Staying Single

by Millie Criswell

  Francie shook her head, feeling somewhat nauseated, and she didn't think it had a thing to do with the margaritas she'd consumed.

  "You're going to have a tough time getting her to let go of this one, if that's your intention. It's true, she was very interested in the undertaker, but this time is different, Mom's motives are different. I'm not saying pure, just different."

  "I've already explained to Mark about Mom and her wedding fetishes. He's cool with it, I think."

  "And?"

  "He likes her, likes the whole family, if you can believe that."

  By the astonished look on Lisa's face, Francie figured she couldn't. "Really? Even Aunt Flo?"

  "Well, maybe not her. But you can't blame him. Nobody likes Aunt Flo, even her own mother." Grandma Abrizzi was always bemoaning the fact that the Catholic church didn't approve of birth control.

  "So what are you going to do?"

  Francie heaved a dispirited sigh. "I suppose suicide is out of the question."

  Lisa wrapped a comforting arm around her sister's shoulders. "Don't talk stupid, France. You've just got to beat Mom at her own game. What if you were to tell her how crazy you are about Mark, that you're seriously considering marrying him?"

  Francie's eyes rounded and her jaw nearly dropped to her chest before she replied, "Are you crazy? That's just what she wants to hear. I'll be playing right into her hands."

  "Not necessarily." Lisa went on to explain. "Mom is thrilled by the hunt, by pushing you into relationships that you don't really want. Maybe she'll lose interest, or even try and dissuade you, if she thinks you're truly interested in marrying Mark. I mean, where would the fun be in that for her?"

  "I don't think so, Lisa. It's too risky. Besides, I've already told her I have no intention of getting married. I was quite clear on the subject, adamant even."

  "And what did she say?"

  "She blew me off, as usual."

  "Well, don't blame me when you're being fitted for wedding dress number four. She bought three new bridal magazines the other day."

  "Oh…my…God! The woman is incorrigible. I'm going to have a talk with Dad, ask him to talk some sense into her. This has to be costing him a small fortune. Maybe I can appeal to him on a financial basis. I already tried that with Mom, but she didn't seem to care."

  "Are you surprised? When did she ever care about spending Dad's money?"

  "Maybe you should talk to her, Lisa. After all, she's spending all of your inheritance on my weddings."

  "Good. Then she won't have any money left to spend on mine. I know I'm next, after she marries you off."

  "Maybe we should talk to the priest. Father Scaletti might be able to reason with her."

  "And lose money he could make for the church?" Lisa shook her head. "Unlikely. The guy is cleaning up on these weddings of yours. Mom and Dad are a gold mine for him."

  "I'm doomed. Josephine Morelli is going to haunt me for the rest of my days."

  "There is one way you could get Mom off your back. Well, actually two, but the last one is a bit drastic and should be saved for only a dire emergency."

  "What are they? I'm desperate and likely to try anything that might work."

  "The first one is the most obvious—you could actually get married."

  Francie frowned deeply. "That is not a choice, and it's out of the question. What's the other one?"

  "You could convince her that you're a lesbian. That way, you'd have an excellent excuse for not wanting to get married. Aunt Flo has already opened the door on that one. All you need do is walk through it."

  "A lesbian, huh? Let me give that idea some thought. It's a bit more palatable than the first. Hmmm. Let's see—I'll be kicked out of the family and will be able to live the rest of my life in peace and solitude. It definitely has merit."

  Lisa burst out laughing, then Francie followed suit, though she knew that none of what Lisa had said was a laughing matter, especially since she was going to have to give both ideas some serious consideration. And soon.

  10

  Gazing into his cup of hot coffee the following morning, the steam rising up to tickle his nose and make his mouth water, Mark couldn't stop thinking about Francie, who also made his mouth water.

  Dammit!

  The dark, rich coffee was of a similar color as her curly hair, the heat warming his hands felt like the warmth of her body when he'd pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately the previous night.

  And he was worried.

  His thoughts weren't centered on revenge at the moment, but on Francie's comments about his work—the way she'd been able to peer into his soul and offer such amazing insight, as though she really cared about what he was doing. He thought about the way her lips felt, soft and pliant, beneath his when his mouth devoured hers, the silky feel to her skin when he caressed her and—

  "Shit!"

  What the hell was the matter with him?

  Listen to yourself! You're besotted with the woman, like a high school kid with a hard-on.

  Maybe this was the same spell Francie had cast over his brother and the other men she'd been involved with. After all, she'd had plenty of practice and probably had seduction and sensuality down to a science—a pint-size femme fatale who wreaked havoc wherever she went.

  And here he was about to fall under whatever magic charm she had cast over him, make the same mistakes as all the other "victims" she'd lured into her web of deceit and desire.

  But he wouldn't.

  Mark was too smart for that.

  And he'd been burned too many times to be careless.

  He was determined to stick to the original plan to woo, bed and almost wed the dishonest woman, then make the big skeedaddle before Francie knew what hit her.

  But he wouldn't take as much pleasure in doing it now.

  Not now that he'd kissed her.

  "Thanks for meeting me, Pop. I know you usually mow the lawn on Saturday morning, so I appreciate your taking time out of your busy day to come and talk with me." Francie almost choked on the word "busy," because that was stretching things a wee bit.

  Her father was the most laid-back man she knew. Sometimes you had to take a mirror to his nose just to see if he was still breathing.

  Mowing the lawn was his Saturday ritual. First, he ate a huge breakfast, lovingly prepared for him by Josephine. Then he mowed the lawn and performed other yardwork before finally plopping himself in front of the TV for the rest of the afternoon. A beer and a bag of chips by his side, he watched whatever sports program was on, football being his favorite. Though if push came to shove, he'd watch ice dancing with just as much enthusiasm.

  "I need to talk to you about something very important. It's sort of an emergency situation."

  Dressed in a New York City fireman's T-shirt and hat that he'd bought as a show of support after 9-11, Francie's father looked as though he could handle any emergency situation with ease.

  John Morelli gazed at his surroundings and made a face of disgust. "Why did we have to meet here? I don't like this deli. Manny uses too much mustard on the Ruebens. It ruins the whole taste. There are much better places to have breakfast or lunch."

  "I'll ask Manny to cut back on the mustard when we order, Pop." Like that was a major issue, Francie thought, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.

  But she was grateful her father had agreed to meet her this morning on such short notice. Fortunately, it was Josephine's day to get her hair done at the beauty parlor, so she wouldn't get suspicious.

  Her mother had worn the same hairstyle for as long as Francie could remember. She wasn't sure what to call it, but Maureen, the seventy-year-old "stylist"—she used that term loosely—used rollers and gobs of hairspray to achieve that football helmet effect her mom was so fond of.

  Aside from doing something creative with her own hair, Francie had a million things to accomplish before getting ready for her date with Mark tonight.

  Shaving her legs was at the top of her priority list— they
were looking a bit simian at the moment. But she knew she'd never be able to concentrate on the play or enjoy her evening with him, if she didn't get this wedding business resolved.

  And she needed her dad's help to do that.

  "Maybe I'll order a meatball or sausage sub. Then I don't have to worry about the mustard," her father said, his thoughts still centered on his stomach, which had turned into a full-blown paunch over the years.

  She patted his hand, mostly to gain his attention. When there was food around, her father's mind wandered. Most older men noticed attractive, well-built women, but not John Morelli, who much preferred to view a well-stuffed sausage or a thin slice of proscuitto.

  "Pop, you've got to do something about Mom. She's starting to make plans again for another wedding. Lisa told me she's been buying bridal magazines and talking to caterers and florists. You've got to put your foot down this time and tell her no. I'm at my wit's end."

  Heaving a sigh, her father looked apologetic, which didn't bode well. "I've tried talking to your mother, Francie, but she's already made up her mind that you and Mark are perfect for each other and should get married. She told me to butt out when I tried to reason with her."

  Like reason was a possibility!

  "I'm sorry," he continued, "but I don't think I can be of much help to you. You know what Josephine is like when she gets these notions in her head. It's a waste of time and breath when she gets like this."

  "I don't want to get married. I told her that, but she just ignores me." Francie had the sudden urge to crawl into her father's lap and bawl.

  "Your mother has a one-track mind when it comes to your happiness, Francie. She wants you to get married, settle down and have children. She won't be content until you do. I can't change her mind. She's a stubborn woman, your mother, always has been. But what's a man to do? I love her, God bless her stubborn hide."

  "Maybe you could cut off her money and charge cards, then Mom wouldn't be able to arrange another wedding."

  Or lock her in a closet for a few years. That would work, too.

  "I threatened to do that very thing, said I wouldn't give her any more money to pay for these weddings, that they were costing me a small fortune."

  Hope blossomed in Francie's chest and she leaned forward. "And what did she say?"

  "That she'd divorce me if I did. Josephine told me that I wasn't being a good husband or father to have such an uncaring attitude about my own daughter's happiness. She also told me I was cheap. Can you believe that, after I bought her those expensive dishes she's been wanting? Now I'm cheap."

  "Maybe you could talk to Father Scaletti, ask him to counsel Mom about interfering in her children's lives. Surely there's something in the Bible that covers such things. Thou shalt not ruin your daughter's life. You know, something along those lines."

  "That wouldn't do any good. Those two are in cahoots together. He's a priest, for chrissake! It's his job to marry off the whole world and get children for the church. I think he must make a bonus on every baby he baptizes. We got four or five coming in every Sunday. It's a racket, I tell you."

  This was not a very encouraging discussion. Matters were going from bad to worse, so Francie decided it was time to pull out all the stops, even if it meant shocking her father.

  "Lisa thinks I should tell Mom that I'm a lesbian. I think her idea has merit. What do you think, Pop?"

  "Are you? You said the other night at dinner that you weren't. Is there something you want to tell me? It's said that confession is good for the soul, Francie, so maybe you should get it off your chest and be done with it." He closed his eyes, as if the admission would be too difficult to hear.

  "I'm not a lesbian. But I could pretend to be and get Mom off my back."

  Reaching out, John released the breath he'd been holding and squeezed his daughter's hand. "It's not a good idea, Francie. And I'm not at all surprised that your sister is the one who came up with it. That girl marches to the beat of her own drum, and the tune is quite different from the one the rest of the world plays."

  It was true that Lisa was somewhat of a nonconformist, especially when it came to the men she dated—the word "freaks" came to mind—but some-times, as in this case, she had some good ideas, albeit a wee bit unorthodox.

  "It makes perfect sense to me. Aunt Flo has already mentioned it and—"

  John shook his head. "No, Francie! That would break your mother's heart. Even more than you not getting married. I couldn't allow you to do that. I know you're a grown woman, and can do pretty much what you please, but in this instance I would not be on your side."

  "Telling lies never did anyone any good. I've told you that since you were a little girl. Honesty isn't the best policy—"

  "It's the only one," Francie finished on a sigh, knowing he was right.

  "Exactly. I'm glad you paid attention all those years to what I was saying."

  "But Mom doesn't listen to the truth, Pop. I told her that I don't have any intention of getting married, to Mark or anyone else. But she doesn't seem to hear what I say."

  "I can't live my life like this anymore. She's making me nuts. If she doesn't get off my back, I may have to enter a convent." The false admission made her father smile.

  "Your mother and I couldn't afford a big wedding when we got married," John tried to explain for the tenth time in at least as many months. "She's trying to live vicariously through you, to experience all the things that she missed. I feel responsible for that, but at the time we got married no one had the money for a fancy wedding party, least of all me."

  "I'm sorry you have to bear the brunt of her missing out on all that."

  The urge to whine was too strong and Francie indulged. "It's not fair that I'm the one who has to suffer. I love Mom, and I've tried to placate her over the years, by going along with her schemes in an effort to make her happy—which, as you know, is virtually impossible—and by allowing her to foist unsuitable men on me. But I won't do it again. I can't. If she disowns me, then so be it."

  John reached out and patted his daughter's cheek, as he'd done a thousand times before. "Your mother would never disown you. Maybe she loves you too much. That's most likely the problem."

  "And what about this Mark you brought over to the house? He doesn't seem unsuitable. And the man appears to genuinely care about you. In fact, he told your mother that he was crazy about you."

  Francie's mouth fell open. "He did?" The idea that Mark would say such a thing to her mother, especially after knowing what Josephine was like, and the fact that she was looking for a groom, was nothing short of startling. Not to mention flattering.

  Of course, it was scary, too!

  What if the man was deranged, and she just hadn't realized it yet? Let's face it, he got along with her mother. And that was too weird for words.

  "You are so determined not to make a match that maybe you aren't seeing what is right before your eyes, cam. I think you like this Mark more than you let on. What do you think?"

  Francie thought a moment before answering. "I do like him, but he's a client. I don't think—"

  "Lisa told me you have a date with him tonight. Is that so?"

  "Yes." Francie felt her cheeks warm. "Lisa has a big mouth. What else did she tell you?"

  "Nothing. Is there something else I should know?"

  "Just that I feel conflicted about the whole situation. I know I shouldn't be dating a client, but I couldn't seem to say no when Mark asked me out." And that fact alone should have sent up a big, fat, red flag.

  The problem was that Francie could picture them together, as a couple—a copulating couple!

  He arched his right brow. "And you don't find that significant?"

  Hell yes! But Francie wasn't about to admit that to her father. "I don't know. I'm not going to read any more into this situation than I have already, and you shouldn't, either. Mark and I are friends, nothing more."

  Of course, the kiss they'd shared felt a lot more than friendly. Exchanging spit
and mating tongues wasn't usually part of the "friend" equation. But she wasn't going to tell her father that, either.

  "You're a grown woman, Francie. I know you know your own mind. Just don't make it up too quickly. You need to take time and think about things. Don't do something just to spite your mother. She loves you and only wants what is best for you."

  "I know, Pop, but—"

  "But nothing. Let's eat. I didn't have my pancakes and eggs this morning and I'm starving."

  Francie heaved a defeated sigh, knowing there'd be no help from this quarter today. And wondering if maybe her sister had been right. Maybe she should just get married and get it over and done with.

  If Mark was really interested…

  "No!" She banged her fist down on the table, almost upsetting their water glasses and nearly making her father jump out of his seat.

  "No? No, what? I didn't say anything."

  "It's nothing, Pop. I was just thinking out loud."

  "And the answer was no?"

  "Yes. No. I mean, yes, it was definitely no."

  I'm staying single!

  Seated in a cozy Italian restaurant on West 46th Street, near Broadway, surrounded by the delicious smells of garlic and basil wafting from the kitchen, and the lilting sound of a pair of strolling violin players, Francie couldn't keep her toe from tapping in time to the show music that still played in her head.

  "I think Mama Mia has to be my favorite musical production of all time. I just loved it! It was funny, romantic, and the music—Abba's music was too fabulous for words."

  "Thank you, for taking me, Mark."

  Sipping his glass of Chianti, Mark waited for the tuxedo-garbed waiter, who was most likely an aspiring or out-of-work actor, to stop grinning and set down their slices of cheesecake, thinking there were a few other places he'd like to take the beautiful woman, like to bed.

  The scent of her perfume had been driving him crazy all evening, not to mention that she looked damn good in that red leather skirt and black lace top she was wearing.