I Only Want To Be With You

by Lisa Norato

  She curled up against the cushions, bare feet tucked beneath her, and hugged the knees of her espresso skinny pants. By the fourth ring, the combo chocolate rush/vodka buzz was beginning to dull, and what moments ago seemed impulsively romantic was revealing itself to be nothing more than an act of neediness.

  Needy? This was so not like her. She was so into maintaining a healthy sense of self and not depending on others for fulfillment. She had her career. Something she had reasonable control over. And hey, when had feeling in control ever been a bad thing? She’d learned to be cautious, as a child of divorce, and not rush into making emotional investments in the opposite sex. In other words, she didn’t sit home waiting for the phone to ring.

  She hardly ever stayed home. Just this evening, for instance, she’d been schmoozing with celebs and socialites and other members of the press at a media party to launch the opening of a hot new Manhattan lounge, co-owned by an ex-rock guitarist and an up-and-coming cookbook author.

  She stayed busy and social and active. And if she did happen to have a little downtime, she read−newspapers, magazines, novels. She didn’t spend it watching reality tv. Generally speaking, Marcella followed the New Age teachings ascribed to a secure, single, professional woman for living her best life.

  So, where had this neediness come from?

  Suddenly, she felt ridiculous. She was halfway to pressing the End key, when a gruff, muffled greeting came through the earpiece.

  “William, hi,” she said, lifting the phone back to her ear. “I woke you, didn’t I? The time difference, I totally forgot. It must be about three a.m. where you are. Ouch. I am so sorry.”

  “Marcella. What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

  His voice sounded thick and groggy. She envisioned him raised on one elbow, lids weighed down with sleep, chestnut hair mussed. She hadn’t meant to alarm him, calling at this hour. They phoned each other regularly. At first they spoke every day, but lately, either she got busy with a project or William was tied up calling on a parishioner, and between the transcontinental time difference and their busy schedules, it was getting more and more difficult to make a connection.

  “Nothing, nothing’s happened. Everything’s dandy. I just got in and thought I’d give you a ring,” she confessed. “Bad idea. Stupid, I know, but I just wanted to hear your voice.”

  Oh God, had she actually said that?

  Bad enough she felt needy. Did she have to verbalize it, too?

  “You’ve just got in?” William sounded totally confused. “At three in the morning, you say?”

  “This is the city that never sleeps. Ha-ha. No, seriously, it’s only ten o’clock here.”

  “Ten, right,” he repeated as though he were still trying to digest the whole phone call. “So where’ve you been off to, then, till ten in the morning?”

  Rather than confuse him further, Marcella moved forward with a brief explanation of her work-related function, adding, “It’s a chocolate-inspired cocktail lounge, appropriately called ‘The Chocolate Bar.’ Their motto is, ‘Spend the night with us and we’ll cover your cherry in chocolate.’ ”

  “Is this a proper topic for a midnight call to a vicar, d’you s’pose?” He cleared his throat. “Okay, fully awake now. Er, by cherry, they’re referring to the kind you use to garnish a mixed drink?”

  “Well, they wouldn’t have much of a clientele if they were referring to any other.”

  “Yanks,” he grumbled into the line. “You’re all barking.”

  He followed with deep chuckles, which alone made the call worthwhile. Marcella giggled in response, feeling suddenly lighter, and asked, “So, how was your day?”

  “My day? Bit premature to tell, but I must say, it’s started off fantastically. It’s good to hear your voice, too.”

  Marcella hugged her knees and smiled.

  “Actually, I’m glad you called,” he said. “I’ve some news. The bishop has agreed to consider my request for a curate.”

  “Great! So what happens now?”

  “I wait to hear.”

  “How long do you think it will take?”

  “Dunno. Few weeks, perhaps. I was going to ring you.”

  “It sounds encouraging,” she chirped, although the thought did arise that now they’d have to wait on the bishop before they could even begin to plan when they’d see each other again.

  “I’m going to let you get back to sleep,” she said. “We’ll talk more later. I’m really happy about your news, William.”

  “I’ll ring you,” he assured.

  Marcella tried to remain upbeat as they hung up.

  She considered phoning Sallie, but Sallie worked full-time, plus she had a live-in boyfriend and a small dog, speaking of needy, who both demanded her attention. She didn’t need to be dumped with Marcella’s angst at this late hour.

  Still, Marcella couldn’t help but feel concern that, despite their best efforts to stay connected, hers and William’s lives and careers would take them in different directions.

  *

  As the weeks passed, Marcella threw herself further into her work to avoid watching the calendar. The summer ebbed away, and still there’d been no official word on William’s curate. She’d fallen for a great guy in an impossible situation and was feeling more lonely and vulnerable than she had in a long time, when one morning Ryan Patterson stopped by her office.

  He sank into the rocking chair opposite her desk before Marcella had the chance to offer him a seat.

  The creative atmosphere of the magazine invited individual expression in the offices of its staff. Marcella surrounded her environment with homey touches, like a hand-crocheted afghan draped over the back of a rocker. She often wondered whether it was her cozy decor, and not her personally, that drew Ryan to her door.

  “So, how’s it going, Tart?”

  “Fine.”

  She didn’t ask, and Ryan didn’t offer to tell her, why he’d come. He just rocked in the chair wearing a smug expression.

  Marcella didn’t have time for games. In a few minutes, she was due in the Art Department to look over some photographs. With a shake of her head, she returned to the sample layout pages she’d been going over before Ryan arrived.

  “You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

  Duh, Marcella thought.

  “It’s like this, Tart. I believe we’re in a position to do each other a big favor.”

  She glanced up. Ryan grinned back, still rocking.

  “Okay, how’s this for a favor?” she offered. “You leave now, and I’ll forget you interrupted my busy morning.”

  “Gotta love that sharp wit.” He chuckled to himself as though he couldn’t be more pleased with her sarcasm. “Jack likes a woman with a sense of humor.”

  “Jack?” she exploded. “Who’s Jack?”

  “See, I knew you’d be curious.”

  “The only thing I’m curious about is why the men in the white coats haven’t come for you yet.”

  Ryan raised a hand to silence her protests, then leaned forward as though he were about to reveal some great secret. “Jack Linney,” he said. “One of the most respected attorneys in Providence. Your hometown. He’s a good friend of mine, and he happens to be in the City today. We’d planned to meet for lunch, but suddenly I’ve got this emergency Marketing meeting. Then I thought, hey, Jack isn’t seeing anyone at the moment. Marcella’s unattached. Who knows, they might hit it off? So, how about it, Tart? Do me a favor and have lunch with my buddy, Jack? You can catch up on all the news from home.”

  A blind date? Was he kidding? Marcella didn’t even attempt to hide her disgust.

  “Yeah, all right, I know what you’re thinking, but he’s a great guy. Good-looking, clean-cut. Really. There’s no way I’d set you up with some loser when I have to face you at the office every day.”

  “I appreciate that, Ryan, but I can’t help you. I’ve got too much going on.”

  “Did I mention Jack works out? And he’s tall.” Ryan
raised his brows in invitation. “Six-two.”

  He was trying to work her weakness for tall men to his advantage. You had to admire his persistence. “I wouldn’t care if Jack had a giant beanstalk. I’m not interested.”

  “Whoa. Well, as a matter of fact—”

  “Look, why me? Why not ask someone from Fashion? There’s Roxanne. She just broke up with her latest boyfriend. Or, hey, how about Holly?”

  Ryan shook his head. “I’ve kinda been working on Holly for myself. No, it has to be you. I can’t think of a better match. C’mon, one hour, two at the max, and everyone’s happy. Jack doesn’t have to eat alone, and you get a glimpse of what it’s like to have a social life.”

  “Oh, well, since you put it that way.” She tapped her pencil on the desk. “No!”

  Ryan’s amusement deflated.

  “Okay, if you must know,” she said. “I’m seeing someone.”

  He looked shell-shocked. “Since when? Why haven’t you ever mentioned him before? Who is he?”

  Marcella told him of how she met William at Lynne’s wedding, giving Ryan as few details as possible and completely skimming over the whole vicar issue.

  Ryan leaned back in the rocker and listened, elbows on the armrest. He’d gone uncharacteristically quiet.

  “So, you’re dating Lynne’s nephew,” he commented at length. “Some English dude. Couldn’t find anyone local, huh? And here I thought Jack being from Providence might present a problem if you two decided you wanted to see each other again.” He considered a moment, then nodded defeat. “Okay, tell me, Busy Girl, how often do you have time to visit England?”

  Marcella felt her defenses rise, knowing there was no way she could answer that question honestly and still expect Ryan to understand the unique connection she’d made with William during the short time they’d been together.

  “I haven’t had a chance to get away,” she admitted. “I’ve got three major food stories in this issue alone, not to mention the holiday issues coming up. I’ve been in overdrive since taking over Lynne’s responsibilities.”

  Marcella heard the whine in her voice and quieted.

  Ryan studied her. “Oh … so, this boyfriend of yours flies to New York regularly? He must work for some sort of international corporation, then? How come I’ve never seen him around?”

  Marcella looked down at her hands. “Unfortunately, William hasn’t managed to get away either,” she mumbled.

  When Ryan didn’t comment, she glanced up, only to find he had rebounded with a smirk.

  “Lynne’s wedding was three months ago. Are you telling me you guys haven’t seen each other since?”

  “Well,” Marcella balked, but before she could think of anything to say in her defense, Ryan stood.

  “Do I really need to state the obvious?” Rolling his eyes, he said, “Like, if the guy really cared for you, he’d make time. I know it’s none of my business—”

  “Took the words right out of my mouth.”

  “—but I really think you owe it to yourself to date someone in the same country, at least. I’m only talking lunch. And if for no other reason, go as a point of reference. For comparison. To be sure that what you think you have going with this guy is the real thing and not your way of coping with loneliness.”

  “I am not lonely, okay? I’m busy.”

  “Whatever. Did I mention Jack has reservations at Le Cirque.”

  Okay, now she was impressed. “Your friend got into Le Cirque?”

  Ryan scoffed. “You didn’t think I was talking a quickie hot dog on the corner, did you? I told you, I’m looking out for you. And here’s something else to consider. As a potential senior staffer, you owe it to the magazine to be more social. When it comes time to naming Lynne’s permanent replacement, you don’t want Beth Anne thinking you’re not accessible. Jillian Navarro has been known to lunch at Le Cirque.”

  Marcella narrowed her eyes. “Now you’re fighting dirty.”

  “Yeah, but I do have a point.”

  He did have a point. At her hesitation, Ryan stepped in for the kill. “Think chocolate souffle.”

  Marcella could almost taste the chocolate melting on her tongue.

  Ryan laughed at her expression, and Marcella quickly composed her features before she began to drool.

  “Look,” he said, “I’ll ring Jack right now and let him know you’ve only got an hour to spare. In one hour, if you’re not having the time of your life, you return to the office, no excuses necessary.”

  Marcella found herself considering his offer. Blind date aside, this could be a good thing.

  Lunch at Le Cirque. An opportunity for her to see and be seen in one of the City’s most fashionable restaurants. No telling how many business and social luncheons of interest would be taking place all around her. She’d show Gracious Living she could network as well as Jillian Navarro. And the best part was, today more so than usual, she was dressed to make an impression, even if she was pushing autumn a bit in her new, fabulous tweed outfit.

  She could use a break from the office. And meeting Ryan’s friend really might help her figure out if William was “the one” or if she simply continued to care for him because it was easy. Not actually being together, they’d never faced the challenges of a normal relationship.

  And William. How long before he got tired of waiting for her to free up her schedule? How long before another woman caught his eye? Even more likely, how long before he caught some deserving woman’s eye and she pursued him?

  He’d already been more than patient. He’d been an angel, but even once the bishop assigned William a curate, how often would he be able to travel to New York? Maybe a relationship between them was never meant to be. Maybe she needed to take a step towards moving on rather than hanging on.

  “Oh, all right,” she told Ryan. “I’ll do it. I’ll meet Jack for one hour, but I’m not sticking around for the chocolate souffle.”

  Ryan gave a whoop. “Deal.”

  *

  Marcella arrived at the restaurant with a queasy stomach and the premonition she shouldn’t have come.

  Why not? the left side of her brain demanded. It was a good arrangement. Not so much a date as two people who needed to stretch their social skills with only an hour to spare. It was lunch, and then she was outta there.

  With a deep breath, she turned her focus outward to Le Cirque’s Renaissance decor as she followed the maitre d’ into the main dining room. Carved, walnut paneling. Red and cream color scheme. If this were a date, she’d be impressed. And wasn’t that the glamorous shopping channel host she’d met recently at a charity gala? Oh-my-gosh, it was.

  If only she had time, she’d love to go over and say hello. But they were fast approaching a table for two where a dark-haired, impeccably dressed man in a navy pinstripe anxiously awaited. Not so bad, she thought, for first impressions. Not bad, at all. The receding hairline suited his face.

  Marcella checked her posture. She straightened her belted tweed jacket and smoothed down the hips of her brown pencil skirt.

  “Your guest has arrived, sir,” the maitre d’ announced.

  Her host rose in greeting and offered his hand. “Marcella? Jack. Jack Linney. Thank you for joining me. I can’t imagine what Ryan said to convince you to come on such short notice, but it’s nice to have you here.”

  He smiled so warm and inviting, Marcella’s discomfort ebbed. “Thanks, Jack. It’s nice to be here.”

  As they shook hands, his dark brown eyes dropped the length of her body to linger briefly at her shoes before once again meeting her gaze. “Good to meet a fellow Rhode Islander,” he said, “even if I had to travel to New York to do it.”

  Together, they laughed off their nerves. And who knew? She might even be able to work up an appetite. The way his eyes twinkled with attraction was a total ego booster.

  The maitre d’ assisted Marcella into her seat, and Jack resumed his.

  “What are you drinking?” Jack was already calling over the
waiter. Once Marcella had given her order, he gestured to her outfit and said, “You look beautiful. And since you had no idea this morning you’d be having lunch with someone new, can I assume you’re into fashion? Aren’t those Rafe New York shoes?”

  He pointed to the floor and together they leaned over the table to admire Marcella’s latest splurge. A pair of rose-and-brown-houndstooth plaid, peep-toe slingbacks.

  “Well, yes, they are,” she said, at first shocked and then impressed at his astute observation. But how many straight guys would know something like that? Could Jack be gay? And Ryan not be aware of it? Highly unlikely.

  She chuckled away the thought. “Wow, that was good. You certainly know shoes.”

  He shrugged, gave a humble grin. “I hope I’m not being too forward, but those shoes are very sexy on you.”

  Marcella corrected herself. No, not gay. A player. Or else, trying really hard to please.

  She grinned, sipped her water, and looked over the menu. She decided on the lobster salad. Jack ordered sea bass.

  The food was delicious, and as they ate, they talked a little bit about his work, a little bit about hers, but not enough to bore one another. They discussed their favorite movies, the foods they liked, the restaurants they frequented. Marcella couldn’t resist name-dropping her grandfather’s place on Federal Hill.

  “Smithy’s?” Jack asked. “Smithy’s is your grandfather’s restaurant?”

  “Named for the blacksmith’s shop that operated in the same building during the nineteenth century.”

  “Yes, I know. I go there often. If your grandfather owns the place, then you must know the pretty redheaded hostess.”

  Marcella was already nodding. “That’s my mom.”

  “Teresa is your mom? No kidding. Now I know where you get your looks. Say, know what I love best about Smithy’s? The meatballs. Those suckers are big.” He kissed his fingers. “Benissimo!”

  It made her laugh. “My grandfather rolls them himself, every day. He taught me everything I know about cooking.” Marcella lay her fork down with a sigh. “You’re making me feel homesick.”