Staying Single

by Millie Criswell

  Francie's mouth fell open. "I hope you're not talking about Mark Fielding. He's a potential client, not a suitor. And you'd better forget all about playing matchmaker, Ma, because if you don't, I'm never going to forgive you."

  "I don't need to play matchmaker this time. I'm just going to let nature take its course and see what happens."

  "Where do you come up with this stuff? Have you been watching Dr. Phil again?"

  "That man is a saint. But no, I only know from experience as a woman and a mother that you and Mr. Fielding have an attraction between you. I've seen it with my own eyes."

  "You only see what you want to see, Ma. There's nothing going on between us."

  "The man looks at you like he's hungry. Your father used to look at me like that, so I know what I'm talking about. A man knows what he wants, and he goes out and gets it."

  "Well, that's just peachy for Mr. Fielding, but I am not interested in him, for any reason other than to bring him into our company. He's a nice guy, but Mark is not my type."

  Liar! Liar! Liar!

  Oh, shut up!

  "What is he, blood? Type, schmype. I know nothing about type, only about spark. And you two have plenty of that."

  "This discussion is over. I'm not going to tell you again, okay?"

  Josephine rose to her feet. "When I'm dead and buried you'll be sorry that you spoke to me this way, Francesca. I'm your mother. You should show respect."

  "And I'm your daughter. Your grown daughter, I might add. Don't I deserve the same consideration?"

  "Come to dinner tomorrow. Promise me, Francesca, or I won't be able to sleep a wink tonight. I can feel the acid churning in my stomach. Soon it'll be at my throat, and then I will die of cancer. It can kill you, that acid. And—"

  Francie heaved a sigh. "Okay, okay, I'll be there. Is Aunt Flo coming, too?"

  "Of course, she's coming. Florence is my sister. I had to invite her. She's all alone, just like you'll be if you don't wise up and listen to your mother."

  Allowing her mother to have the last word, Francie urged her toward the door, handed the woman her coat and kissed her goodbye. "I'll see you tomorrow, Ma. Give Dad a kiss for me, okay?" Then she shut the door and leaned against it, praying that tomorrow would never come.

  And wondering how she was going to get through tonight, now that her mother had put all sorts of fanciful, ridiculous, not-to-be-believed-under-no-uncertain-terms romantic notions in her head.

  She wished just this once she was Jewish because there was only one way to describe her feelings at the moment. Oy Vey!

  7

  "I'm glad you suggested we walk home tonight, Francie. It's a perfect evening. And it'll give us a chance to burn up a few more calories, not that you need to lose weight." Francie had a fantastic body— one that Mark intended to explore more thoroughly, and very soon.

  He'd been surprised by her dinner invitation this afternoon. And though Mark knew it was to entice him to sign on the dotted line, he intended to turn it to his advantage. "Thanks again for inviting me out. Dinner was great."

  "When are you going to put me out of my misery, Mark, and tell me what you've decided about signing with Baxter Promotions? You've evaded the question all evening. And I know Ted will be pressing me for answers come Monday morning."

  Smiling confidently, Mark reached for her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn't release his hold. "That's because I don't like mixing business with pleasure. Why ruin a perfectly good evening by discussing business details?"

  "But the dinner was to discuss business. I thought I explained that." Francie's frustration reflected on her face and in her voice.

  "So what sort of enticement are you going to give me to get me to sign with your company?"

  She ground to a halt and finally managed to free herself from his hold. "Enticement!" Her face turned beet red. "How dare you imply— What sort of woman do you think I am?"

  "Hey, wait a minute! I wasn't implying anything sordid. I just want to know what my advantage is in going with your firm, that's all. There are plenty of firms, especially in New York, that would love to have my business."

  Her indignation dissolved immediately, though bits of color still stained her cheeks, from embarrassment at jumping to conclusions, no doubt. "Oh. Well, I thought I had explained all that—TV talk shows, book tour, that sort of thing."

  "And will you be accompanying me, teaching me the ropes, so to speak? I'm new at this publicity business and will need help from someone who has experience. I won't feel comfortable going it alone." Going on a book tour with Francie held definite possibilities for seduction. Too bad he didn't really have a book.

  "Of course Ted and I will be at your disposal, Mark. You needn't worry that we'll abandon you. Ted is very good at—"

  "I don't want Ted. I want to work with you exclusively. If you can guarantee that, and if you can promise to humor me in my rather unorthodox requests, then I'll sign with Baxter."

  "What sort of unorthodox requests?" Suspicion creased her brows and she looked wary. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that."

  "Since we live in such close proximity I thought perhaps we could spend more time getting to know each other. That way you'll be able to construct a publicity campaign that fits my personality, my uniqueness as an author/photographer. You did say that Baxter Promotions was a very hands-on company. I'm only asking that you put your money where your mouth is."

  "As long as you understand that our relationship will be strictly business and nothing more. Like you, I don't mix business with pleasure."

  "Oh, so you think that being in my company is pleasurable? I'm flattered."

  "I didn't say that."

  "So you don't think it's pleasurable? Then why do you want me for a client?"

  "Will you quit twisting my words, Mark? I just said that I want our relationship to remain businesslike. Sometimes I get the impression that you expect more than that. If I've misread you, then I apologize."

  "You haven't misread me. I admit that I'd like to explore the possibility of furthering a relationship with you."

  "I'm sorry, Mark, but I don't want a relationship with you, or anyone else, at the moment."

  "You seem to have an aversion to the word 'relationship.' Why is that? Have you had an unpleasant experience?"

  "That's personal. I don't think it's wise to—"

  "Like I said, Francie, I want to get to know you better, as it relates to our doing business together. Those are the terms under which I'll sign your contract. If you refuse, then so will I."

  Heaving a defeated sigh, she wrapped her coat more closely around her, as if it could protect her from the unknown. "I've had three engagements, none of which ended in matrimony, so I'm not very good at long-term relationships. There, are you satisfied?"

  He did his best to look contrite. "Oh, sorry. I didn't know you got dumped. That must have been tough."

  Her face flamed and he almost laughed at her indignation. "I didn't get dumped. I—I'm embarrassed to say that I was the one who did the dumping."

  "Well, if those men you were involved with weren't right for you, then you were wise to find that out before the wedding. It would have been far worse if you had gone through with all the exhaustive plans, led the guys down a primrose path, and then discovered you'd made a mistake. As a man, I'm not sure my ego could have taken that. A man's ego is a fragile thing, you know."

  "Um, yes, I guess you're right."

  Mark could tell Francie was uncomfortable, which was good. He hoped she felt guilty as hell for what she put those poor saps through, including his brother. But he doubted it. And he had no sympathy for her, not after what she'd done to Matt.

  "Do you think you'll ever get married?" he asked while they waited for the traffic light to change. "Don't you want to have a family someday?"

  Sighing deeply, she shook her head. "I've decided to concentrate on my career. I think I'll be more successful at it than the other
."

  For some reason Francie's words didn't ring true. "Your mother wants grandchildren. She told me as much. And I think she'd be very disappointed to hear what you've just said."

  Francie made a face of disgust. "My mother wants a lot of things, Mark, and she's the biggest part of my three previous problems."

  So Matt was just a "problem" her mother had created? Doesn't this woman take responsibility for anything?

  "You can't really blame her. All mothers want to be grandmothers, just like most women want to be mothers."

  "Most, but not all. And what about you? Do you want to get married and have a family?"

  "If I meet the right woman, then yes, I'd love to have a family someday. The idea of having a son or daughter thrills me." Which was the absolute truth. But at this juncture in his life, Mark doubted he'd ever have a family, let alone a wife. And the thought pained him.

  Her eyes widened. "Really? That's unusual coming from a man like you."

  "A man like me?"

  "I didn't mean that to be a negative. I just meant that you have a successful career, which seems to be heading off in a whole new direction. Why would you want to compromise that with a family?"

  "I can have both. Seeing the world alone isn't as much fun as it's cracked up to be. I'm getting to that point in my life where I want more. Growing old alone holds little appeal."

  "You sound like my mother. Are you sure you two haven't been comparing notes?"

  Mark grinned. "Quite sure." Not yet, anyway. But that was definitely part of his agenda.

  "Have you ever been in love?"

  He nodded. "Yes, once. It didn't work out." Which was fortunate, now that he looked back on it. He and Nicole would never have worked, for a multitude of reasons. Perhaps she had sensed that.

  "How about you?"

  "I told you, I was engaged three—"

  "Yes, you did. But you didn't say anything about being in love with any of your fiancés."

  Francie thought a moment and a multitude of emotions flitted across her face. "No, I don't think I was in love with any of them. I liked them all, of course. But love?" She shook her head. "I guess that was the biggest part of the problem, and the reason I couldn't go through with the weddings. I bought into the fairy tale about meeting Prince Charming and living happily ever after. But unfortunately it never happened. I'm too much of a realist to think it ever will."

  Francie's honesty touched him, in a very disturbing way. He didn't want to think that they might have something in common.

  "Sounds to me like you haven't met the right man yet." And I intend to be that man. "When you do, you'll open up your heart, just wait and see."

  "You sound like a hopeless romantic, Mark. That surprises me."

  "I'm a hopeful romantic. And why does it surprise you? Don't you think men can have the same depth of feelings as women, want the same things out of a relationship? I bet those men you dumped were crushed, just as you would have been had the shoe been on the other foot."

  She had the grace to blush. "I feel terrible about what happened. But what's done is done. It's too late to cry over spilled milk, as my mother is fond of saying. And I'd like to think that I've learned a lot about myself from the experiences I've had."

  Yeah, like the fact you're a heartless witch!

  Mark was furious with Francie's cavalier attitude. This woman, who looked so sweet and innocent, had ruined three men's lives and all she had to say was that she had learned from it?

  "I'm sure the men you dumped don't share your attitude."

  "Probably not. But there's nothing I can do about that now, so I choose not to brood over it. I can only hope that I won't make the same mistakes again."

  Mark felt an inordinate amount of relief when they finally arrived back at the apartment building. He didn't want to be in Francesca Morelli's company right now, wasn't sure what he'd do to the woman if he was left alone with her.

  But strangulation was definitely a possibility.

  Francie always dreaded Sunday dinner at her parents' house, but even more so today, since finding out that her mother's sister, Florence, would be there. She'd thought up a hundred excuses why she couldn't attend, then discarded every one of them, knowing her mother would grill her with the same ruthless determination as a police investigator grilled a murder suspect.

  Aunt Flo was Francie's least favorite relative. The woman took great delight in embarrassing her at every turn.

  Today was no exception.

  "Here comes the bride, all dressed in green. Her grooms were left standing at the altar, isn't she mean?"

  "Thank you, Aunt Flo," Francie said, unbuttoning her coat. "It's lovely to see you, too." Not! She'd rather be in the company of Attila the Hun. Come to think of it, the similarities were astounding.

  The older woman held up a glass of Chianti, as if to toast her niece, but then decided against it and downed it in one gulp.

  Nasty old bitch!

  "Flo, leave my daughter alone. Francie is a good girl. Hasn't she come to see her mother and father, to pay her respects? A mother is blessed to have a child like that."

  Only because I was forced to, Francie thought ungraciously.

  "One of these days she'll make a good match and get married. Wait and see," Josephine added.

  Florence made a face, then told Francie, "This wedding business is getting fishy. If you're a lesbian, you should just come out and say so. At least we would know where you stand. Of course, your family would disown you. The shame would be too great."

  All eyes turned toward Francie and she stiffened. Lisa, who was sitting on the edge of her father's chair, clamped a hand over her mouth, so she wouldn't burst out laughing. Grandma Abrizzi grabbed her cane, giving serious thought to busting her youngest daughter over the head with it.

  "I guess I could ask the same of you, Aunt Flo. After all, you've never married. Maybe you've got some skeletons in your closet you haven't told us about. A girlfriend, perhaps?"

  Francie's mother's gaze drifted heavenward and she crossed herself, muttering a prayer beneath her breath.

  Like a volley at a tennis match, all eyes shifted between the two combatants, landing on a red-faced Florence. "How dare you say such a thing. I am a respectable, God-fearing woman. The love of my life died many years ago, which is why I never married. I remain loyal to his memory. God rest his soul."

  "I'm respectable, too—" well, sort of "—and if I were a lesbian," Francie stated, ignoring her aunt's bald-faced lie about her mysterious nameless love, "I'd have no problem admitting it. Some of my best friends are gays and lesbians, and I don't like them any less for their choice of lifestyle." In fact, she liked them much better than the woman seated in front of her.

  Mark had just arrived and stood in the open doorway, grinning. He'd heard most of the entire exchange and was impressed with the way Francie had held her own with her aunt.

  The old woman began cracking her knuckles, a clear indication of how displeased she was with her niece at the moment. Aunt Flo didn't like to be bested.

  "Who are you?" Florence asked Mark when she finally took notice of him. "This is a private family discussion. How did you get in here? Call the police, John."

  All heads turned toward the doorway, including Francie, who gasped when she saw who was standing there.

  Good grief! Could this day get any worse?

  What a stupid question, Francie. You're at your parents' house. Remember?

  "What are you doing here?" she asked, her tone accusatory.

  "The door was left ajar, so I came in. And to answer your question—I was invited. At least, I thought I was invited. I'm not so sure anymore. And please don't call the police. I'll just leave quietly, if the invitation no longer stands."

  Dressed in a pink polyester pantsuit—Josephine hadn't met a polyester garment she didn't like—she bustled forward, rubbing her hands together nervously and smiling apologetically. "Of course you're invited, Mr. Fielding. Come in, come in, and meet the
rest of the family." She quickly made the introductions, making sure everyone knew that this was Francie's new friend.

  Francie's father cast the man a look of pure sympathy, for he knew without a doubt that fiancé number four had been chosen. "Nice to meet you," John said, holding out his hand.

  Florence merely grunted when her turn came to be introduced and refilled her wineglass. "I'm hungry. When do we eat?"

  "You'll have to excuse my sister-in-law and daughter," Francie's father added. "I think they're cut from the same cloth."

  "Pop! How could you compare me to Aunt Flo? She's nasty to the bone."

  Florence, who had moved into the kitchen, didn't hear her niece's last remark, much to Josephine's great relief. Josephine might be opinionated and meddlesome, but Florence was the devil incarnate.

  "I invited Mr. Fielding to join us for dinner today, Francie. Why don't you take his coat and make him feel welcome?"

  So much for not mixing business with pleasure, and for thinking that her mother wasn't going to play matchmaker.

  Naive, Francie. Very naive.

  "I'm sorry if I sounded rude, Mark. No one—" she stared meaningfully at her mother, who had the grace to blush "—told me you were coming today." Or else I would have made up an excuse and stayed home.

  "I don't get that many home-cooked meals, so when your mom phoned and invited me to Sunday dinner, I just couldn't pass up the invitation. Hope you don't mind."

  "Not at all," she lied, pasting on a smile and cursing her mother beneath her breath. She'd have a few things to say to the interfering woman later. "My mother is always so…thoughtful. I just hope you know what you're letting yourself in for."

  "Francesca, you'll make Mr. Fielding think we are terrible people," Josephine said with a great deal of indignation.

  "We are, Mom." Lisa smiled and wiggled her fingers at Mark. "Welcome. Francie's told me all about you. She said you had eyes the color of sapphires. Guess she was right."

  Francie felt the heat rise up her face as it turned three shades of purple. Please, God, take me now. I'm ready to go.