Take A Look At Me Now

by Miranda Dickinson

  Driving down the famous steep section of Lombard Street with its eight hairpin bends was definitely an experience – even if it was done very slowly, due to the large number of cars, taxis and sightseeing tour buses that were making a snail-like procession down its stomach-flipping curves. From there, Frankie drove us to Steiner Street and Lizzie and I stood outside the pale yellow house I had seen countless times in the film since I was a kid. Like so many places in this city, it felt surreal to be standing somewhere I had never been before, but which felt so familiar.

  ‘OK. Last clue,’ Lizzie said, handing me the final envelope.

  Meet at the dark table of friendly undead

  to commemorate years past and years ahead.

  I didn’t even have to think about that one. Laughing, we got back into the cab and I leaned forward to tap Frankie’s shoulder.

  ‘Take us to Java’s Crypt, please!’

  In the darkened interior of our local coffee house – sitting in the aptly named Zombie Booth – were several of my new friends and a huge, three-layer birthday cake decorated with pink and white icing (looking a little out of place against its dark surroundings). Tyler rested his arm around Lizzie’s shoulders while Rosita from EarthSong presented me with a small tea caddy like the one I had often admired in her shop.

  ‘I filled it with a selection of the teas you liked,’ she said. ‘I hope you enjoy them.’

  ‘I will, thank you so much!’

  ‘Oh and when you’ve opened your presents I have a little more gossip on the chalk artist. My friend Ricardo thinks it could be his uncle. We have much to talk about, chica.’

  ‘I can’t stay long, but I made you this,’ Laverne said, handing me a gorgeous patchwork bag, embellished with beads and embroidered flowers.

  ‘It’s lovely, Laverne. I can’t believe you made this. Thank you.’

  ‘My darling Nell,’ Eric grinned, reaching behind my ear to produce a small package beautifully wrapped in tissue paper and ribbon. ‘A small gift to inspire certain people to get their act together.’ He winked at Lizzie and I groaned. There was no point keeping anything about Max and I a secret when my cousin was happily informing her friends of every detail. When I opened the box I found a beautiful necklace with a pair of silver lips and two heart charms. Laughing, I hugged him and waggled a warning finger at my cousin.

  Ced’s wife Autumn gave me a parcel wrapped in black tissue with silver stars. ‘Ced assures me this was the right thing to get you,’ she smiled, her red curls dancing about her pale powdered face as she kissed my cheek. Inside I found one of the skull and rose t-shirts from 4:13 Dream and laughed as I held it up against my chest.

  ‘You see?’ Ced said. ‘I told you you’d rock it.’

  ‘I love it,’ I replied, completely overwhelmed by everybody’s generosity.

  Ced handed out cranberry and champagne cocktails and the party toasted my good health amid laughter and cheers. As I relaxed in the middle of the convivial conversation, I felt completely at home. So much about my life now was different from what I’d imagined it to be, but thinking about my diner dream – and the burgeoning friendship with a certain handsome art director – I sensed the best was yet to come.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Take me out

  ‘Hey Nell! Can you serve table eleven?’ Annie yelled over the noise of the diner as I finished refilling the coffee filters.

  ‘On my way,’ I called back, grabbing a new order pad from the counter and winding through the packed seating area towards the row of tables nearest the window looking out onto Haight Street. As I neared the table, my heart performed a perfect somersault.

  ‘Morning, beautiful,’ Max grinned, his eyes twinkling from beneath a dark blue Kangol cap. ‘Sorry for the conspiracy to get you over here but I wanted to ask you a question.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?’

  A little embarrassed, I shuffled my feet on the tiled diner floor. ‘I didn’t think to. After all, we’ve only just met.’

  ‘Hey, I’m not offended. Laverne mentioned it yesterday and I felt bad I’d missed it. So I’d like to make amends. What are you doing this afternoon?’

  ‘Nothing. But don’t you have to be at work?’

  ‘I work with artists, which means all time is relative.’ He smiled at my puzzled frown. ‘We operate evening sessions on Tuesdays and Thursdays and I don’t work afternoons on those days. So, what do you say? Let me take you on a belated birthday date.’

  If Max Rossi was trying to endear himself to me, it was working. ‘Yes, OK. I’d love that.’

  Trying to eat slippery Fettuccine Alfredo while remaining attractive and elegant was something I quickly discovered was impossible. Thankfully, Max was learning this too – and as our eyes met across the table in the small trattoria in North Beach the sight of our struggles was too funny for words. His laugh was deep and infectious and the couple at the next table joined in, not really knowing why they were laughing, which made our mirth double.

  ‘OK, so lesson learned: don’t take your date for pasta if you want to look cool,’ he noted. ‘Should have remembered that one.’

  ‘At least it wasn’t spaghetti and meatballs,’ I offered. ‘Otherwise I might have worried you were going to push a meatball towards me with your nose, like in Lady and the Tramp!’

  ‘I’d have given it a damn good try.’

  ‘Aw, Max. I’m touched.’

  ‘You’re welcome. So how am I doing?’

  I looked at him, not really sure what he was asking. ‘Sorry?’

  His smile was warm and welcoming. ‘Today. Last week at Ced’s place and the Golden Gate … Are you enjoying our dates?’

  I blushed. ‘Yes, very much.’

  ‘Good. I had to check.’ He leaned towards me, reaching across the table to take my hand. ‘I think you’re wonderful, Nell.’ His thumb moved in slow circles across the back of my hand, sending electrically charged shivers travelling across my skin. ‘Forgive me if that’s forward.’

  My breath quickened as I gazed into the dove-grey depths of his eyes. ‘You’re not being forward. I like you, too.’

  He smiled again and I found myself wanting to be in his arms then and there. The urge was so strong that I had to look away, my half-empty wine glass a much safer option than maintaining eye contact.

  Our conversation moved easily to more general territory as dessert and then coffee arrived, the chemistry between us deepened somewhat by our mutual confession. When we were finished, Max paid the waiter and we emerged into the warm June afternoon. His hand found mine as he hailed a taxi.

  ‘Feel like a walk to work off lunch?’ he asked. ‘I know a great place but it’s a little steep to get there.’

  My stomach was complaining at the amount of food it had consumed, so a walk would be the perfect remedy. ‘Sounds great.’

  I recognised Telegraph Hill from my guidebooks as soon as we left the taxi, the notable white landmark of Coit Tower at its steep summit. We climbed up Filbert Street, the effort matching the exhilaration I felt walking beside Max. While the climb was steep and challenging, we rose quickly, the view of San Francisco below becoming more impressive the higher we climbed. At the base of Coit Tower we paused to catch our breath, looking out at the city, which was shrouded in a layer of fog making me feel as if we were standing above the clouds.

  Max rested his hands on his knees and looked across at me. ‘Ready to head up there?’ He nodded at the tower. ‘The view is worth the effort.’

  I gazed up at the tower, my heart still thudding hard. ‘We’ve come this far. Why not?’

  When we reached the viewing deck at the top the views over San Francisco were wonderful. The fog had begun to clear over the Bay and from our vantage point we could see tiny white yachts skimming over the shimmering water.

  ‘Beautiful, huh?’ I was aware of Max’s arm sliding gently around my waist as he joined me to look at the view. The closeness of the contact
was amazing and I settled back against the firmness of his warm body. It felt completely right – as if we had been designed to fit together. Comfortable in his half-embrace and confident in his feelings for me I turned my head and my lips found his. Our first kiss was as natural as breathing, deepening as his arm pulled my body closer to him. Feelings I’d held at bay broke free, drawing me into him. In that moment I was completely surrounded by Max Rossi, wanting to be lost there for a lifetime.

  When our kiss ended, Max laughed and buried his face in my neck. ‘I have been wanting that to happen since we met.’

  I felt as if I was floating on air, two hundred metres up above Telegraph Hill. ‘So have I.’

  From: nell.sullygirl@gmail.com

  To: vickster1981@me-mail.com

  Subject: Mission accomplished

  I kissed him. And it was WONDERFUL!

  N xxx

  From: vickster1981@me-mail.com

  To: nell.sullygirl@gmail.com

  Subject: Re: Mission accomplished

  GOOD GIRL!!!

  Now I need details! When, where, how good was it, how long did it last? My vicarious happiness depends on these answers.

  So proud of ya

  Vix xxxxxxxxxxxx

  From: nell.sullygirl@gmail.com

  To: vickster1981@me-mail.com

  Subject: Re: Re: Mission accomplished

  Where: At the top of Coit Tower looking out at gorgeous San Francisco. (Then again on the steps on the way down, outside the tower, going back down Filbert Street, waiting for a taxi, in the taxi and outside Lizzie’s apartment where we said goodbye … Yes, I’m a hussy and no, I don’t care )

  How long: The first kiss seemed to last forever and I didn’t want it to end.

  How good: I’ll leave that to your imagination!

  Big loves

  Nell xxx

  Lizzie was beside herself when I shared the events of my day.

  ‘Oh Nellie, that’s fabulous!’ she squealed. ‘He’s a lovely guy and completely into you! When are you seeing him again?’

  ‘Thursday,’ I said, the reality of the sudden surge forward in events still making me dizzy. ‘I can’t wait.’

  As it turned out, neither could Max. On Wednesday night I was watching a film with Lizzie when the door intercom buzzed. Lizzie answered and I was thrilled to hear Max’s voice.

  ‘Hey Lizzie, can you send Nell down to meet me?’

  Not even worrying about the fact that I was in my PJs, I hurried down the stairs to the street entrance and was in his arms kissing him before he could speak. It was all I had thought of all day and to be back there was the best feeling in the world. When we finally broke apart, Max laughed, his face flushed pink.

  ‘Now that’s what I call a welcome! Hello you.’

  ‘Hi. Want to come up?’

  ‘I can’t. I have to be somewhere. But I wanted to give you these.’ He handed me a posy of bright Ranunculus blooms, their tightly curled heads a confection of pink, yellow, orange, purple and red.

  ‘They’re beautiful, thank you.’

  ‘So are you. Yes, it’s cheesy but I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow to see you again.’

  ‘Then I’m glad you didn’t.’

  He kissed me again, groaning as he pulled away. ‘I got to go, I’m sorry. I’m meeting a prospective investor for the art collective. But I’ll see you tomorrow at Annie’s, OK?’

  Hugging my flowers, I watched him stroll away. Handsome, thoughtful, sexy and surprising – what else had Max Rossi got up his sleeve for me?

  I couldn’t hide my smile next day at Annie’s and nothing was able to remove it: not the relentless busyness that didn’t let up from the start of my shift till the end; not when the orange juicing machine stuck and I had to reach in and dig out the orange skin, getting my arm covered in sticky mess which took several minutes to wash off; and not even when an irate customer in the breakfast queue accused me of being ‘an arrogant English’ and was almost tackled in a fist-fight by Marty who came over all chivalrous and had to be held back by Annie.

  ‘What’s happened to you?’ Laverne asked as she passed me with a precariously balanced stack of plates.

  ‘Nothing. I’m just happy, that’s all.’

  ‘Bull. You finally got it on with Max, didn’t you?’

  I feigned shock. ‘Laverne!’ Seeing this didn’t wash with her, I laughed. ‘OK, things are good with us. I really like him.’

  Laverne whooped loudly, almost letting go of the crockery in her arms. ‘That is so cool! I could tell you guys were into each other but I’m so happy you’re doing something about it. Go girl!’

  ‘Did something happen with Max already?’ Mr Alfaro grinned up at me and I realised he and his wife were waiting at the table beside us and had heard it all.

  ‘Maybe,’ I replied, the diner suddenly stifling hot.

  ‘You see? I told you it would,’ he said to Mrs Alfaro.

  Esther Alfaro sucked air between her teeth. ‘Was that ever in doubt, Saul? We introduced them, remember? It was bound to work out.’

  ‘All the same, it’s a wonderful thing. Young love is a delicate flower.’

  ‘A delicate flower? Who made you a poet?’

  Saul winked at his wife. ‘It was ever thus. Don’t pretend my way with words wasn’t what won you over, Esther. I wooed you with my prose.’

  ‘Your words wooed my mother.’ Esther’s rolled eyes couldn’t detract from her smile. ‘I just happened to agree with her.’

  Mr Alfaro reached up and patted my hand. ‘You enjoy it, young lady. Maxim is a wonderful man. You will be happy with him.’

  Their interest was touching but it did feel a little like I was dating Max by committee. I was still getting used to the ease with which everyone at Annie’s assumed advisory roles in my love life. Back at home this was never the case, Vicky being the only person with whom I ever really discussed my relationship with Aidan. Of course they were happy for me, which meant a great deal, even if I wished they would be a little less public about it.

  When Max arrived early to meet me Annie greeted him warmly.

  ‘Mr Maxim Rossi! Good to see ya. How’s business today?’

  He took off his grey trilby and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Slow, to be frank. But I have the afternoon free to focus on this lovely lady.’

  ‘Well, isn’t that just sweet? Nell, you’re good to go.’

  I looked up at the chrome and neon clock above the counter, which read twelve forty-five p.m.

  ‘Are you sure? I still have fifteen minutes of my shift and we’re really busy.’

  Annie let out a great, gravelly guffaw as she virtually pushed us both out of the diner. ‘We’ll manage. You two have fun. Go, go!’

  Outside, Max pulled me to him for a long kiss. Then, smiling at one another, we began to walk down Haight Street.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I asked, taking his hand.

  ‘To my favourite place in San Francisco,’ he replied. ‘The Japanese Tea Garden in Golden Gate Park. I think you’ll love it.’

  We crossed the road at the end of Haight Street and walked alongside the carriageway around the periphery of Golden Gate Park. Tall trees formed a guard and we followed these through the wooded avenues of Martin Luther King Jr. Drive – offering glimpses of wide, open green spaces surrounded by trees dressed in all shades for autumn. We turned right into Hagiwara Tea Garden Drive, heading towards a golden pagoda at the beautiful entrance to the tea garden.

  ‘My grandma often brought me here,’ Max said, gazing up at the pagoda. ‘She used to bring a book and sit while I watched the carp in the lake, and then we’d have tea together at the Tea House.’

  I loved seeing the wistfulness in his eyes and tried to imagine Max Rossi as a child. He would have been adorable and probably a bit precocious, I decided, with a mass of dark hair and those big grey eyes that probably earned him a free pass out of trouble more often than not.

  Bringing myself back to the present, I smiled u
p at him. ‘It already looks amazing. I can’t wait to see it.’

  The garden was beautiful, each twist in the path revealing new colour and form. As we walked I noticed for the hundredth time that day how handsome Max was; how the sunlight caught the line of stubble around his jaw line and how his soft grey eyes seemed to sparkle like the surface of the waters around us.

  We had reached the central lake, where artfully trimmed trees and shrubs spanned a steep embankment like the rainbow colours in the Murano millefiori glass paperweight my dad kept on his desk – vivid, pillow-like mounds of green, amber and gold arranged in a delicate living patchwork. On the brow of the hill two dragon-red and shining gold pagodas rose like majestic emperors, casting perfect reflections in the lake below. I took a breath and drank in the view. No wonder Max loved this place so much. It was as if an artist had painstakingly arranged each leaf and blade of grass to create a space unhindered by time.

  We walked slowly through the seemingly sacred space, our conversation as easy and flowing as the gentle waters around us. As we talked I took photographs, some of which I intended to email to Vicky who had demanded more pictures (especially of Max).

  After an hour, we made our way to the ornate Tea House, where we sat at long benches while Japanese ladies served us nutty-tasting green Genmaicha tea and sweet rice cakes flavoured with green tea, strawberry, lychee and kinako. We shared the tiny space with tourists from across the world and the chatter of excited voices was punctuated by the click and whirr of countless cameras. It was at once intimate and anonymous: a shared experience of the beautiful garden and Japanese refreshments tempered by the huddle of forty strangers in a landmark far from home.

  ‘The diner was crazy today,’ Max said, breaking open a rice cake. ‘Are you certain you still want to run one?’

  ‘It was definitely the busiest day I’ve worked through so far,’ I agreed. ‘But you get into a strange headspace when it’s too busy to think. Now I feel more like I know what I’m doing I’m just going with the flow.’