Francie felt a little bit like Cinderella every time she entered the charming apartment. It overlooked Rittenhouse Square and positively oozed with antiquity and character.
"I could use a man like that. Too bad Leo's gay. Maybe I should try and convert him." Joyce laughed at her own joke, then said, "So how did your mother take the news? Did her head spin around? Did she foam at the mouth, then spew green stuff all over the carpet?"
"No, nothing like that. Josephine just ignored everything I said, like she usually does. But I won't be wheedled, cajoled or made to feel guilty this time. I've made up my mind to remain single."
"Permanently?" Joyce frowned. "Don't you ever want to get married and have kids? I thought we talked about buying houses next door to each other and raising our kids together. How can we do that if you don't get married?"
"We were twelve at the time, Joyce. Things have changed. I've changed. I'm just not interested in all that domestic stuff now. I'm focused on my career—" such as it was "—on enjoying myself, meeting new and interesting people."
"Ah, so there's a new man in your life, is that it?"
At Joyce's astuteness, Francie felt heat rise up her neck—the very neck so recently massaged by— "Not exactly. We have a new tenant in the building, and he also happens to be a potential client of our firm."
Picking up her bowl of nearly melted chocolate ice cream, Joyce began eating. "I knew it. You've got that 'Here Comes the Bride' look on your face again."
"Don't be ridiculous! I hardly know Mark. We've only just met." And she certainly wasn't looking for a groom.
Now the wedding night on the other hand…
"Convenient that he lives in the same building as you."
"That's not a crime, merely a coincidence."
"Since I don't believe in coincidences, I guess I'll just chalk it up to fate. So what's this Mark do for a living? Why does he need a publicist?"
Preferring strawberry to chocolate, Francie licked her spoon, savoring the cold taste on her tongue, before answering. "He's a photo-journalist for the Associated Press. His first book is going to be published next year, and he might want Baxter Promotions to help him with the publicity campaign."
"Is he cute?"
Francie considered the question a moment. "Not cute, as in Brad Pitt cute, but he's very handsome, as in Pierce Brosnan handsome."
And she was totally enamored of him, despite her best intentions not to be. Dammit!
"Ohmigod! I can't believe you are opening yourself up to another relationship with yet another heartthrob. Matt Carson was adorable, as I recall. And a very nice man."
"It's not like that. I'm not interested in Mark in a romantic sense."
Did sex count as romance?
Stop it, Francie! You cannot have sex with Mark Fielding.
Of course, a kiss or two wouldn't be out of the—
"Well, maybe you should be. Maybe you should just have a good, old-fashioned bout of mind-blowing sex and get it out of your system." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Joyce slapped her forehead. "What the hell am I saying? You try to marry everyone you have sex with. Never mind. Forget I said that. Just tell Ted to work with this guy, if he signs on. Keep your distance. You'll be much happier in the long run if you do."
She had no intention of confiding to Joyce what Ted Baxter had in mind for Mark Fielding, so she stretched the truth a bit. "I'm sure that's exactly what will happen. Ted always takes the good clients for himself. I usually end up with the ones he doesn't want."
"Good. Now turn the movie back on. If I'm not going to have sex tonight, I may as well watch someone else doing it. I know I wouldn't be able to stay faithful with that sexy French guy in my bed."
They'd been watching Unfaithful with Richard Gere, Diane Lane and some hunky French actor. "If you were married to Richard Gere, you might feel differently about that. I know I would."
"True. But since I'm not I'll just lust quietly over here and live vicariously through our adulterous heroine. Any man who could pick me up and toss me over his shoulder would be worth making love to."
At five-foot-nine, one hundred and fifty-five pounds, Joyce was a big girl who only dated men six feet and over. She didn't have many criteria when it came to men—usually they just had to be breathing— but she did like them to be taller than she was and to outweigh her by at least twenty pounds.
Mark Fielding was well over six feet, probably by two inches. He could pick Joyce up with one hand, though Francie wasn't about to tell her best friend that.
The mere fact that she knew how tall Mark was would send Joyce into another lecture and, quite frankly, Francie was getting sick and tired of all the lectures, from everyone.
No. Francie would do her job, which was to sign Mark Fielding on the dotted line. Theirs would be strictly a working relationship. She had no intention of getting involved with Mark—romantically or any other way.
She was a professional businesswoman with a good head on her shoulders. Despite her reputation for being flighty, she was smart, sexy—okay, sort of sexy!—and best of all—single. And she intended to stay that way.
6
Josephine Morelli was not happy with her ungrateful, misguided daughter. In fact, she was very disturbed.
Francie had strange ideas in her head about marriage and children, and it was a mother's job to fix that, to set her daughter straight. No self-respecting woman would choose a career over having babies! It was unthinkable.
In Josephine's mind, there was only one solution to the current problem. Francie had fallen off the proverbial horse. She needed to get back on and to face the fear of riding, er, matrimony head-on. The way to do that was to find Francie a new fiancé, and quickly. As her mother, she was duty bound to accomplish that feat.
Once the red light had changed to green, Josephine hurried across the busy intersection, ignoring the honking horns and traffic congestion. She passed historic Rittenhouse Square and headed toward her daughter's apartment building, ruminating about the first three prospective bridegrooms and how she had made such unfortunate mistakes.
The first man she had chosen had been too full of himself, too loud and brash, not refined enough for her cosmopolitan daughter, not to mention that he looked like Bill Clinton. She was sorry to lose the discount on the burial plots—she and John weren't getting any younger—but that was out of her hands now.
The second one had been too meek and mild for Francie. A nice man, but a Casper Milquetoast nonetheless. Josephine could see that now.
Matt Carson had been a very nice boy, and that most likely had been the problem. He'd been too young and immature, too willing to let Francie have her way about everything.
Francie needed someone strong. She needed a take-charge man who would set down the law—an old-fashioned husband who wanted a wife, in the truest sense of the word.
Love, honor and obey.
Have children!
Entering the twelve-story building, Josephine waved to the white-haired, stoop-shouldered doorman and wondered how Lester Phipps would be able to carry anyone's groceries let alone apprehend an intruder if it became necessary. She shook her head, knowing such things were impossible.
Esther Phipps was an acquaintance of hers and had confided that her husband was on Viagra. Josephine had concluded that the only thing Lester could lift— and not very often, according to Esther—was his dick.
Josephine and John still had a very active sex life. Her husband needed no pills to make him virile. He was Italian, after all! But these things she kept to her-self. The younger generation talked too much about matters better left in the privacy of the bedroom.
Lisa was the worst offender, always telling the most intimate details about the men she dated, and how on a few occasions she'd used one of those vibrating machines. John had nearly passed out when he'd heard that!
Hurrying to catch the elevator, Josephine swallowed her fear. She wasn't afraid of much, but hated confined spaces, and the elevator looke
d older than she was. But she was in no shape to walk up ten flights of stairs.
The last wedding fiasco had done serious damage to her health. How she was still living was a mystery. Dr. Mancini had said she was fine, just overwrought because of her disappointment at Francie's behavior. But what did that old fool know about anything? A woman knew when her days were numbered. Death was imminent. She was sure of it. She only hoped that her family would give her a nice send-off when the time came.
The gold doors were just starting to close when a tall man rushed forward, shouting for her to hold the elevator. Josephine complied, hoping he wasn't a masher. It would be just her luck to get stuck in an elevator with a rapist. A woman couldn't be too careful these days, and she was still attractive for her age. Everyone said so.
The man was strongly built and had very nice blue eyes. Josephine could judge a man's character by his eyes, and she thought this one was a good egg.
"Thanks for holding the door, ma'am."
Nice manners, too!
"You're welcome. I'm going to the tenth floor. What button do you want me to push for you?"
"I'm on ten, too."
Josephine's brow arched. "I don't live in this building. I'm on my way up to see my daughter. Sometimes on the weekends I like to surprise her."
"Are you Francesca Morelli's mother, by any chance?"
Narrowing her eyes suspiciously, she studied the stranger. "How do you know that? You're not with the government, are you?"
He swallowed his smile. "No, ma'am. The family resemblance is remarkable."
She nodded. "Yes, Francie looks like me. My other daughter, Lisa, looks like John, my husband. Don't tell Lisa I said so, but I think Francie made out better. The Abrizzi women have good genes. My mother has skin like a seventy-year-old."
"Really? How interesting."
"How well do you know my daughter?"
"Not well. I just moved in a few days ago." He held out his hand. "Mark Fielding. Nice to meet you. Your daughter and I have a professional working relationship, of sorts. I'm considering signing with her company."
"You're an actor?" Josephine couldn't hide her disgust or disappointment. Actors were a shiftless, lazy lot. Lisa had dated one last year, and he was always reciting lines from Shakespeare. The man was no Robert De Niro, that was for sure.
Mark shook his head and she noticed what a nice, full head of dark hair he had and wondered if he was Italian, perhaps on his mother's side. "I'm a photographer for the Associated Press."
Josephine's eyes lit with admiration. "I bet you make a very good living at that." Enough to support a wife and family, she was certain.
"I do. I'm single, so it doesn't take that much to live on. I'm able to save a considerable amount of money every month."
A man with a savings account was a find. A handsome unmarried man with a savings account was not to be passed up. And if he was Italian…
"So you're single? What a shame. A nice-looking man like you?" She paused a moment. "Are you one of those gay men? Is that why you're not married?" Unfortunately these matters had to be considered in this day and age.
His grin was engaging and Josephine was suitably impressed. The man was sexier than De Niro. "Nope. I just never found the right woman. I'm eager to find a wife and settle down."
Josephine's hand went to her racing heart. "That's wonderful! So many young people don't appreciate the sanctity of marriage and family."
"Well, I'm not one of them. I realize how important it is to form a lasting relationship with someone you love. And I absolutely adore children. I'd like to have a large family someday, maybe five or six kids."
Making the sign of the cross, Josephine said a silent prayer of thanks.
"Do you have any grandchildren, Mrs. Morelli?"
The hated question haunted her. "No." She shook her head and pursed her lips. "My daughters have not done their duty. I'm upset that I don't have bambinos to dote on. A woman should have grandchildren to brighten her days."
The elevator shook to a halt and the doors opened. Mark allowed Josephine to precede him out. They walked down the hall together in companionable silence, Josephine going over wedding plans once again, Mark congratulating himself on such good fortune at having run into Francie's mother.
When they turned the corner, they spotted Francie standing in front of Mark's door.
"Ah, there's my daughter now. Isn't she beautiful? Such a woman, and smart, too. A mother's pride and joy. If only Francie were married with children, she'd be perfect."
Josephine started waving. "Yoo-hoo! Francie! It's your mother. I just met the nicest man in the elevator. He says he knows you."
At the sound of her mother's voice, Francie turned and groaned inwardly. Leave it to Josephine to find another eligible bachelor to fix her up with. And Mark Fielding, no less.
Does my luck stink or what?
She'd come to Mark's apartment to invite him to dinner and to press him about his promotion plans. Now she not only had that challenge ahead of her, she had to deal with her mother, too.
Pasting on a smile, she replied, "Ma, what a nice surprise! Hello, Mark. I was just coming by to see you."
Apparently pleased by that news, Mark smiled. "I've just met your mother. We've had a lovely chat."
Francie could just imagine what the two of them had talked about: grandchildren—or Josephine's lack of them. That was her mother's favorite topic of conversation, in addition to her supposedly failing health.
"I will wait for you in your apartment, Francesca. I'm tired and need to put my feet up."
Failing to notice the triumphant gleam in her mother's eyes, Francie breathed a sigh of relief, grateful Josephine wasn't going to try to play matchmaker again. "Okay, Ma. I'll be there in a minute."
"Was there something you needed, Francie?" Mark asked, inserting the key in the lock and opening the door to his apartment. "Come on in. Just don't remark on my furniture. Leo has already given me an earful about it."
Francie grinned. "Leo's only one of my opinionated friends. I'm afraid I'm surrounded by them."
"Leo's great. He gave me a few decorating tips, told me how to rearrange the furniture. I didn't mind the help. I'm not good at that sort of thing."
What the apartment lacked in decorating flair, it made up for in neatness. "It looks like you've unpacked."
"I didn't have that much to work with, so it didn't take long. I'm glad you stopped over today."
Francie felt heat rise to her cheeks. "I came to invite you to dinner this evening. I thought perhaps we could discuss plans for your publicity campaign. If you're ready to proceed, that is."
"That'd be great. What time shall I come by your apartment to get you?"
"Um, it might be easier if I come by and get you. Leo's staying in tonight, and if he starts asking questions about photography, we're likely to be held up for hours."
"Fine with me. What kind of wine do you like, red or white?"
Francie smiled. "When you live with someone like Leo, there is only one type of wine. Tell you what, I'll raid his wine cabinet and bring a bottle over."
"Sounds good. What time shall I expect you?"
Francie glanced down at her watch. It was already three o'clock. It would take her an hour to get rid of her mother, another hour to bathe and do her nails. Then there was trying to decide what to wear, not to mention she had to make dinner reservations somewhere. "I'll come by around seven."
Mark walked her to the door. "I'm looking forward to tonight, Francie. Thanks for asking me to dinner. If you hadn't, I was going to ask you."
She felt heat rise up her cheeks. "Oh, well. It's just business, and so I thought—"
Mark's phone rang. "Gotta run. Catch you later, okay?"
Francie hoped Mark didn't get the wrong idea about her dinner invitation. She didn't want to mislead him into thinking that what she had planned . was more than dinner—in spite of Ted's not-so-subtle hints that she throw herself at the man.
Bed
ding Mark was certainly not a distasteful idea, just a bad one!
A few moments later she entered her apartment to find her mother asleep on the sofa and Leo nowhere in sight. Or perhaps Josephine had just been lying in wait, ready to pounce, because she awoke immediately—a little too quickly, Francie thought—when Francie entered the living room.
"So tell me everything, Francesca. Why were you waiting for Mark Fielding? He's such a nice man. You could do worse. In fact, you have done worse."
"Please, Ma, don't start. It's a business meeting, nothing more. I need Mark to sign a contract with Baxter Promotions, so I invited him to dinner to encourage him to do just that. I have no intention of entering into another relationship with a man."
"What are you going to wear to this dinner? You should wear something sexy, maybe black, and show some bosom. A little cleavage couldn't hurt."
Shaking her head, Francie finally smiled and plopped down next to her mother on the sofa. "You are a very bad lady, Ma. I hope you know that. Cleavage, indeed!"
"Why? Because I want my daughter to impress a nice gentleman?"
"You're my mother. You should be telling me to cover up and wear high-necked dresses, not expose myself. What kind of a mother tells her daughter that?"
"A desperate one. Men like women who are sexy. I'm trying to help you find a man. I admit I made mistakes with the last three."
Francie's eyes widened. Her mother never admitted to being wrong. "You do?"
Josephine nodded. "I thought it over on the way here, and I realized that I had chosen poorly for you. Those men weren't strong enough. You need to be taken in hand, by someone who can lay down the law."
Francie began laughing hysterically.
"What? What did I say? Why are you laughing like a crazy woman?"
"Because you drive me nuts, that's why. I'm not getting married. I told you that. Why do you refuse to listen when I tell you how I feel?"
"You've had a run of bad luck. You haven't met the right man yet. Or if you have, you don't realize it. It was my fault for pushing you in the wrong direction. I think I've found the right one this time."
Staying Single Page 6