Charley puzzled for a moment. “Aries?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “But right on the cusp of Taurus. You could be scary.”

  “Aww. Have I scared you so far?”

  Charley regarded her silently.

  “Have I?” Delight defined Joanna’s face.

  Charley took a bite of the cassoulet. “Ohhh, this is really good.”

  “I do scare you.”

  “Almost every day.” It was a genuine admission, and it felt good to say it.

  “I had no idea.”

  “Liar.”

  “But I like that I do.”

  Charley looked right at her. “So do I.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Wandering through the tents of the Christmas bazaar at St. Bart’s Church with Brooke on the twenty-second of December, Charley found the mere thought of a gift for Tricia depressing and, beyond that, absurd. In her mind, she’d already bought, wrapped, and ribboned dozens of things for Joanna. And that’s where they would stay. Despite the birthday gift Joanna had gotten her, she wasn’t sure what to do about Christmas. Joanna would be on duty Christmas day, but she’d feel odd putting anything personal or romantic under the tree for her, especially with Tricia there. That would be somewhat Twilight Zone.

  Brooke poked Charley. “Look at those bracelets. They’re stunning.”

  Charley followed her into the silversmith’s booth, looking at the display cases without registering anything.

  “What can I show you?” the jeweler asked.

  Brooke pointed to a bracelet in the case in front of Charley. “She’ll look at the bracelet with the Gordian knot, and I’d like to see that necklace.”

  “I don’t need to see anything, thanks,” Charley begged off.

  “The knot is an intractable problem, Charley. It’s what you and Joanna seem to have.”

  The woman put the bracelet on the counter for Charley. She picked it up and examined the delicate braided ropes of white and rose gold coming together into a union that could only be undone by cutting through it. Charley liked the weight of it in her hand. She could imagine it around Joanna’s wrist. As she passed the piece back across the counter, a series of thin silver hoop bracelets hanging from the latticework behind the counter caught her eye. A disk with a different initial in beautiful script dangled from each hoop. Charley was mesmerized and asked to see one.

  “Which initial would you like?”

  “J. Give her the J,” Brooke said, examining the necklace the jeweler had given her.

  The woman pulled a velvet tablet from beneath the counter and laid the hoop on it. Charley stared at it before finally picking it up.

  “It would be the perfect Christmas gift,” the jeweler noted. “She’ll think of you every time she puts it on.”

  “While Romeo is trying to figure out what she’s doing, I’ll take this. Can it be wrapped?”

  Charley ran her finger around the hoop and over the disk, the raised J sliding under her fingertip. Brooke moved down the counter to Charley.

  “It’s simple and understated. And very Joanna.”

  Charley regarded her with a gimlet eye.

  “I paid close attention to her at your dinner. Diamond studs set in silver, gold college pinky ring, silver heart necklace, a bunch of very fine silver bangles. This would be right up her alley.”

  Charley knew Brooke’s inventory was correct. Joanna wore some combination of it every day.

  The jeweler handed Brooke a small bag. “Shall I wrap that for you?” she asked Charley.

  “Do it,” Brooke said as she signed the credit card receipt.

  “I can’t give this to her in front of Tricia. And I’m not sure I should be giving her anything at all. I mean, I’m not even sure what we have, Brooke. Sometimes it’s détente, sometimes it’s entente.” Charley sighed. “She’s still working it through with Georgia and she thinks I have too much on my plate emotionally.”

  “You do. Give it to her for her birthday, then. Get back at her for giving you the cuff links.”

  Charley continued running her finger over the initial. “Yeah, and who told her I wanted those, I wonder?” She glanced at Brooke.

  “Who do you think? Tricia certainly never got ’em for you. You said Joanna likes to cook. Put something fun for her kitchen under the tree. What are you getting for Tricia, by the way?”

  “No idea. What do you get for the woman who won’t need anything soon?”

  “Annie says you can’t think like that, sweetie, or you’ll jump off the Brooklyn Bridge. Why don’t you take her to the opera? Or the Nutcracker.”

  Charley looked at Brooke as though she was the embodiment of the light bulb going off over one’s heads. “My God, that’s brilliant. But she just graduated to a wheelchair, and that will be a problem.”

  “Whoa, that was fast.”

  “Yeah, she skidded right by the walker to the chair.”

  “You know about handicapped seating, right? She’ll get preferential treatment.”

  “She’ll fight me. She really hates that chair.”

  “Take Ted, too. He seems to be a wizard at handling her.”

  Charley extracted her phone from her pocket, handed the jeweler her credit card, and asked for the same Christmas wrapping as Brooke’s for the Gordian knot. “And I’ll take the J disk bracelet, too, but don’t wrap it.”

  Brooke smiled.

  “Ted, it’s Charley. What are you doing the night after Christmas?” Charley told him what she wanted, and by the time she finished, Ted, online as they talked, had secured tickets to the New York City Ballet’s Nutcracker.

  As Charley hung up, Brooke suggested a cab ride downtown to Whisk, the kitchen goods store in the Flatiron building. “You need a gift, and I need fresh pasta from Eataly.”

  Before Charley could respond, Brooke was halfway out to Park Avenue. She grabbed her bag from the jeweler. Within minutes, they were in a cab and downtown, the holiday traffic moving smoothly for once.

  In the store, Charley wandered around touching things but not really seeing them, thinking instead of Christmas morning with Joanna. Brooke found several intriguing gadgets, bringing them to her for approval. In a small section marked “International,” Charley spotted a tile trivet nearly hidden behind a tower of European cookbooks. It had an artfully rendered color drawing of a cassoulet on it. She carefully extracted it and was studying it when Brooke joined her.

  “Okay, I think we’re done. What’s that?”

  Charley dropped the trivet into the basket over Brooke’s arm. “It’s a cassoulet. That’s what she made last week.”

  “Oh, how utterly romantic,” Brooke said flatly. “You should get a bottle of champagne for when you two exchange gifts. And some strawberries.”

  “Thank you, Cyrano. I can handle this.”

  “There’s a fruit guy at Eataly. We can get the berries there.”

  Brooke took the basket to the cashier, got them checked out, and guided Charley toward Eataly’s double front doors.

  “You know I hate brick and mortar stores, right? This is no different than Bloomingdale’s for me.”

  “Suck it up for me. I like spending time with you, and we never get to do enough of that. I’ll buy you the pasta of your choice.”

  “Great. Bribery works.”

  Brooke shouldered her way through the crowds toward the pasta counter, took a number, and sent Charley to the fruit aisle. “Let’s meet at Café Lavazza and get coffees to go. I can’t sit in here. It’s too noisy.”

  Out on the sidewalk, they strolled downtown with their coffees.

  “I have a dilemma,” Charley said.

  “Doctor’s always in.”

  “Joan
na invited me away for New Year’s weekend.”

  “Really.” Brooke stopped.

  “With friends. At a cabin. Brooke?” Charley turned around. Brooke was still standing where she’d stopped. “What?”

  “That’s…man, I’m not sure the doctor is in for this. This is Annie’s domain. And I’m sure she won’t charge you.”

  “No, I have to get home and feed the cats. And play with them. I’m afraid they’re going to put a sign down in the lobby soon looking for a new owner.”

  Brooke began walking beside Charley again. “What are you going to do?”

  “I want to go.”

  “Then go.”

  “And leave Tricia? It’s going to be her last…” Charley threw her coffee into the trash and Brooke put her arms around her.

  “Don’t cry. Why the hell didn’t she fight this? Maybe they could’ve gotten this damn cancer.”

  “It was bigger than her.” Charley took a tissue from her pocket and they continued walking. “And this is the first time you’ve ever rooted for her.”

  “I hate what this is doing to you. What did Joanna say? I mean, she must know what a hard decision this could be.”

  “She does. She was very sensitive to it. But she also told me recently…she alluded to being done with Georgia. Maybe. It’s what I’ve been waiting for. So this could be a place where we could start building.”

  “Unless it’s too soon for her,” Brooke said.

  “I thought about that. But there’s still a lot to build before we get romantically involved.”

  “Oh, man, you could be walking right into an open manhole.”

  Charley stopped abruptly and looked at the sidewalk.

  “No, I meant with Joanna. Aren’t you kind of already romantically involved?”

  “We’re trying to keep it at arm’s length, you know? She’s got Georgia, and apparently I’ve got emotions. Who knew? Honestly, though, if I’m walking into a manhole, it’s my choice to fall.”

  “I think you’ve already fallen, sweetie.”

  Brooke was right.