“Maria?” he said, drawing back in shock. “What do you know about Maria?”
“Maybe you’ll marry her someday?”
His face fell into sadness. “She doesn’t love me, Dina. She told me so.”
Dina smiled warmly. “Neither do I, Fabio. I don’t love you either.”
She reached into her purse, drew out an envelope and handed it to him. “That should take care of the tour and dinner and everything else. Thanks for the fun, Fabio. I had a great time.”
Fabio’s face fell. “Bella, Dina. I will miss you.”
She kissed him on his cheek. “And I’ll miss you, Fabio, and I’ll miss Rome. What a lovely place. What a great and beautiful city. Ciao.”
CHAPTER 14
The Alitalia Boeing 777-200 touched down at Kennedy International Airport at 2:34pm, on Tuesday, December the 20th. In her “Magnifica” First Class seat, Dina had slept soundly for 5 of the almost 10-hour fight from Rome. When the melodious voice of the flight attendant leaned over and quietly announced the final approach, Dina awakened with a start, glancing out the window, feeling the now familiar butterflies in her stomach. She’d felt them as she’d flown into Paris, and she’d felt them as she’d landed in Rome—a tickling flutter—a combination of fear and excitement. Another adventure was about to unfold.
Once again, she was about to be stylishly tossed into an unknown adventure, into a thriving, diverse and bustling international city that had been captured in movies, in art and in famous photos. She was about to experience it all in first class luxury.
Her head was already packed with feelings, impressions and memories of Paris and Rome—of ancient structures, of enchanted nights, of famous masterworks, of colorful people and their fascinating cultures. It had been a whirlwind of activity and experience, and, even in such a short time, she felt broadened and matured by it. Dina recalled a quote from college, although she couldn’t recall who had said it. The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page. She’d have to Google the author later.
As the plane taxied to the jetway, Dina took some deep breaths to calm her nerves. When she switched on her phone, she saw texts from Patti, Veronique and Paul. Yes, she was eager to see Paul again.
She tapped the message from Veronique first.
Hello, chérie …My father is much better. Thank God he is recovering from the stroke much faster than we had anticipated. I’ll stay here a while longer. So sorry I can’t meet you in New York. It would have been such fun to explore it all together. Have a wonderful time, Dina!
Dina was relieved that Veronique had finally contacted her, and that her father had improved.
Dina paused before she tapped Paul’s waiting text. Her throat tightened. She swallowed. She was anxious to see him again—to hear his deep voice and feel that lighter-than-air lift of mood she experienced when she was with him; that mysterious awakening of easy desire.
On her cell phone, she thumbed through her photos until she came to one taken in Paris, near the Eiffel Tower. A woman passing had taken it: Dina and Paul were shoulder to shoulder, she with a bright smile, he tentative, the ever careful, cautious man. But his penetrating eyes were actively watchful, looking directly into the camera. As Dina studied the photo, she again sensed secrets in those eyes.
As the plane docked at the airway tunnel, Dina glanced down at Paul’s waiting text with a reminiscent smile. The roses he’d given her had blossomed and filled her room with vibrant color and scent. When she’d offered them to her middle-aged Italian maid, the woman’s face had lit up.
“No one give me roses in so long time,” she’d said, smiling, showing a gold front tooth. “My husband dead for years. My son in Australia.”
Dina had taken one red rose and tucked it away in a T-shirt, planning to press it in a book when she returned home. Once again, she recalled Paris, and the little girl who had wrapped her pudgy arms around Paul’s long legs, gazing up at him with such innocent trust. Of all the men in the area, why had that little girl chosen Paul? Dina had seen a tender sadness in Paul’s eyes as he smiled down at little Ruby. He’d been so gentle and patient with the little girl, and very kind to her mother.
And then she remembered later that same night, as they’d stood on the Eiffel Tower, gazing out at the twinkling Paris lights. Paul had said, “I’ve been to Paris many times, Dina, but I’ve never enjoyed myself as much as I am tonight.”
Dina tapped Paul’s message.
Welcome to New York, Dina! If you’re not too jet-lagged, I’d love to take you to dinner and to the Rockettes’ Christmas show. I’ve never been, but hear it’s fun. What do you think?
It didn’t take long for Dina to respond.
Dina left customs, towing her suitcase and searching for her name in the line of drivers in dark suits, holding up e-Tablets and signs with names on them. This time, she saw hers—DINA LEE.
The stocky driver took her suitcase with a smile and ushered her along the terminal, through the glass doors, outside. When he drew up to a glossy black stretch limousine, Dina stopped short, stunned.
“That’s mine?” she asked, stupidly.
“Yes, ma’am,” the driver said, holding the passenger door open for her.
Inside the plush black leather interior were tinted windows, a neon lighted bar, fiber optic lighting, a stereo and a television. The limo would easily seat 8 people, she thought. Feeling like a teenager, she grabbed her phone, took photos and Selfies and shot them off to friends, including Patti, Veronique and Paul.
As the limo weaved and glided along in sleek elegance through busy traffic, Dina sat gazing out, enthralled, as the famous New York skyline came into view: The Empire State building, the Chrysler Building, One World Trade Center, which she’d read was the tallest building in the Western Hemisphere. Her pulse quickened as she took it all in. Sunlight streamed down from hazy gray clouds, and the distant rising city towers were bright with glass and steel, in a vague and shifting radiance, like something from a scintillating dream.
They traveled down Fifth Avenue, along Central Park, until they came to the 5-Star Pierre Hotel, a place Dina could have never imagined or described.
The driver opened the door and Dina stepped out into a chilly wind and overcast day. She gazed up at the hotel, a 44-storey neo-Renaissance tower, set back from Fifth Avenue and topped with an octagonal copper roof, and she felt as though she were a princess about to step into a palace.
She entered the Pierre Hotel’s Fifth Avenue entrance under a white and gold canopy ceiling, drew up to the lobby desk, and registered, her awestruck eyes straying often to take in the graceful, lavish surroundings.
Her room was breathtaking, with sumptuous silk and brocade fabrics in corals, blues, and greens. The king-sized bed had down pillows and a cozy, creamy comforter that seemed to beckon to her to drop in for a blissful nap.
In a kind of trance, Dina stepped into the bathroom, outfitted in Turkish marble, stocked with large, fluffy white bath towels, an enormous showerhead, crystal drinking glasses, and brand name toiletries. She stood, arms crossed, nodding her head, completely spellbound. “Yep, I could get used to this. No problem.”
It was after a delicious 30-minute nap that her eyes popped open, just as a Paris dream faded, and an old thought struck like a gong. Who was the person who had given her this trip? While in romantic Paris and magical Rome, she’d mentally shoved curiosity aside, not caring or bothering to speculate. All her senses had been occupied—her entire being dazzled and caressed by stimulating views and experiences.
Now, in New York, time was running out. She’d soon be back home, fully engaged in her old, ordinary life. All the experiences of this fairytale life would quickly fade into foggy memory.
Dina had often considered the possibility that her benefactor might come forward when the trip ended, but could she really count on that? She rolled onto her back, tugged the comforter up to her chin, and stared up at the ceiling, allowing her mind to reconstruct her first meeting
with Clark Timmons. Unlike Veronique, she was sure Mr. Timmons knew who had sent her off to Europe in First Class style. But he was her only clue. In her heart of hearts, Dina believed that whoever this generous person was, he or she must have known her father. That’s the only thing that made any sense.
Anthony Thomas Lee, her father, had been respected and well-liked by everyone. At her parents’ funeral, she’d met people of all types and ages who had known her father and who’d spoken highly of him. Many of them Dina had never met. Her mother had been a quiet and private woman, who also had good friends, but not nearly as many as her father.
An idea struck Dina, and she sat up, grabbed a soft down pillow and propped her back against the headboard. What about Paul? Maybe she could discuss her mystery benefactor with Paul over dinner. He was a smart guy. He might have some ideas about how she could identify and locate the person.
She glanced at the clock and gasped. It was going on 6 o’clock. She threw back the comforter and shot out of bed. Paul would be in the lobby at 6:30!
As she showered, Dina hummed Frosty the Snowman, her thoughts circling around Paul and their upcoming date. She was finally in New York, near Central Park and the famous Plaza Hotel, staying on Fifth Avenue. She was also going to see the Rockettes. It had been a dream ever since she was a little girl to see the Rockettes live. She often mimicked their celebrated signature kicks in front of the TV during the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.
Dina shut off the shower spray, reached for the thick, fluffy towel and blotted her face.
She sang the last few lines of Frosty the Snowman, recalling her solo in the junior high school Christmas show. Her father had said she’d sounded like Olivia Newton John, his favorite singer. As she sang now, she thought of her parents at that Christmas show, and how they had beamed when they’d met her back stage afterwards.
Frosty the snow man
Had to hurry on his way
But he waved goodbye saying
Don’t you cry
I'll be back again someday.
CHAPTER 15
They seemed like strangers again, standing in the glittering splendor of the Pierre Hotel lobby. Paul stood stiffly, the beginning of a smile failing to materialize, although his eyes held warmth. He was regally handsome, wearing a shearling collar Chesterfield coat, dark suit, white shirt and blue tie. His hair was parted on the right instead of the left, the left being the way he’d worn it the last time she’d seen him in Rome. She wondered why he was always changing his hairstyle. What did that say about him? Was he vain, insecure? Did he have two or three different barbers? She wondered if Paul was, finally, all stone and steel, and not capable of fully letting go and revealing his true self. Just like in France and Rome, he seemed remote, aloof and unemotional at first. It took time for him to sort of thaw out.
At that moment, Paul’s heart was thumping. Dina attracted him against his strength of will—against his better judgement. But he’d stopped caring about that, hadn’t he? Dina simply bewitched him and he wasn’t going to let go of her. And as she smiled at him—that lovely, uplifting smile of hers—he just wanted to be with her.
Okay, then what was he going to do now that he’d put himself in this box? He’d have to tell her the truth—she deserved it. But when? And how? And how would she take it? He didn’t know. He didn’t know now, any more than he’d known back in Paris or Rome.
Dina was wearing a short, black, elegant, slim fitting dress with a crew neck, perforated details, and bell sleeve ends. She inhaled a steadying breath as she gave Paul an up-glance. He stood straight as an arrow, his eyes lighting up with approval.
“Nice dress,” he said.
“Thank you,” Dina said, with a slight curtsy. “I bought it in Rome.”
He searched her eyes. She searched his.
“There’s a little slit in the side here,” she said turning to demonstrate. “I’ll be able to kick along with the Rockettes.”
His smile started small, then broadened. He actually laughed, and Dina was pleased to see it. He was even more handsome when he smiled.
“It’s cold out there,” he said. “Let me help you with your coat.”
Then they linked arms and left the hotel for Paul’s waiting Lincoln Towne Car.
The front of the restaurant was sheathed in dark tinted glass, with tiny red blinking lights that spelled out FOCUS. A brawny, Irish-looking doorman opened the solid oak door and Paul escorted Dina inside.
“The place is trendy, but I thought you might like it. If not, we can go somewhere else,” Paul said.
The restaurant was all black leather, chrome and polished brass. It was full and loud. Music with a driving beat was competing with conversation. Cocktail waitresses dressed in shiny black pants and sexy, black, low-cut blouses sliced through the bar crowd with poise and precision, their trays of drinks balanced and held aloft.
In the restaurant, waiters in white aprons hovered near their assigned tables, pausing and bending, taking orders and pointing at items on the menu as they described them.
The hostess glanced up from the podium as Dina and Paul approached.
“A reservation for two under Paul Smith.”
She lowered her eyes on the computer, nodded and smiled. She was tall, with a tightly kinked African hairstyle, through which she had bleached several startling shades of orange and red streaks. Dina thought the woman looked striking.
They were seated at a table covered by a white table cloth, and a center candle that flickered a blue flame. A thin waitress drifted over. She had pouty red lips and short, glossy, blue-black hair. She worked in ritual boredom and forced courtesy, as she took the drink order. When she cocked a small ear, with its little silver earring dangling toward the table, Dina ordered a glass of Sancerre, and Paul a bourbon on the rocks.
“It’s not quite so noisy over here,” Paul said. “This is the new in place. You have to make a reservation two weeks ahead.”
Dina lifted an eyebrow. “Really? How did we get in?”
He glanced about. “I know somebody…” And then quickly, before she could ask, he said, “So what do you think about New York so far?”
“I haven’t seen that much, but I love the energy and diversity, and I love what I’ve seen of Fifth Avenue. If we have time, I’d like to see the Rockefeller Christmas tree and ice-skating rink.”
“We’ll walk over after the show tonight, if you’re not too tired.”
“I’d love to. I’ve also planned to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Macy’s, and Greenwich Village, and to take a carriage ride through Central Park,” Dina said, largely.
Paul picked at the corner of the table cloth. “Are you meeting anyone?”
Dina fixed her eyes on him. “No, I don’t know anyone here…except you.”
Paul seized on her words. “Then would you mind if I tagged along?”
“Of course not, but tomorrow’s Wednesday. Don’t you have to work?”
He shrugged. “I’m the boss. I’ll take the day off. I haven’t played tour guide since…”
She interrupted. “…And is the cyber crises over—the one you had to leave Rome to take care of?”
“Yes, it is, at least for now. There are a lot of them these days.”
Their drinks arrived and the waitress paused, while Dina quickly studied the menu, finally deciding on the grilled octopus and the pistachio crusted halibut. Paul ordered oysters and the sea bass.
After the waitress drifted away, Dina sipped her wine thoughtfully, trying to decide on the best approach to ask Paul her next question.
“Paul, I’d like to ask your advice about something.”
“Sure, anything.”
Rockin’ around the Christmas Tree was playing in the background and the bar erupted into laughter over somebody’s joke. Dina waited for the laughter to settle.
“Do you remember our conversation in Rome, when I asked how you thought a waitress from a small town in Colorado could afford such an extravagant vac
ation?”
“Oh yes, of course,” Paul said, lifting his glass, lowering his head to drink. Here we go again, he thought.
“We ran through several possible reasons, remember? The lottery, a rich relative…”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Well somebody—somebody I don’t know— and just out of the blue—gave it to me: a 10-day first class vacation to Paris, Rome and New York.”
Paul twirled his glass, listening to the ice clink against the side. “That’s a nice gift.”
“Yes, but who do you think would do such a thing? I’ve been trying to come up with some reason or some connection—some reasonable explanation that would give me a hint of who it could possibly be.”
“Well, does it really matter, Dina? I mean, it’s surely a relative or a good friend of the family.”
“I thought of that,” Dina said, looking at him over the top of her wine. “The only thing that makes sense to me is that it must be one of my father’s friends.”
Paul straightened. He didn’t want to go there. “Okay…”
“Okay, what?”
“I don’t know, Dina.”
He didn’t want to dig himself deeper into the hole he was already in. When her vacation was over, could he let Dina walk away and never see her again? That had been his original plan, of course. But now, could he do that? No, of course not. But if he told her the truth now, would she leave him? Would she cut her vacation short and fly back home, not having experienced Christmas in New York? Wouldn’t that be a selfish thing to do? Selfish on top of selfish? No, once again, this wasn’t the right time to tell her. For now, he must try and deflect the conversation until he could come up with a plan, a time and place to tell her so that she’d understand why he’d done what he’d done.
He blurted out, “We could go ice-skating too, since we never got the chance in Paris. There’s Rockefeller Center, Bryant Park and Wollman Rink. How does that sound?”
Dina stared at him. He saw emotion flicker across her face.
“What’s the matter, Dina?”
The Date Before Christmas: A Novel Page 14