“How long have you been home?” Michaela asked.
“We got here around two and then all hell broke loose,” Claudia said, her voice rising.
“Calm down. Everything’s going to be fine,” Michaela soothed. She was trying to stay calm herself, but she knew practically nothing about babies. She deliberated a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. Of course—her best friend—Google!
“Where’s your laptop, Paolo?” Michaela asked.
“Over there.” He pointed to a corner of the kitchen counter before retreating to the bedroom.
Michaela ran over and Googled “breast-feeding support for new moms”. As soon as La Leche League popped on the screen, she dialed it. From the corner of her eye, she could see Paolo in the untidy bedroom, pacing with Mikey in his arms, trying to quiet him. Seeing big, strong Paolo tenderly holding a tiny, squalling infant stirred a deep longing inside of her. No doubt, he would make a wonderful dad. Michaela exhaled her pent-up breath and looked away to dispel any weakening. Enough of that mushy stuff or you’ll cave, she reprimanded herself.
“This is Beth Ramsey of La Leche League. May I help you?” a friendly female voice on the line asked.
Michaela gave Beth a brief summary of Claudia’s problem, and then handed Claudia the phone so she could pour out her troubles to the counselor. After washing her hands at the kitchen sink, Michaela headed toward the bedroom to tend to Mikey. “Let me hold him,” she said to Paolo, reaching for the baby. “Do you have a pacifier for him?”
The moment she held Mikey in her arms, Michaela was floored by an instant rush of emotions—protectiveness, yearning, sheer pleasure in the feel of his soft, tiny body snuggled against her chest.
“Pacifier? I think there’s one in there.” Paolo searched the bassinet and found one. “Here, give it a try. But I doubt Mikey will be fooled. He is a Santos. That boy wants the real stuff!”
Michaela gently tapped the rubber-tipped pacifier over Mikey’s lips and for a second he sucked it in, but then he spat it out and started rooting against her blouse like a hungry little bird.
“See? What did I tell you? He’s no fool, he wants milk!” Paolo raked his fingers through his hair. If he hadn’t looked so unsettled, Michaela would have laughed at the way his hair was ruffled like a wet parrot’s feathers, with the ends pointing in every direction.
“If Claudia could breastfeed in the hospital, she should be able to do it here.” Michaela hoped it was true for Mikey’s sake. “Shh, shh,” she crooned, shifting Mikey to rest on her shoulder as she patted his fragile back.
“I have to take a shower. Can you stay for a while? Claudia could use your encouragement,” Paolo said, raising his voice to be heard over the baby’s crying.
“Sure, go ahead.” Michaela hadn’t planned on staying very long, but she could spare a little time. She rocked back and forth and Mikey’s cries turned to soft whimpers.
With a look of supreme gratitude and relief, Paolo dashed to the bathroom and closed the door. Within seconds, she heard him whistling a tune and then the sound of the shower water running. Miraculously, Mikey quieted on her shoulder after a few hiccupping sighs.
Claudia returned to the bedroom, looking relieved. “Oh, good. He finally fell asleep.” She nodded at Mikey. “That Leche League lady was amazing. Beth told me to lie down on the bed and do some relaxation breathing to de-stress. She said breastfeeding is all about supply and demand.”
“That makes sense,” Michaela said.
“Sí, everything she said made sense. The more I nurse Mikey, the more milk I’ll produce. But I have to be calm so the milk will let down.”
“You already seem a bit calmer.”
“I am. Beth said not to feel overwhelmed because nursing is no big deal and completely natural. And that I can call her at any time.”
“She sounds like a treasure.” Michaela couldn’t believe the change in Claudia after just one phone call. That Beth was a miracle worker. “I’ll take Mikey to the living room while you chill. He seems content sucking his thumb. Close the door and call me when you’re ready to nurse him.”
“I will, thanks.” Claudia’s eyes suddenly welled up. “You are amazing. Once again, you’ve come to my rescue and I only just met you.”
“Hey, we’re friends now! Looks like your little angel likes sucking his thumb. Maybe he was just cranky and tired. Get some sleep. I’ll bring him in when he wakes up, okay?”
“That would be great. Thanks.”
“Sure thing. I’m going to enjoy holding him.” Michaela kissed the downy fuzz on Mikey’s sweet little head.
Just then, Paolo emerged from the bathroom dressed in a freshly laundered white shirt and snug jeans with his handsome face cleanly shaven. Michaela’s nostrils perked up at the whiff of his citrusy cologne.
“Where are you going all dolled up?” Claudia asked, regarding him with a raised brow as she placed her hands on her hips.
“I have a business meeting I can’t miss.”
“On Sunday?” Claudia asked.
“When are we going to practice, Paolo?” Michaela lowered her voice not to awaken Mikey, but she felt like bellowing at him. Claudia was right. It was odd for him to have a business meeting on a Sunday afternoon. “It’s already five o’clock.”
“I’ll be back in an hour…or two,” Paolo said.
“That long?” Claudia looked distraught. “Maki, can you stay with me until Paolo gets back? I don’t want to be alone with Mikey on my first night here.” Her anxious tone and the desolation in her eyes tugged at Michaela’s heart.
“Yes, I’ll stay with you,” Michaela said kindly, even though she wasn’t feeling very kindly toward Paolo at the moment. Where was he going “all dolled up” as Claudia had put it?
“Good. I’ll bring dinner for all of us.” Paolo looked supremely relieved. It was obvious he was itching to leave. “Once Claudia and the baby are settled in, we can go back to your place, Maki.”
“Promise?” Michaela asked, doubting him the minute she asked. She narrowed her eyes at Paolo, noting how good he looked after a mere shower and a shave.
“Sí, I promise. Ciao, querida,” he said and dashed out the door as if a red-hot coal was buried in the back pocket of his jeans.
Driving into the parking lot of Ristorante Bella Luna, Paolo was annoyed that Bernice Blumenthal had insisted on meeting today of all days. Why couldn’t she have waited until Monday, after the show? Why interrupt his Sunday and ruin his plans to meet with Maki? Good thing he had circumvented Bernice’s plan to meet at his apartment.
No sooner had he begun to open the restaurant door, than he felt two soft, pudgy hands cover his eyes from behind.
“Guess who?” a mature, throaty voice purred.
“Bernice?” he asked wearily.
“The one and only.” She gaily appeared before him, her full figure swathed in a flower-printed sheath and a hibiscus tucked behind her right ear. One jeweled hand reached up to smooth her highly teased hairdo. Beaming at him, she clasped his shoulders with fuchsia-tipped hands and kissed him on both cheeks, leaving a cloying trace of flowery perfume. She tilted her head and gave him a flirtatious smile. “Ready for our meeting?”
“Yes.” Anxious to get it over with soon, he stepped away from her grasp and flicked on the lights before gesturing for her to enter ahead of him.
Bernice teetered inside on fuchsia stiletto sandals that laced up to mid-calf, decorated with silk butterflies at her bare ankles. She stood beside the table and waited for Paolo to pull out her chair and join her.
“Ooh,” she said, fanning herself. “I’m warm and tingling all over. Is the bar open?”
Paolo noted the naughty twinkle in her eyes. Starting Bernice off with a drink probably wasn’t a good idea because she had probably already had a few, but he’d have to offer one anyway.
“What would you
like?” he asked.
“Belvedere martini, por favor.”
“You got it,” he said, retreating to the bar.
“With two olives, darling.” Bernice’s broad grin caused her upper lip to lift and reveal her gum line above her long, rabbity front teeth. She joined him on the other side of the bar, hoisting herself onto the leather barstool. She took a long, gratifying sip of the drink Paolo placed before her and sighed. “That hit the spot, and I don’t just mean the g-spot,” she said shamelessly. “Thank you, darling.”
How many drinks had she imbibed already, he wondered, put off by her sexual flirting. “You’re welcome. What can I do for you?” Once the words were out, he wished he had rephrased it.
Bernice’s hand stroked her plunging neckline, which exposed a bountiful décolletage. She had an exaggerated hourglass figure—tiny waist with huge breasts above and a curvaceous ass below.
“You really want to know?” The corners of her heavily made-up green eyes crinkled with shrewd amusement.
“We’re here to discuss Palmentieri’s dinner party, aren’t we?” Paolo kept his tone polite, but cool.
Bernice pursed her glossy lips. “Yes. Next month, I want to give a party for my dear friend Domenico Palmentieri. You’ve met him, haven’t you?”
Paolo nodded. He was well aware of the famous tenor’s effusive love of food. The man had the belly of a whale and the lungs of a gorilla, but his voice was rich and sonorous.
“Palmentieri ate here at Bella Luna last December,” Paolo said.
“A serendipitous coincidence,” she cooed. “I’d like you to prepare an extravagant meal for Domenico and his big family. They will be here for his gala concert on Saturday night. I know you don’t work on Sundays, that’s why I wanted to speak to you personally about this, away from Edwin’s ears.”
“I’m sure I can arrange something special for you. Where would you like to host the party, here or at your home?”
“My house—it’s much nicer to eat on the terrace overlooking the bay. Don’t you think?”
“Sure. How many in the party?” he asked in a formal tone.
“Around twenty-five. I’ll confirm the exact number later this week.”
“I would be happy to accommodate your group,” Paolo said courteously.
“Marvelous! Splendid!” Bernice gleefully clasped his hands in hers. “I knew you’d come through for me. This very morning I had to endure a stern lecture from Edwin who told me to wait until after the show to approach you. But I told him that you could handle anything.”
Paolo chuckled and carefully withdrew his hands from her tight grip. “Gracias.”
“My pleasure,” she gushed. “I’d like to set the menu now.”
“Now?” Caramba, this was going to take longer than he thought.
Bernice’s eyes shined with overflowing enthusiasm. “No time like the present, darling.”
For what seemed like an eternity, they discussed food and menus. Any dish Paolo mentioned sparked a tangent from Bernice—a recent trip or love memory that the food brought to mind. Before he knew it, three hours had gone by and he was frantic to get out of there. He had prepared her favorite fettuccine carbonara as quickly as possible, but it was Bernice’s chattiness that extended their meeting so long. He tried to end it several times, but she continued to prattle about her love of Italian food and Edwin’s appreciation for her ample curves. It struck Paolo as ironic that Edwin, a somber, no-nonsense type, was so enraptured with Bernice, but she kept bringing it up.
Would the chatterbox ever stop? By the time Bernice took her last bite of dessert, a thin golden crepe slathered in dulce de leche and dusted with powdered sugar, Paolo was ready to bolt.
Peeking coquettishly from beneath her fake lashes, she hesitated a few moments and then blurted, “I hear you’ve been meeting with the spa chef lately.”
“Yes, Maki and I are preparing for your husband’s show on Monday.”
“Maki? I thought her name was Michaela.” Bernice studied him with open curiosity. “Is your relationship anything more than professional?” she inquired with a wicked twist of her mouth.
“Strictly professional,” he replied, irked that she was prying into his personal life.
“I’m glad to hear it, darling. That girl is not for you.”
“What do you mean?” Paolo studied Bernice from beneath furrowed brows. He got the distinct feeling she wanted to tell him something she considered important.
She leaned forward with great relish. “The Food Nazi, as I call her,” she said maliciously, “once had a long-term relationship with our resident tennis bad boy, Jeff Convers. But she got cold feet at the last minute. Rumor has it that…”
“I don’t listen to rumors,” Paolo cut her off brusquely.
“Pity Jeff didn’t fall for her younger sister, Tiffany. She doesn’t share her older sister’s ball-breaking ambition, pardon my French.” Bernice made a moue of distaste and shrugged.
“Maki’s private life is none of my business, and neither is her professional one.” Paolo could barely refrain from adding that they were none of Bernice’s business either. The woman was a troublemaking pest and she was wasting time.
Bernice’s sharply penciled eyebrows snapped together at his quelling tone. “It is your business, Paolo. Michaela is competing against you. In order to beat your opponent, you must know her weaknesses. Just remember I’m the one sponsoring you and I plan on you winning!”
“I plan on winning too. I have a magnificent show planned for Monday. I am not worried about Maki and you shouldn’t be either, Bernice.”
“You have all my support, darling,” she said, retreating into her previous high spirits. “I have already put in a good word for you with Edwin.” She giggled mischievously. “But I can’t go too overboard because he’ll get jealous and forbid me from meeting with you. Edwin can be very forceful and possessive when it comes to me. I don’t want him to distrust you.”
“No, we wouldn’t want that,” Paolo said decisively, before she went any further. He put her empty glass in the sink and walked around the bar toward the door. “I must go now,” he said firmly.
Bernice frowned. “So soon? How about a little Sambuca to top off the night?”
“Not a good idea. Those martinis were strong. I wouldn’t want you driving off the ferry,” Paolo said, even though the prospect was tempting at the moment.
She slapped his arm. “Those teeny martinis? I don’t even feel a buzz.”
“I have to leave and get ready for tomorrow’s competition.” Paolo glanced at his watch. It was close to nine o’clock, damn it.
“Oh, all right.” She pouted dejectedly. “But can we meet again tomorrow afternoon to finalize the plans? Say, after you tape the show?”
Paolo opened the door and motioned for her to exit before him. “Uh, let’s make it Wednesday. Tomorrow’s going to be a little difficult…”
“Wednesday it is then. Confirmed!”
“Ciao, Bernice. Until Wednesday.”
Sliding her hands up and down his biceps, Bernice squeezed his flesh along the way and then kissed him on both cheeks, one wet kiss landing on the corner of his mouth. “Ciao, churro.”
It was all Paolo could do not to roll his eyes. The last thing he wanted was to encourage the producer’s wife, especially after her warning about Edwin’s possessiveness. As if he even wanted a romp with the sly old vixen, but he couldn’t be rude to her either.
Wiggling her hips, Bernice teetered off toward her silver Jag and turned with a jaunty wave before getting inside. She rolled down the window and blew him another kiss before driving off, leaving Paolo with a bad taste in his mouth. He had not liked her tacky attempt at seduction. But mostly, her cattiness toward Maki had really bugged him. He had kept his cool because the stakes were high.
Paolo had dealt with women like
Bernice Blumenthal before—bored, matronly socialites who chased after younger men and thought they could lead them around by the cojones. He tamped down his annoyance and decided to bide his time until he won Miami Spice. He could handle Bernice. He was most concerned about Maki. There would be hell to pay if they didn’t get a rehearsal in before the taping tomorrow morning.
Chapter Twelve
Michaela could barely see straight, she was so furious with Paolo for standing her up again last night. When he finally showed up, she had to force herself to keep her voice low not to wake up Mikey and Claudia as she hissed, “You have no concept of time. You’re irresponsible and inconsiderate and I never want to see you again after tomorrow. Thanks to you, we’ll have to wing it without a proper rehearsal!” After her blistering tirade, she had run out of his apartment, ignoring his lame explanation about a flat tire. Paolo had chased after her in the dark parking lot, but she tore out of there before he could say another word.
She hadn’t gotten back to her apartment until past midnight and then had tossed and turned in bed, wishing him all kinds of evil. She still could not believe he’d had the nerve to blame a flat tire on his lateness—especially with the unmistakable smell of a woman’s perfume lingering on him. She wished she didn’t have to see Paolo’s face today, let alone cook with him.
But she couldn’t dwell on it now; she had to concentrate on the taping ahead. As she drove down I95 on her way to Key Biscayne, she took deep breaths and tried to assuage her nerves, but they were stretched to the breaking point. Aunt Willow’s encouraging phone call this morning had managed to bolster her confidence, in spite of her annoyance at not being prepared.
She arrived at the Rickenbacker Causeway and paid the toll. This was a fortunate route, she realized, as her thoughts drifted to happy childhood memories of weekend beach outings with her Aunt Willow. A free-spirited hippie at heart, Willow had mysteriously changed her name from Nadine after attending Woodstock in 1969. She and the love of her life, Stephen, had been as different as two people could be, but they had been happily married for eighteen years until he died young of a heart attack, leaving her a widow at thirty-eight. She had never remarried nor had any children and dearly loved Michaela and Tiffany as if they were her own daughters.
Grill Me, Baby Page 13