by Anna Premoli
Ok. Message received. Let’s turn away from each other.
She freed her hand and pretended to look at her finger to break the tension. “As good as new,” she assured him. “Come on, let’s get back to our job.”
They worked on in uncomfortable silence for a long time, acutely aware of each other’s presence. They peeled and chopped many pounds of potatoes and many pounds of meat, and then divided the mountain of food between different pans. “Now we only need onions and carrots for the mirepoix,” Ryan mused out loud.
“I’ll pretend I know what a mirepoix is,” admitted Amalia. “You show me how to do it and then I’ll copy you. By the way, how does a man learn how to cook?”
“I’ve always helped my parents – they have a bar here in New York,” he explained. “And we needed to eat too, and us kids were always expected to help out. What do you expect, four boys and all…”
Amalia’s eyes bulged. “Four? Your poor mother!” she said with a laugh. “So there’s you, Niel…”
“Ok, there’s me, Niel, Finn and Kieran.”
“All Irish names,” said Amalia.
“Well, you know – we’re Irish.”
“You’re of distant Irish ancestry, actually,” Amalia insisted.
“Ok, my ancestors emigrated from Ireland a long time ago, that’s true, but since then our blood has remained pure – very pure,” he said, pretending to be serious.
“So you have to marry an Irish girl as well so that you don’t contaminate any future offspring,” said Amalia.
“I don’t have to…” Ryan said quickly. “Well, okay – if I did, it would make my parents very happy. But I don’t have to – not like you, who’s going to marry a nice Jewish boy who’s just as rich as you are…”
Amalia looked at him doubtfully. No, he wasn’t joking. Did he really think that certain things were destined to end that way? It was too much for her, she was instantly horrified.
“Well, it doesn’t make much difference whether he’s Jewish or not, I don’t care – I’m not getting married,” she replied categorically.
“Never?” asked Ryan in amazement. “Why not?”
There wasn’t really the kind of intimacy between them that meant she could talk comfortably about this kind of stuff, and Amalia thought it wise not to mention her messed up family and the bitter taste she got in her mouth whenever she thought of marriage. She would never let herself get into a situation like that of her parents. If ignoring each other politely was all that could be expected from marriage, then she preferred simply to do without it.
“Let’s just say I’m not the marrying type,” she said, without going into unnecessary detail.
But Ryan was still not convinced. “Don’t you want children?”
That was when she burst out laughing.
“Heavens, no!” she said firmly. “Over my dead body! Do I look like the maternal type?” She laughed, trying to make a joke out of it. She had always thought in her heart that she was the least maternal woman on the planet – she and children were just two different species destined never to meet.
“To be perfectly honest, yes, I can really imagine you as a mother. I mean, I know you have that quick temper and everything, but…” Ryan froze, as if he realized too late just what he was saying.
She stared at him in wonder, before deciding to ignore his last comment. “I’m sure that you Irish will find a way to numerically fill the space that I leave,” said Amalia. She had always known that she would neither marry or have children, so how could she explain that strange feeling she was getting in her stomach now that she was speaking to Ryan?
“Don’t count on me. At least not any time soon,” specified Ryan, who had begun to chop the onions, leaving her with the carrots. She didn’t know if it was a kind gesture on his part, intentionally or otherwise. Thanking him now would risk sounding absurd and would only embarrass him and make him withdraw into his shell again, so she said nothing but just took the carrots, washed them and chopped them into small pieces.
“So are you going to stay single for the rest of your life?” Ryan asked her hesitantly, taking his eyes off the onions. More than likely the onions were causing him grief and he needed a break from them.
Amalia paused too.
“God, for the rest of my life… I hope not.”
“But you said you didn’t want to get married,” insisted Ryan, the theme seemingly one very close to his heart. Didn’t he have more important things to concentrate on?
She immediately went on the defensive. “Not everybody gets married, you know? You can live quite happily without major obligations or imposing contracts.”
“But a wedding’s not a contract!” retorted Ryan, sounding almost insulted. Of course it wasn’t – for him! But for people like her it was, all right. The world out there was full of people who wanted to be her friend just because of her money. Marrying her would be like winning the lottery, and that was why Amalia decided long ago not to do it. Not that in her opinion there was anything particularly attractive about being married.
“Do you really think it’s a contract?” Ryan asked her seriously.
“Well yes. I think it is,” admitted Amalia, reluctantly.
“And so you would prefer to live together in order to avoid signing a prenup…” he continued.
“Not just that. Without the bonds of matrimony, you are free to go wherever you want and when you please. There’s no emotional blackmail, you don’t have to decide who gets the horrible couch that a second before nobody wanted, or the cat that in reality nobody ever really liked. Anyway, you understand what I mean…”
Ryan stared at her in amazement.
“Wow. Well that’s a pretty cynical point of view.”
“It’s realistic, Ryan. Just realistic,” she corrected him.
“I was hoping that at least you women thought otherwise.”
Amalia almost laughed.
“I’m sure the girl you marry will be romantic and believe in marriage, don’t be scared by what I say. I know from reliable sources that there are still plenty of examples of the female of the kind you have in mind around.”
“Don’t put words into my mouth,” he retorted, sounding slightly annoyed. “I never said I wanted some girl who’s crazy romantic or anything like that…”
“Even if it might help offset your cynical side,” she said.
“Well, from what I can tell, you’re the one who’s cynical, not me.”
“Oh well, what can you do? Each of us has our cross to bear.”
“Yes… We’re great, aren’t we, us cynics?” he smiled. “Anyway, it’s a shame that someone like you doesn’t believe in family, a real shame.”
He seemed as though he wanted to say more, and Amalia was about to ask him why, but she managed to control herself and keep her mouth shut. She remembered just in time that the order of the day was to keep her distance – whoever had said that knowledge was everything had never found himself in her shoes.
She grabbed a large, freshly washed carrot and began to chop it into small pieces. Better to vent her tension on the vegetables – they, at least, didn’t get your pulse racing.
8
“So you were there and all you did was cook?” asked Kayla incredulously that night at dinner. They were at the Japanese restaurant near Amalia’s house, where they sought refuge from time to time. The place was nice but still not very well known, so they were in no danger of bumping into any of the usual crowd.
“I’d like to point out that we actually managed to prepare food without stabbing each other. Don’t I deserve a medal for not having stuck a knife in that withered, dried up little heart of his?” asked Amalia, holding up a succulent piece of seared tuna. “I did cut myself, it’s true, but I did it all by myself. Mea culpa.”
“You know, I actually spent all morning on tenterhooks thinking I was going to get a phone call telling me that you’d done something awful,” said Kayla, almost seriously. “I mean, after our last
little chat I was rather concerned…”
“What do you mean?” asked Amalia, pretending not to understand her.
“Don’t try to fool me, my dear girl. The pair of you are both deceiving yourselves if you think you’ve turned over a new leaf and that you’ve changed or some other crap like that. As far as I can see, the situation is still right there on the table, exactly where you left it years ago. Not that I can’t see the guy is spectacular – I mean, god! I’d have him for breakfast, lunch and dinner. To be honest, for him I’d even break the rules and have snacks, and you know I never do that.”
Amalia preferred not to deny what Kayla was saying, it would be too hypocritical. “You know what the worst thing of all is? I think he likes me. Physically, I mean. So in part, you were right.”
Kayla was fiddling with a particularly large piece of salmon. “Of course he likes you. Is there any man who doesn’t like you?” she asked sarcastically. “You are, it goes without saying, a very beautiful woman. And I’m sure Ryan O’Moore has good eyesight…”
“But he doesn’t want to like me,” said Amalia, sadly.
“What can you do – men are creatures trapped in a primordial state of emotional evolution,” complained Kayla, who was never particularly kind when it came to the male sex. “He likes you, but you’re more successful and you have more money than him, so he tries to convince himself that he doesn’t like you.”
“When did you get so wise? Anyway, it’s true about the money being some kind of weird big problem for him.”
Her friend smiled. “Don’t you think there’s a certain amount of irony in all of this? I mean, they brought you up teaching you to keep all those who are penniless and interested in you only for your money at arm’s length, and then it turns out that a man you actually do care about doesn’t dare to get close to you for exactly the same reason.”
“I don’t care about him…” Amalia began, stopping when she saw Kayla arch a solitary eyebrow. “Anyway, it’s not just a question of money,” she continued. “There are millions of reasons. Can you imagine my family welcoming a Catholic with open arms – and Irish to boot?”
“A last minute conversion is out of the question, I suppose?” Kayla suggested optimistically.
Amalia looked at her seriously. “Yes, I think we can count that out. For both of us,” she said categorically.
Kayla leaned forward. “You know what makes me so angry about this whole story? I’m sure that deep down neither of you really gives a hoot about religion. No offence, but your family isn’t exactly a model of religious devotion, and I am pretty sure that Mr District Attorney doesn’t rush off to mass on Sunday mornings. So why make it such a big issue, when it isn’t a problem for either of you?”
Not that Kayla wasn’t right, but there were other problems too.
“There is some truth in what you say, but there are other things to be considered too: the fact of belonging to a certain group of people makes us what we are. Maybe my family isn’t a good example… But how can you be with someone that’s so different from you?”
“Easy, all you need to do is celebrate all the different faiths: Jewish, Catholic, Protestant and even Buddhist. You know I’m always up for a good party!” said Kayla, winking at her.
“Stop trying to turn everything into a joke!” moaned Amalia. “There are differences that are just too big to overcome. Anyway, I don’t even know why we’re talking about it at all – Ryan would rather cut off his own arm than go out with me, and that isn’t an exaggeration…”
“You know that you could get him on side if you actually wanted to.”
Amalia looked at her in disbelief. “Err, I don’t think I could, Kayla – if you want to seduce someone you have to at least go out with them first.”
“Not necessarily,” Kayla replied immediately. “You two are forced to be together during those hours of community service. So use them to your advantage.”
“But I don’t want to seduce anyone!” Amalia tried to tell her. Without success.
“Not even just to see if you could? You didn’t use to be the kind of person who ran away from certain challenges. I mean, you’ve liked this guy for a long time – and you do like him, don’t try to deny it. After all, even if you don’t want to admit it, you ask yourself how that could be possible, and since the gentleman is likely to be remaining in New York for quite a while, why don’t you take this damn doubt of yours and see what you can do with it? If it doesn’t work out? So much the better, onto the next one. But at least you’ll get it out of your system once and for all. I don’t know if you’ve realized, but you haven’t even looked at another guy since Ryan re-appeared on the scene,” concluded Kayla.
Amalia grew thoughtful. “I hate it when you’re right, you know that don’t you?”
Her friend smiled innocently. “You know that you love me really…”
*
He had almost forgotten how chaotic Sunday lunches at the O’Moore house could be when all the family were there.
“So Ryan, do you like your apartment in Brooklyn?” his mother asked him after they had all taken their seats around the large oval wooden table.
“Yeah, it’s not bad. Although I don’t really spend much time there. I’m usually stuck in the office until pretty late in the evening,” he had to confess. Well, she would have realized that anyway – his mother could read minds, he was convinced of it.
“Was it really necessary to go all the way to Brooklyn when you could have just stayed with us?” his father asked him.
Go back to living with his parents again? No way, he thought in dismay. He adored his parents but they were way too intrusive for him to be able to live comfortably with them. Even Niel had run away a few years earlier so as not to have them always breathing down his neck. Finn and Kieran were still there, but soon even the youngest member of the family would be taking flight. Despite being just twenty-eight, Finn was in fact officially engaged and would soon be getting married. Kieran, however, loved the easy life.
“I really like Brooklyn,” said Ryan, hoping not to have to talk about it for much longer. So far he had seen nothing of his new district. When he went out in the morning everything was still closed, and it was the same when he returned at night. With the exception, of course, of those weird little shops run by Koreans that are open all night.
“Anyway, how do you hope to meet a nice girl if you’re cooped up inside the office all the time?” his mother scolded. She had started picking out girls for him to date practically the moment he set foot back in New York.
“I’ve only just got back! I have a lot of work to do, and I can categorically exclude finding the time to devote myself to looking for a girl in the next few months,” he said, trying to cut the conversation short.
Across the table Niel chuckled allusively.
“Do you know something we don’t?” Finn, who had the nose of a bloodhound, asked him.
“I’m not allowed say anything,” he said, intriguing everyone sitting round the table. “At least, not without Ryan’s permission,” he added, choosing his words carefully so as to achieve the desired effect.
Mrs O’Moore instantly lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Don’t be stupid, of course Ryan gives you his permission! Come on, what do you know?”
Niel looked at his older brother with an exaggerated expression of pain, as if to say ‘see? they’re forcing me to do this, it’s not because I want to’.
“Ryan bumped into an old friend of his from university in a bar. A veeery cute one, if I may say so.”
Perfect, exactly what he needed, thought Ryan desolately, seeing hope dancing in his mother’s eyes.
“So, who is this friend, Ryan?” She asked quickly.
“Don’t listen to Niel, it was only Amalia Berger,” he said, trying to play down the situation. “It wasn’t the first time that I’ve seen her, I must have seen her a thousand times: she is a lawyer in a large Manhattan practice, so we often bump into each ot
her.”
Literally, but he preferred not to add that to the conversation.
“Berger?” Asked his father.
This would at least dispel any speculation. “Exactly, Berger. Those Bergers, to be precise.”
A collective “Ooooohhh” rose from the table, followed by a minute of rare silence. All eyes were fixed on Ryan.
“Can we eat now?” He asked irritably.
“Shame, though,” said Niel. “I mean, apart from all the millions, she is really pretty.”
Yeah, a real shame, Ryan thought, but he feigned indifference and began to serve the potatoes.
9
Judge Wyatt was surprised not to find an alarmed Grace waiting for him by the door. No messages from the Deputy Attorney nor from that blonde Valkyrie who had certainly never cooked before in her entire life? He felt almost disappointed when he found out there weren’t any complaints waiting for him.
“Good morning,” he greeted his secretary, startling her.
“Oh, good morning Judge! Mrs Everett called to thank you for the excellent helpers that you sent her, and here is the mail,” she informed him, handing him a pile of letters.
“Excellent?! Amalia Berger and Mr O’Moore? Was she being sarcastic?” he asked, suddenly alarmed at the idea that those two had somehow managed to make a mess of things.