"I know you think I'm obsessed with appearances, but that isn't it I just…" She sighed. "I keep hoping I'll wakeup and discover this was all a bad dream."
"How long ago did they split up?"
"Around Labor Day."
"Three months," he said. "Pretty long for a bad dream."
"You're saying it's time I faced the unpleasant truth. Stopped deluding myself into thinking it'll blow over."
"No, I'm saying you should remember what close friends are for. You're going through something intense here—you're grieving, in a sense. Share it with Sunny and Raven and Charli. They love you. Let them help you through it."
Amanda thought back to last year when she was going through her second divorce, and the paralyzing depression she'd suffered. How different would that experience have been if she'd known Nick then, if he'd given her this same advice and she'd heeded it? If she'd let the people who loved her know the full extent of what she was going through? If she hadn't felt the need to show the world how tough and self-reliant she was?
Because she'd learned the hard way she wasn't all that tough.
"So who lives on East Eighty-sixth?" Nick asked. "Your dad?"
"My mother. When their … troubles came to a head, she moved into this apartment owned by a friend of hers who's in Paris this whole year on business."
They passed the remainder of the drive in silence. Nick didn't ask what was so urgent that she'd had to bolt out of the office early to see her mother. Finally he turned onto Eighty-sixth and Amanda directed him to a fashionable high-rise apartment building.
"Thanks, Nick. Don't wait for me—I could be a while."
"Of course I'll wait for you."
"Don't be silly. I'll grab a cab to Penn Station later. You're working! You've wasted enough time on me."
"I offered you a lift, Amanda. That means both ways."
Stubborn man. With relief she saw that the street was lined with parked cars. "Well, suit yourself, but you'll have to sit out here double-parked. And I might be a while. What are you doing? You can't get in here."
"Says who?" Nick asked, already in the process of parallel parking. Looking over his shoulder, he palmed the wheel with one hand, expertly shoehorning the taxi into a spot that Amanda would have sworn was about a foot shorter than the vehicle. He killed the engine and they both got out.
Amanda sighed. "Would it do me any good to ask you to wait downstairs in the lobby while I go up?"
"None at all," he replied pleasantly.
Inside the building, the doorman called up to Apartment 18E
to let Mrs. Coppersmith know she had visitors. Amanda and Nick shared most of the elevator ride to the eighteenth floor with a tall, bald man and his tiny papillon puppy, both of them dusted with melting snow.
Nick stood close to Amanda as she rang the bell to her mother's apartment. Perhaps he sensed her trepidation. She thought she was concealing it well, but Nick always seemed to have the uncanny ability to see through her serene facade. The aura of quiet strength he exuded bolstered her confidence.
It reminded her of that night when they'd slow-danced in his apartment to "Just My Imagination Running Away with Me"—a song she hadn't been able to get out of her head since. She'd felt protected then, and that feeling was now amplified tenfold as she listened to hurried footsteps approach on the other side of the door.
Suddenly she was grateful to Nick for not letting her come up here alone.
The door swung open and there was Mom, looking harried but beautiful as always, and much younger than her fifty-three years. Her skin was smooth and unblemished, her hair the same silky ash-blond it had been since Childhood, even if nowadays it got a little help from her hairdresser. The raw silk sweater and designer jeans she wore were size six, and at five-eight, she was an inch taller than her daughter.
"Mandy!" She cast a nervous glance out into the hallway and lowered her voice. "I'm so glad you're here." She stood aside so they could enter the small foyer.
"Mom, this is my friend Nick. He, uh, gave me a ride up here."
They shook hands. Nick said, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Coppersmith."
"Please. Call me Liv. Mandy, I'm so sorry to make you come all the way up here. I'm just… I'm at the end of my rope. I didn't know what else to do."
"Where is he now?" Amanda stepped into the living room, decorated in boring shades of beige and taupe that her mother chose to refer to as "stone," "mushroom" and "desert."
"I don't know. Connor went out right after I called you. We had this horrible fight."
Amanda turned to Nick, knowing some kind of explanation was called for. "Connor is my mother's…" She couldn't bring herself to say "boyfriend."
"I get the picture." Turning to Amanda's mother, Nick cut to the chase. "Has he hit you?"
"He … he shoves me around. It's getting worse."
"Mom!" Amanda grabbed her mother's shoulders; she searched her face for signs of violence. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I couldn't. I was so ashamed. After I went on about how wonderful he was, how well he treated me. Then he started changing, and at first I thought, well, it has to be me."
Nick said, "You want him out of your life."
"Yes, but it's not that easy."
"He's been bullying her," Amanda explained. "Threatening her."
"Does he have keys to the apartment?" he asked. Amanda hadn't even thought of that. She bit back a groan when her mother nodded miserably. Oh, Mom. What were you thinking?
"He was so charming." Liv's eyes filled with tears. "I know you don't believe it. You think I'm some silly old besotted woman whose head was turned by a younger man… But he was—he was so sweet, so sincere. He made me feel special."
Nick asked, "How much has he taken you for?"
Amanda was about to tell him No, it's not like that, my mother's not that stupid, but one look at Liv's face and the words died on a whimper. "Oh, Mom, tell me you didn't give him money."
"A short-term loan, he said. Only until his Christmas bonus came through. He wanted to take us on a cruise."
Nick said, "He's got a job, then?"
Liv shook her head. "He told me he was national sales manager of Waterford USA. When I realized he didn't know hand-cut lead crystal from pressed glass, I called Waterford and discovered they'd never heard of him."
"How much?" Nick repeated.
Liv closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. "Sixteen thousand."
Amanda's jaw dropped. Nick gestured for her to restrain herself. She turned away for a moment, took a few deep breaths.
"Mandy, I'm so sorry." Liv was weeping now. "I've made such a mess of things. I am a foolish old woman."
"No, you're not." Nick's voice was firm. "You've been taken in by a con artist, Liv. These guys have no conscience. They prey on people's vulnerabilities."
Liv's tears flowed freely now. "If Perry weren't such a stiff-necked, self-absorbed—"
Amanda advanced on her mother. "Don't you dare blame this on Dad!"
Nick placed a calming hand on Amanda's shoulder. She shook it off and backed away from Liv. She knew she should feel humiliated, having an outsider witness this sordid scene, but at the moment more pressing concerns overwhelmed her.
Sixteen thousand dollars. Gone. She couldn't imagine how they'd go about getting it back. As for Connor having keys to the apartment, she'd have to call a locksmith, get the locks changed. But that wouldn't stop the harassment. Maybe Amanda could persuade Liv to move in with her for a while. They might have to get a restraining order against Connor, though she doubted it would have the desired effect. She'd met the guy. He didn't seem the type to comply with a piece of paper ordering him to stay away from an emotionally fragile woman with a plump checkbook.
"Your father will never take me back now," Liv said, her expression more bleak than Amanda had ever seen it.
"Do you want him to?" Amanda felt the stirring of hope.
"I never realized what I was giving up until…" Liv w
rapped her arms around herself. "But it's too late now. After my foolish behavior."
"Maybe not." Amanda put her arms around her mother and held her tight. "I have a feeling Dad might be more forgiving than you think." She'd brought turkey and pumpkin pie to her father on Thanksgiving Day last week, and she'd never seen him more lonely and miserable. She suspected that only that asinine pride of his kept him from taking the first step and reconciling with his wife.
The sound of a key turning in the lock galvanized them all. Liv flinched and took a step back. Amanda steeled herself for the coming confrontation.
Nick reached the door in a couple of long strides just as it opened. "Connor! How's it goin'?" he said in greeting, all smiles, his hand out as if to bestow a hearty handshake.
Connor stood in the entryway, blinking at the stranger, for the split second it took Nick to snatch his key ring out of his hand. "Hey!" He tried to grab it back, but Nick neatly sidestepped him while he separated the smaller ring with Liv's apartment keys from the larger ring, which he returned to Connor with a negligent toss.
"Those are mine!" Connor lunged at Nick. They were about the same height and age, but Connor was beefier, his hard body thick with bulging muscles he maintained through daily workouts at a health club. He was strong, but he didn't count on his opponent's speed and agility. Faster than Amanda could take it in, Nick had the other man in a headlock from behind. Connor let out a howl and continued to struggle as Nick twisted his arm behind his back and pinned it there.
"I'd just as soon break it," Nick calmly informed him.
Connor responded with a string of raw curses. Nick yanked upward on his arm. The curses died on a grunt of pain.
"Watch your language in front of the ladies. Now, you and I have a few things to discuss." To Amanda and her mother, Nick said, "We won't be long," before steering Connor down the hall and shoving him unceremoniously into the bedroom.
The door slammed shut Amanda looked at her mother, who stared back, wide-eyed. The two of them tiptoed down the hall, listening intently. Connor's bellowing carried easily through the door; Amanda had to strain to hear Nick's muted but authoritative voice, too quiet and calm for her to make out specific words. Eventually Connor ran out of steam. Either that or whatever Nick was telling him made an impression. In any event, it wasn't long before the door opened, causing Amanda and her mother to scramble back to the living room.
"Connor and I are going to take a little ride," Nick said, buttoning his navy peacoat.
Connor, his sullen face a dull brick-red, refused to meet the women's eyes. Nick ushered him out the door, after telling Amanda he'd be back.
After a few moments of stunned silence, Amanda shrugged out of her coat and tossed it over a mushroom-colored love seat. "Do you still have that bottle of Absolut?"
"I think I can even scrounge up a few drops of vermouth and some olives."
One and a half martinis later, the doorman buzzed to inform them that Mr. Stephanos was on his way up. Amanda met him at the door. She peered down the hallway. He was alone.
"What was that all that about?" she demanded.
Inside the apartment, he pulled a wad of money from his coat and handed it to Amanda's mother. "Thirteen thousand three hundred and seventeen. He spent the rest, but you'll have it by the end of next week."
Amanda stared in shock as Liv riffled the stack of bills: hundreds and fifties mainly. "He handed this over? Just like that?"
Nick showed her his dimple. "Just like that." It was clear that whatever he'd said or done to persuade Connor to return Liv's money, it was between him and that loathsome swindler. "He'll get the balance of the money to me and I'll deliver it to you, Liv. You'll never have to see him again."
Liv said, "You think he'll really leave me alone now?"
"I can pretty much guarantee it."
She sagged in relief. Tears of gratitude glazed her eyes. "Nick, I don't know what to say. I was—I couldn't—I can't—" Liv broke off on a damp chuckle. "I'm not all that articulate at the moment, but what I'm trying to say is thank you." She gave him a warm kiss on the cheek.
"You're very welcome." He looked at Amanda, and she knew he read it in her eyes, the relief, the gratitude, and more—those slippery, shadowy feelings she tried so hard to deny. At the moment she was incapable of sorting it all out, or holding any of it back.
"Thank you," she whispered around the tightness in her throat.
His expression softened, his velvety dark eyes searching her face, seeing too much, she knew. It seemed like forever before she managed to tear her gaze away. One look at her mother's astute smile and she knew that things had just gotten a lot more complicated.
Liv said, "Mandy, how come you haven't brought Nick around to meet me before now?"
"Well, we're not… I mean, we're just…" It was no use. Amanda and Nick were an official couple in the eyes of her Wedding Ring pals, as well as her brother, Jared. It was just a matter of time before her mother heard about Nick from one of them. Amanda felt the reins of control slip one more notch.
She glanced at Nick, who watched her in silence, waiting to take his cue from her.
"We haven't been seeing each other all that long," Amanda said. "Less than two months."
Liv chuckled. "Well, I don't think we'll forget this introduction anytime soon."
And won't it make a great story for our kids someday, Amanda thought with warped amusement. How Daddy terrorized the gigolo Grandma was shacking up with.
Whoa! Back up, girl!
"Our kids"? "Daddy"? Where had that come from? It had to be the one and a half martinis she'd downed.
He's not really your man! her mind screamed. He never will be! Stop thinking of him that way!
Although Nick had certainly handled this wretched situation as if he really were her man, as if he had a genuine stake in her happiness and the welfare of her family.
Amanda found herself wondering how Roger and Ben, her exes, would have responded in the same situation. Somehow she couldn't imagine either of them thoroughly intimidating someone like Connor without so much as raising his voice, as Nick had done. In fact, she couldn't imagine Roger or Ben even caring enough to intervene.
Liv was her old self once more, upbeat and sociable. "Let me take you two to dinner. Nick and I can get acquainted and I can ask him where he learned those fancy wrestling moves." Her eyes glowed with approval of her daughter's gentleman friend.
"I wish I could, Liv." Nick appeared genuinely regretful as he explained, "I have to get back to work."
Liv looked disappointed. "Another time, then. Soon. What kind of work do you do, Nick?"
He glanced at Amanda, and she could tell he wasn't happy having to deceive her mother; Liv had been deceived enough by that crook Connor. Amanda could no longer remember why it had once seemed so important to pretend that Nick was something he wasn't. She wouldn't have hesitated to tell Liv that he drove a taxi, but the truth was no longer an option; she had to maintain the pretense she'd constructed for the benefit of her Wedding Ring friends. Normally an honest person, Amanda felt mentally exhausted by all the subterfuge.
The least she could do for Nick, after what he'd just done for her, was to spare him having to look her mother in the eye and lie to her. Amanda made herself say, "Nick owns a fleet of limos."
This didn't appear to surprise Liv. "Well then, I can understand why you have to run, Nick. Which makes me all the more grateful that you took time out of your busy day to help me." She sent Amanda a look that said You picked a good one this time.
* * *
Chapter 8
«^»
"You like the zabaglione?"
Amanda chewed back a grin watching Luisa Rossi, the ninety-three-year-old, black-clad matriarch of Charli's family, hover over Nick, armed with a bowl and serving spoon.
Nick smiled up at the old woman. "The zabaglione is wonderful, Mrs. Rossi! I've had two servings."
"Good boy. You have more." She started to ladle another help
ing into his dessert goblet
He tried to wave her off, to no avail. "It's delicious," he said, "really, but I'm much too full…" He gave up, eyeing the huge mound of frothy, pale zabaglione that Mrs. Rossi had deposited in his goblet.
With her free hand, she patted his cheek. "It's light. You eat more. Keep you big and strong. Grant!" Abandoning Nick, she turned her attention to her granddaughter's husband. "You like the zabaglione?"
Amanda sat on one side of Nick at the Rossis' long dining table, Charli on the other. Charli leaned toward him and said, "You're too polite, Nick. She'll keep feeding you till we have to roll you out of here."
It was December 24 and the entire sprawling Rossi clan, plus assorted friends and neighbors, had convened at the home of Charli's parents for a traditional Italian Christmas Eve dinner, heavy on the seafood. Following a feast that included stuffed squid braised in white wine, shellfish salad, baked striped bass, cold trout in orange marinade, sliced pasta roll with spinach filling, molded risotto, and Grandma Rossi's famous gnocchi verdi, the Rossi women brought out dessert: chocolate layer cake flavored with rum and coffee, apple fritters, macerated fruit, and the endless zabaglione. Plus gallons of hot, strong espresso and cappuccino.
Nick leaned back in his chair with a little groan. Amanda patted his shoulder. "I tried to tell you to pace yourself."
Having spent a good part of the past quarter century as a guest in this house, Amanda had long ago learned to do just that. No matter how much food Charli's mother or grandmother piled onto her plate, no matter how good everything tasted—and it was always heavenly—she forced herself to eat small bites and set down her fork between them. It was just too much food.
Nick, however, had failed to heed her advice. His eyes had popped at the mouthwatering spread and he'd dug in with gusto. Now, as he stared balefully at the zabaglione before him, Amanda decided to take pity.
"Come on." Rising, she picked up their espresso cups. "Let's find a quiet place to digest."
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