I Only Want To Be With You

by Lisa Norato

  Marcella’s family were all back in Providence. Her grandfather, mother, and not-so-little brother, Rocco. Rocco was the only family member who’d never actually worked in the restaurant, but he lived in the apartment above and ate dinner there almost every night.

  Being with Jack was a totally different experience than being with William, Marcella realized. With Jack, everything was familiar, and in the midst of all her insecurity lately, that felt comforting.

  “Do you get back to visit often?” Jack asked.

  Something in his tone, the warmth in his eyes, warned Marcella to prepare herself. He was going to mention seeing each other again. And why not? They were having a great time. If there wasn’t so much else going on in her life — that is, her feelings for William — Marcella might enjoy a second date. But although Jack was sweet, he was no substitute for the Honorable William. Hers was more than a cosmic attraction. William was a cut above. In charm, in character, in trustworthiness. How could she ever move past him? What she needed was to get serious about working something out with William, once and for all. They couldn’t continue in this limbo state.

  But getting back to Jack’s question, she said, “I don’t visit Providence as often as I’d like, no.”

  “Well, it’s not all that far away. Consider a trip home some weekend.” Jack leaned a forearm on the table and strained closer. “I’d really like to get together with you again, Marcella. Can I call you sometime?”

  Marcella wrung her hands in her lap as she considered her answer. “I really enjoyed meeting you, Jack. This was fun but, you see, there’s this certain guy I really care for, and I’m hoping what we have will lead to a serious relationship. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh.” His brow wrinkled in disappointment. “No, don’t apologize. I’m not surprised there’s someone else. But if things change, or if you’re ever in Rhode Island and need a friend, or just a familiar face across the table, I hope you’ll think about giving me a call.” He reached into the vest pocket of his suit jacket and offered her his business card.

  Marcella slipped the card into her purse. Accepting it was the only polite thing to do.

  The waiter arrived to clear away their plates. “Well, since we may never see each other again,” Jack said, “at least we should part over dessert. Let me guess? Chocolate souffle?”

  Had Ryan tipped him off about her passion for chocolate? Still… .“Oh-no, I couldn’t, really. Thank you, but I need to get back to work.”

  “Tell you what? I’m going to take the initiative here and order us a couple of souffles anyway.” He glanced up at the waiter who acknowledged him with a nod. “And two coffees, please.” Jack watched as he departed, then turned back to Marcella. “Go if you must,” he told her, “but later this afternoon, when your stomach starts to rumble and that midday slump has you tempted to buy a candy bar from the vending machine, you’ll be wishing you stayed a few more minutes.”

  Marcella laughed. She couldn’t help but wonder, what would it hurt? Jack had been the perfect lunch partner. He seemed a really nice guy. He’d been kind. He wasn’t putting any pressure on her. And hadn’t Sallie taught her the value of living in the moment? Well, for the moment, chocolate souffle was available when William wasn’t.

  Marcella rolled her eyes. “Okay-okay. You argue a good case, Counselor. I’ll stay.”

  “Thank you,” Jack whispered. His shoulders seemed to slump in relief with his smile.

  The souffle was everything Marcella imagined. And even once she felt totally stuffed, she continued to layer spoonful after spoonful of the rich chocolate into her mouth. She stopped to sip her coffee, and when she lowered the cup, Jack reached across the table to cover her hand.

  Marcella grinned, slightly alarmed, not quite sure how to react, when Jack said, “Before you leave, Marcella, do you think you might let me smell your feet?”

  She felt like she’d been hit with a brick. Everything sort of went dark and still inside her head. She was so weirded out, she couldn’t remember how to speak. Then survival instincts kicked in, and Marcella jerked her hand from beneath his. “You’re kidding, right?”

  Jack’s earnest expression never wavered. “I like women’s feet,” he said simply. “The delicate bone structure, their smooth sleekness. Put them in a pair of beautiful shoes and… .” He lifted the tablecloth for a glimpse at her houndstooth slingbacks, then straightened and burned a seductive gaze into her eyes. “Your feet have been turning me on since you walked up to our table.” He practically salivated.

  A jolt of fear hit her. Marcella lowered her eyes and announced, “I think I’d better leave now.” She reached for her purse and rose.

  Jack jumped up to head her off. “Please, just one little sniff?”

  Marcella turned on her heel and hurried off, as fast as her pencil skirt would allow. Jack called out her name. Her skin crawled at the sound of his voice. She bumped into an empty seat and stumbled, tripping out of a shoe. Then, suddenly, he was there, beside her, helping her regain her balance. Marcella pulled away, and Jack bent down to retrieve the shoe. He lifted it carefully in both hands as though he held Cinderella’s glass slipper.

  Marcella watched in disbelief as he brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply. A look of bliss washed over his face and then … oh-no … yuck! He stuck his tongue into the peep-toe and French-kissed her shoe.

  That freak was sexually molesting her shoe! It was more than she could bear. She wrenched it away, resisting the urge to take out an eye with the heel, and hobbled out the restaurant as fast as she could without a backwards glance.

  Out on the Madison Avenue sidewalk, she scrambled to the curb, screaming, “Emergency!” as she practically hurled herself into a taxi that had been hailed by a young couple. Inside the cab, she struggled to catch her breath before directing the driver to West 57th.

  She limped into her office building, nodded to the security guard, and hurried up the elevators to Gracious Living, trying to ignore the stares of those who were probably wondering why she wore only one shoe, while holding the other as far away from her as possible, as if it were contaminated.

  Finally, Marcella reached the safe haven of her office. She was almost tempted to sneak a whiff of the shoe Jack had licked. Did her feet smell? Had that freak Jack been attracted to her smelly feet when all the while she thought he’d been charmed by her looks and personality? The memory repulsed her. She wanted to hurl. Instead, she dropped the shoe into a waste basket, then kicked off its mate to the corner of the room.

  She took a seat behind her desk, opened her purse, and ripped Jack Linney’s business card to shreds. She felt violated, disgusted with all men and dating in general.

  Well, not all men. There was this one guy. The catch of a lifetime. A prince of a guy, and yet they weren’t together. But she loved him. L.O.V.E. loved him. How desperately she wanted to be with him now, but he lived an ocean away and unfortunately that would require a long swim.

  Chapter 14

  Smack in the middle of Marcella’s pity party, Lauren from Reception buzzed. “Marcella, there’s someone here to see you.”

  “Unless they have an appointment, which I seriously doubt, I don’t want to see anyone.”

  She had to pull herself together. Psyche herself up and refocus her energy into the magazine and the million and one things yet to be done. Come morning, Catherine, Beth Anne, and the entire executive board would be meeting to discuss the Senior Decorating and Entertainment Editor position. As Acting Senior Editor — and a successful one at that, if she did say so herself — Marcella expected this meeting was just a formality. The board was going to offer her the position. She knew it.

  She owned that job.

  Although, lately life seemed to be chipping away at her confidence. Especially after this afternoon’s fiasco, Marcella felt there was so much bad karma surrounding her, she couldn’t be certain of anything anymore.

  “He doesn’t have an appointment,” came Lauren’s voice through the speakerpho
ne. “But I think it might be important.”

  Lauren’s voice lowered to a whisper. “He’s a priest.”

  Priest? Marcella’s hopes soared. But Lauren had spoken so softly, she wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly and moved closer to the receiver. “Did he give a name?”

  “The Reverend William Stafford.”

  “I’ll be right there. Tell him I’ll be right there.”

  William. William was here. How was that possible? Suddenly, her heart felt light enough to float.

  Adrenalin shot through her body and Marcella jumped from her seat only to realize her feet were bare.

  Her shoes. She had nothing to wear.

  Anger flared inside her. No way could she greet William like this. There by the door, hooked over the rim of her wastebasket, where it hung from its three-inch heel, was her houndstooth slingback. God only knew what germs the sole of her foot had come in contact with on the City’s sidewalks. She’d take her chances. But under no circumstance would she ever again wear that saliva-contaminated shoe.

  She calmed herself with a deep breath, then in a moment of inspiration picked up the phone and called Holly in Fashion.

  She was desperate, she told Holly. Shoe emergency. No time for details. Did the Fashion Department have anything in a size nine, preferably brown? Holly promised to come through with something pronto. After all, what woman couldn’t sympathize at being stuck without the appropriate shoe? Reassured, Marcella pulled a mirror from her side desk drawer to freshen her makeup while she waited.

  Moments later, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed from down the hall and she rose, expecting Holly.

  Ryan Patterson, buddy to the smelly foot man and the last person Marcella wanted to see, popped his head in her door, holding a pair of snakeskin and green suede Mary Janes with a stiletto heel.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded with all the nastiness the sight of him inspired, while the fashion conscious part of her brain silently shrieked, Snakeskin?#@!

  “Uh, hi. I was hanging out in Fashion, talking to Holly when you called.” He gestured with the shoes and smiled apologetically. “Nothing in brown.”

  “Do you ever spend any time actually working?”

  Ryan didn’t react to that, but simply strode inside to place the shoes on her desk. “Look, Tart, you have every reason to be angry. I heard what happened, and I want you to know I feel terrible.”

  “What? What did you hear? Did your friend tell you he sexually molested my shoe?”

  Ryan looked like he was going to be sick. “Look, Jack’s really sorry about that. I mean, I figured he was attracted to women’s feet because he used to paint his ex-girlfriend’s toenails. But I never thought—”

  “You knew and yet you begged me to meet him anyway?” Marcella pointed an accusing finger. “You! You owe me a pair of shoes. And not just any designer. Rafe New York.”

  “Whatever.” Ryan raised his hands in defeat. “I’ll pay for the shoes.”

  “First chance I get, I’ve got to call my brother Rocco and tell him to keep an eye out for Jack at the restaurant. Do you know, that freak has been eyeing my mother?”

  “Jack is harmless, Marcella. I swear to you.”

  “Harmless, huh? Tell that to my shoes.”

  She snatched up the Mary Janes, then sat down to strap them on, her thoughts turning to William. William was a breast man, but he’d never asked if he could pop one in his mouth as an after-dinner mint.

  Her eyes narrowed at Ryan. “You are never to mention this to anyone. Understand? Not even Holly. I hope no one saw me at Le Cirque. If this gets out, I swear, I’m calling my Italian uncles.”

  “Whoa, don’t bring in the uncles. I won’t say a word, I promise.”

  She deepened the threat with a glare, because truth was, Marcella had no Italian uncles. “You’ll have to excuse me now,” she said. “I’m expecting someone.”

  “Okay, fine.” Ryan backed out of her office. “We’re cool then, right? Oh, and Holly says she needs the shoes back for a fashion shoot tomorrow.”

  He left and Marcella stood in the Mary Janes. If not for the snakeskin, which totally clashed with her tweed jacket, the green suede might have worked. She turned, suddenly sensing a presence, and found Lynne Graham in the doorway, looking fabulous in a purple mandarin collar pants suit.

  For a moment, surprise knocked the breath from her body. “Lynne, hi. Good to see you.”

  Lynne Graham was second only to Ryan on the list of people Marcella didn’t wish to see. But she forced a smile and walked awkwardly around her desk in the uncomfortable Mary Janes as Lynne strode inside. They grasped hands and exchanged a quick peck on the cheek.

  “What brings you to New York?” Marcella asked as they stepped apart. “Have you come with William?”

  “No. William came with me, actually.”

  Marcella stared back, confused, to which Lynne said, “I’ll let him explain. You were taking so long, I decided to escort him in myself. We ran into M’Liss and Bree, who absolutely insisted he visit the test kitchen. He’s with them now. Too polite to refuse. Besides, seems he’s something of a celebrity with the female chefs. I don’t recall ever mentioning my nephew to the kitchen staff. How did they know who he was, d’you s’pose?”

  Marcella’s memory flashed back three months earlier to the day Sallie delivered Lynne’s wedding photos. Enlargements of William were passed around and ogled. Marcella decided to keep the memory to herself.

  Lynne’s gaze meanwhile busily roamed the office. She paused at the slingback in the wastebasket, briefly fixed upon a second discarded shoe in the corner, then glanced down at Marcella’s reptile and green suede shod feet.

  Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “Seems I’ve caught you in a bit of a shoe crisis. I rather fancy the pair in the bin. But then, these hellish style preferences are why you don’t work in the Fashion Department, I s’pose.”

  “These shoes are not my fault.” Chalk it up to a rotten afternoon or the fact Lynne’s sarcasm hadn’t taken a break since the wedding, but something inside Marcella snapped. No longer could she hold her tongue and pretend the jibes didn’t sting.

  “What’s going on, Lynne? What’s the deal with all the shots you’ve taken at me since the wedding? You’re obviously upset over something, but for the life of me, I don’t know what. Have I done something to offend you?”

  Lynne’s eyes sparked angrily. Then slowly, her glare softened and she folded her arms with a sigh. Marcella thought she caught the glimpse of a smile.

  “Well, if you must know, the fact is, I quite admire you, Marcella. I’ve come to give the board my recommendation for promoting you to Senior Editor. But that’s hardly enough for you now, is it? You want my nephew, too. Well, you’ll soon realize, if you haven’t already, you can’t have both.”

  “You made me feel I wasn’t good enough for him.”

  “It’s nothing personal, dear.”

  “Nothing personal? C’mon, Lynne. It’s totally personal. We care for each other.”

  “You must understand, Marcella, I don’t want William falling in love with you, when it’s a career in New York you really want. He’s been passed over for a career once before, and I won’t stand by and watch him get hurt again.”

  “Lynne, the last thing I want is to see William hurt.”

  “You say that now, but the truth is, he is going to get hurt, isn’t he? Congratulations, Marcella. Tomorrow morning the board is going to offer you my old job, and when it comes down to making a choice, it’s senior editor of a major New York magazine you want, isn’t it?”

  Senior Editor. I’m going to be Senior Editor. Excitement surged through Marcella’s core, happiness beyond belief.

  “Oh, don’t bother to say anything,” Lynne continued. “I know the answer. From the day you arrived, I knew you were after my position. But you’re bright and professional, and I accepted ours as a healthy, competitive, working relationship. Well, take some advice from me, you’ve n
o idea the pressure. Oh, it’ll be fantastic for a while. You’ll feel on top of the world, relaxing and enjoying your success. Then, one day, perhaps sooner than you realize, someone younger, thinner, beautiful and talented, will arrive. She’ll be the magazine’s new little darling, on her way to the top. She’ll always be about, so bloody helpful, wanting to learn, willing to do anything for the experience. What she’s really after is your title, and she’ll make life hell in the knowledge that all you have to make is one little cock-up and you could be replaced.”

  Lynne’s confession blew her away, and for a moment, Marcella didn’t quite know how to react. “You’re saying I was that ‘new little darling’?”

  Lynne nodded.

  “I’m sorry, I had no idea you felt this way. I’ve always thought of you as the most secure woman I’ve ever known. Sure I want to be Senior Editor. Doesn’t anyone who pursues a career with a magazine? But really, Lynne, this is absurd. I was never a threat to you. I mean, how could I be? You’re one of the most admired editors in the business. I never had a hope of replacing you until the day you resigned.”

  Lynne seated herself on the edge of Marcella’s desk, and for the first time in the four years she’d known her, Marcella saw Lynne’s shoulders sag.

  “It’s a relief to be free of the pressure. I don’t regret a thing. I adore Henry, but I do s’pose, there is a part of me that’s as green as your shoes over your youth and success.”

  Marcella had the urge to wrap an arm around Lynne and give her a hug, which Lynne must’ve sensed, because she immediately rose from the desk and stepped away.

  “I’m still quite cross at you for toying with my nephew.”

  “I am not toy—”

  “And before you let flattery go to your head, you should know I’ve other business here at the magazine. At this point, I don’t see the harm in telling you. Although, it has been kept rather hush-hush. Gracious Living has created a new London-based position, which they’ve offered me. They’re prepared to arrange for me to work from home, if that’s what I desire.”