The Other Man (Rose Gold Book 1)

by Nicole French

  Chapter Seven

  “So, what’s it for?”

  The next day, I stood in my living room while two of my sisters and my four-year-old niece watched me try on a suit. It was a familiar scene. My house in Brooklyn, which I currently shared with my sister Frankie and her daughter, Sofia, was a second home base for our family, especially when they wanted to get out of the Bronx. Kate, who owned the vintage menswear store that had provided me with the Armani Nina mentioned, often passed through on her way back from scouting estate sales in Connecticut or Long Island on the weekends. And like a good sister, she always put the best aside for me first.

  I turned from side to side, examining the charcoal gray secondhand Prada. Maybe it was used, but a good suit makes a man look like a million bucks. And in a city like New York? Money talks. Loud.

  I turned to where Kate was sorting through a pile of handkerchiefs with Sofia. “What do you mean? Hey, keep that one for me. I like it.”

  Sofia handed me a red paisley pocket square, but Kate kept right on talking while I tucked it into the breast pocket.

  “Mattie, come on. All of a sudden, you need a new three-piece? What’s it for? Or, I should say, who?”

  “Maybe I just wanted to spruce things up a little.” I turned back to the mirror on the wall and pulled at the lapels. Were they too thin or just right? I didn’t usually go for a peak like this, but I was kind of feeling it.

  “You’ve turned down everything I’ve put aside for you since January because you said you had to save money.”

  “Hey, the holidays are expensive when I have five sisters and six nieces and nephews, all of whom like nice things.”

  “Is that why you gave me a crappy gift card?” Frankie chimed in. “Because I like nice things?”

  “Amazon has all sorts of things, Fran,” I said. “I didn’t see you giving it back to me.”

  “Yeah, well, beggars can’t be choosers.”

  I didn’t press her on that fact, because I knew on some level, it hurt Frankie’s pride that she and Sofia lived with me because she couldn’t afford a nice place for the two of them on her teacher’s salary. But I happened to be very proud of what my sister did for a living, and it wasn’t her fault that Sofia’s dad was a worthless piece of shit who ran out on them. Most of the time, I was happy to have them here. They made my house a home.

  I redid the tie with a bit more concentration than necessary. What my sisters didn’t know was that I’d pretty much blown my spending budget for months that night with Nina. Even though she’d taken the hotel bill, entertaining a woman like her still hadn’t been cheap. I’d sprung for the best wines, the best food. For hours. After needing to repair my furnace the following month, I’d only just managed to get my bank account back to normal.

  Kate peered at me over her librarian glasses. “Frankie says you’ve been out a lot. Anyone special?”

  I scowled into the mirror at Frankie, who avoided my gaze. “Francesca! Why do you have to share my business all over town?”

  Honestly, my sisters were worse than reality show contestants, the way they gossiped. Living with one of them meant my every damn move was on display.

  Frankie just chuckled and got up to go to the kitchen. “I didn’t know your extracurriculars were a secret, big brother.”

  I pulled the tail of the tie through the knot. “You don’t know shi—I mean nothing.” I winked at Sofia, whose little mouth had dropped when she sensed a curse word coming. “No swear jar, Sofs. I caught myself that time.”

  “Zio!”

  “All Frankie said was that you don’t come home most weekends, and that sometimes you get up and leave in the middle of the night,” Kate said.

  “What?” Frankie called when I shot her another murderous look. “You don’t!”

  “So I’ll ask again,” Kate continued. “Who’s the girl? What do you think, Sofs? Should we finally get to meet one?”

  “Yes!” Sofia cried as she tossed several folded handkerchiefs into the air like confetti.

  I finished with the tie, then fastened the first button of the jacket. The suit was only fifteen years old, not true vintage like most of the stuff in Kate’s shop. It would be perfect for Friday night. I fingered the red silk pocket square. Crimson. Just like a rose.

  “There’s no one,” I lied as I turned around. “You know me, girls. I just like to look good.”

  Right on cue, Kate’s skepticism melted away as she checked me over. It wasn’t much different than when we were kids—me, a grouchy fourteen-year-old stuck babysitting his little sisters, her at eight, forcing me to wear Nonno’s suits so we could play wedding or ball or whatever would keep my pack of little sisters from screaming bloody murder at me.

  I had to hand it to Kate now, though. She saw the craze for flash menswear coming a mile away. After Mad Men got big, she used her part of our grandfather’s bequest to lease her shop in Riverdale. Eleven years later, my little sister’s business had been mentioned in just about every local paper as the place to go for men’s secondhand fashion in the city. She had regulars from pretty much every major costume design house, television studio, and stylist group in town.

  “Well?” I asked, turning from side to side. “Is it adequate?”

  Kate tipped her head. “The lines are good. Your cute little Italian butt was made for Prada.”

  “Cute butt!” Sofia shouted.

  I threw another pocket square at her, which made her giggle. “My ass is not cute or little, Kit-kat.”

  “Zio, that’s a swear!”

  I tossed a crumpled dollar into my niece’s chubby little hands. She immediately rolled over and waved it at her mom.

  “Is that why Nonna still tries to grab it every time you come for dinner?” Frankie asked as she helped Sofia put the dollar in the mason jar on the counter.

  “Nonna just wishes I was still five years old.” I turned back to the mirror so Kate could look me over better.

  “I think you should have Jerome taper the hems a bit more,” Kate added, referring to the tailor I used by my office. “And take in the back of the jacket maybe an inch. Prada was ahead of the game in 2004, but it’s still a little too early aughts.”

  “You mean I shouldn’t look like a Backstreet Boy?”

  “Too late!” Frankie called from the kitchen.

  “Yeah, you already went through that phase once,” agreed Kate.

  “I did not. The Marines wouldn’t allow it.” I let her pull the jacket from my shoulders. “What about the suspenders? You don’t think they’re a little too grandpa?”

  Kate gave me a look through the mirror. “Mattie, you wear a fedora every day of the week, so I don’t really think grandpa fashion has ever been an issue for you.”

  “Hey, my hats look great.”

  “Your hats make you look like those old movie characters you love so much,” Frankie said as she sat back down with Sofia, a glass of wine in hand.

  “Nothing wrong with that,” Kate said. “Suspenders are all the rage right now. And those pants weren’t made for a belt.”

  I slipped my thumbs under the waistband. She was right. These didn’t have belt loops, and while they would stay up just fine without the straps over my shoulders, the buttons sewn into the waist certainly meant they were supposed to have them. They were old-fashioned. Traditional.

  Some people liked that.

  “An undershirt,” Nina remarked as she pulled my shirttails open. “Most men don’t even bother.”

  “Most men are content to look like fuckin’ heathens. I like to think I’m not most men, doll.”

  “No,” she said, desire thick on her tongue, “you are definitely not.”

  I wasn’t intentionally trying to remember all the ways Nina seemed to enjoy the more old-fashioned aspects of it, like my favorite fedora, modeled after Nonno’s, or the double-breasted vest I wore under my jacket that night.

  It was a little too easy to imagine the look on her face if she caught sight of a pair of suspende
rs. The way she might reach out and pull one side of the elasticized leather. Out, out, out…then snap! It would land hard enough on my chest to leave a mark.

  I turned away from my sisters. They didn’t need to see the almost immediate effect that particular fantasy had.

  “See?” Frankie said to Kate. “Look at that. He’s definitely got a girl.”

  Too bad I couldn’t hide shit from them if I tried.

  “There’s no fuckin’ girl, Fran.”

  “Zio!”

  I sighed and tossed another dollar at Sofia.

  “I’ll take them,” I told Kate as I pulled the straps over my shoulders, one at a time. “The square too. I’ll take the whole kit.” I checked my watch. “But can you make it snappy? I’d like to catch Jerome before he closes. See if he can do the alterations before Friday.”

  Kate was already done with the pocket squares, and it was clear by her expression that I wasn’t fooling her. Not in the slightest.

  “Friday, huh?” she asked as she started putting things away. “Sure, there’s no girl. Just you wait until we tell everyone tomorrow. We’ll get it out of you, Mattie. We always do.”

  I didn’t stay home after dropping off my suit. Something had been bothering me since running into Nina the day before. I had some things I needed to get off my chest, and since I had to be uptown tomorrow for Mass anyway, I figured I’d give Frankie the house tonight and kill two birds.

  So I took the train all the way up to the Bronx. I walked into Christ Our Redeemer, where I’d spent a solid part of my childhood daydreaming on the hard wooden pews and making trouble in catechism classes. Where I’d spend the next morning kneeling beside my family, trying to figure out how to be a better man than the one I always seemed to end up being.

  Now that I was grown, I wasn’t sure I believed all the stuff I learned within these brick walls. But I still went to confession, if only to appease my grandmother, who was a very devout Catholic. And, if I was being truthful, I still went for myself. A little absolution never hurt anyone, and there were days, like today, when I needed it a little more.

  Like when you run into a woman who would tempt Christ himself, I thought to myself. Who was I kidding? In less than a week, I’d be sitting across the table from the definition of temptation. This was an emergency.

  Quickly, I crossed myself as I knelt in front of the latticed screen and tried not to sniff. This thing had always smelled damp, somehow. Like a colony of moths lived under the kneeler.

  “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been…” I looked up at the rickety wood beams, trying to count just how many days it really had been since I’d sat in a confessional. Fuck. I mean, damn. I mean, crud. Whatever. I’d add mental profanity to the list and give Sofia a twenty when I got home. “Three weeks? Maybe four?”

  The familiar, patient breathing of Father Deflorio wheezed slightly from the other side. Great, so the priest had a cold too. The silhouette of his head tipped in recognition of my voice.

  “Hello, Matthew. Nice to have you back.” Finally. He didn’t have to say it.

  “We’ve got a bit to catch up on, don’t we, Father?”

  The priest said nothing, just waited for me to speak. He wouldn’t rush me or goad me, like some might on a Saturday afternoon with several other people waiting to confess before Mass the next day. I’d known the unflappable Father Deflorio my whole life. He was a vacuum of personality, to the point where my sisters used to compare him and his soutain to Nonna’s drapes. But you know, that’s not such a bad thing when you’re divulging all your mortal secrets in hopes of having a shot in hell at heaven. Ah, you know what I mean.

  “Let’s see…” I flipped my fingers in front of me, trying to recount all my sins. “Between all five of them, I told my sisters to fuck off at least ten times since February. I yelled at Frankie twice last week alone for throwing her towel on the new couch. Took the Lord’s name too many times to count. Um…a fair amount of sex with contraceptives—a few of them were involved, one engaged. And I lied to Kate when she asked me who I was buying a suit for.”

  “A suit?”

  I rolled my eyes. That’s what he picked up on?

  “A suit, yeah. It’s for—well, I said it was for no one. But it’s not. It’s for this woman. This—well, I told you about her, Father. The one-night stand. The one who’s married.”

  “Forgive me, Matthew, but there have been a few like that before.”

  “The blonde, Father. The princess. The…doll. Nina.”

  I practically choked on the word now. That word I had never used before I met her.

  There was a long pause. Then: “I remember.”

  I’m sure he did. I came up here after our night together and spent a fuckin’ hour in the confessional. It wasn’t so much about telling him everything Nina and I did. Father Deflorio wasn’t some dirty voyeur—he just needed the facts so he could dole out a punishment to fit the crime. Me, I just needed to process. Figure out what the hell had happened.

  Some people talk to therapists, but I was Catholic, so I talked to my priest. And that day after Nina’s and my scarlet night together? Well, it took a while. And several other times since. Because you can’t really repent if you don’t regret. And I still couldn’t find it within myself to regret anything I had done with Nina Astor…de Vries. I winced. Gardner.

  “I saw her again,” I said. “Yesterday. For the first time since January. I was at a friend’s apartment, and she walked in. Turns out she’s his cousin, right under my nose. Can you believe that, Father? That’s some divine intervention right there.”

  Father Deflorio’s sigh, again, was audible. Yeah, he knew where this was going.

  “She’s helping on a case. Afterward, I walked her home across the park. We just talked, Father, honest. But we couldn’t finish, so I asked her to dinner.”

  “Matthew…”

  “It’s not like that, I swear it.”

  His silence told me he didn’t believe a word. I couldn’t blame him. I didn’t believe myself either.

  “Okay, okay, maybe it is a little,” I admitted.

  “Have you continued to have impure thoughts about this woman?”

  Impure thoughts. Ha. Yeah, that was putting it mildly. “You could say that. One or two times since yesterday?” Right, well, that was only true if you counted all last night and all day today as one “time” each, but since it was constant, I figured it was technically true. “And, yeah, I masturbated in the shower thinking about her. Twice.”

  “Matthew, God is quite clear about this matter. It’s there in Exodus. Deuteronomy. ‘Thou shalt not covet your neighbor’s wife.’”

  Thou shalt not covet. Yeah. Sometimes it felt like all I ever did was covet. “Well, she’s not really my neighbor’s wife.”

  “‘Thou shalt not commit adultery,’” added the priest.

  “I mean, does it really count if I’m not the adulterer? She’s the one who’s married, Father. I had to stare at the rock on her finger for three hours, so I know it’s true.”

  It was like I was thirteen all over again, sitting in catechism classes and picking apart every piece of logic. That was the first time anyone every suggested I should be a lawyer. If it hadn’t been for the good priests channeling my healthy questioning of the Church, I might have never gone the route I did.

  That didn’t mean I was going to win this case, though. Then, as now, Father Deflorio couldn’t be moved.

  “‘Every one who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart.’”

  I studied my hands. Fuck. If that was the truth, I’d been committing adultery with Nina nonstop since she walked into Eric’s apartment. I was going to burn for those petal-shaped lips alone.

  I shook my head viciously. “Right. Yeah.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  I thought for a moment. “No, I think that about covers it.”

  “If I might…”

  I prepared myself for a
lecture. Maybe a whole rosary this time around. We’d been talking about Nina for months, and Father Deflorio knew—maybe better than anyone—that my thoughts weren’t any closer to salvation-worthy than they were when we started.

  “Spend some time revisiting your catechism. Go home. Review Part Three, Section Two on the Ninth Commandment.”

  “You got a page number there for me, Father?” I teased. “Maybe a line?”

  “Matthew.”

  “Sorry, sorry. No, you’re right. I’ll give it some thought.”

  “Really consider it. Sit with God’s Word. Try to remember: the problem isn’t with her, Matthew. It’s in your distance from His decree. There is an emptiness in a Godless life that you’re looking to fill with her instead. But it won’t work.”

  Was that the problem? Sin begets sin, so it just made me want to sin more? Like sugar or cocaine?

  I frowned. If that were the case, it shouldn’t matter who was under the sheets with me. Caitlyn or any of the other practically nameless women I’d been seeking out lately, trying to fill this void. Anyone should have sufficed. Nina should have become nameless too.

  Yeah, I wasn’t convinced that void was caused by a lack of God in my life. But then again, I wasn’t exactly an authority on the matter.

  “You got it, Father. Thank you.”

  “Also, five Hail Marys this time, Matthew.”

  I smirked, though he couldn’t see me. I knew he wouldn’t let me off with just the standard three. “Thanks, Father.”

  “Anything else, Matthew?”

  “No, that’s it.” I murmured the Act of Contrition I’d had memorized since I was a kid.

  “Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good.”

  “For His mercy endures forever.” I crossed myself again. “I’ll see you at Mass.”

  “Very well. But, Matthew?”

  I stopped just before opening the confessional door. “Yeah, Father?”

  “For Heaven’s sake, son, don’t go to that dinner.”

  I swallowed. I couldn’t lie to a priest. Not right after cleansing my immortal soul. But at the same time, I wouldn’t make a promise I couldn’t keep either.