29 (21 page)

“Are you cold back there?” he asked me, getting off the bike and then helping me off.

I shook my head. I was sure I’d have a chill, but the wind on my shoulders actually felt good.

“Come here, I want to show you something.” He walked ahead of me toward a white glass building as I took off the helmet and fixed my hair and straightened my dress. Zachary knocked on the window of the building and waved to someone inside.

“It looks like it’s closed,” I said.

“I’ve got the situation under control,” he told me confidently.

As I caught up to him, I saw that he was waving to a security guard, who pointed to the side of the building.

“You can’t come to Philadelphia without seeing this. I wouldn’t be a good guide if I didn’t show you.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Thanks, Gus,” Zachary said as the guard opened the door.

“Take all the time you need,” Gus told us.

“It’s the Liberty Bell!” I squealed.

Can you believe that in the entire seventy-five years that I’ve lived in Philadelphia I’ve never once seen the Liberty Bell? I’ve seen sights all over the world, but never in my own backyard. How crazy is that? Of course I’d seen models of it in the airport gift shop and pictures of it all my life, but I never once saw it up close.

The bell was housed behind a waist-high steel fence, but when Zachary asked, Gus said we could walk around it as long as we didn’t touch it.

“It’s like all priceless pieces of art—even the natural oils in your hand could damage it in some way,” I educated them. I was on the planning committee for years at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Did I mention that to you?

“That’s right,” Gus said, nodding.

“It’s bigger than it looks in the pictures,” I said, amazed.

I got closer to the bell so I could read what it said.

“Can you see that?” Zachary asked.

“I can’t make out the words.” I squinted (and then of course remembered I didn’t need to squint with my 20/20 vision).

Proclaim LIBERTY throughout all the Land unto all the Inhabitants thereof

Lev. XXV X

By Order of the ASSEMBLY of the Province of PENSYLVANIA for the

State House in Philad
^a

Pass and Stow

Philad
^a

MDCCLIII

How apropos for me at that very moment, with all that I had on my mind. The Liberty Bell was the symbol of independence, liberty and independence from myself. It was such a shame I hadn’t seen these words until now—what a waste! I wondered what other landmarks I’d missed all these years.

We stood in silence and gazed at the bell a bit longer.

“I don’t know how we got to do this, but thank you for bringing me here,” I said.

“It’s my pleasure.” He smiled.

“Thank you, Gus, for allowing us to come in,” I said to the guard as he opened the door for us to leave.

“Pleasure,” he said.

As Gus locked the doors behind us, I asked Zachary again, “How did you do that?”

“I donated a lot of money. They let you do things like that if you’ve donated a lot of money.”

“Enough said,” I replied, understanding completely. “My boyfriend Howard always got right into the emergency room at Pennsylvania Hospital because he gave a lot for research.”

“So Howard is from Philly?” He stopped me.

“Oh, yes, he was, but that was a long time ago. He moved,” I said, thinking quickly. “To Chicago.”

“How old was he when he gave all this money?” he asked, handing me the helmet.

“Oh, uh, well, it was his family,” I lied.

“Oh. What’s his last name? One thing about Philly people, we all know each other.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t know his family,” I replied quickly, putting on my helmet. “They moved, too.”

“Oh,” he finally conceded. “So, you hungry at all?” Thank goodness he’d changed the subject.

“I’m famished!” I cried out. “What are you thinking?” I asked him.

“Well, we could pop into one of the finer restaurants in the city, but I’m thinking you might want some genuine Philadelphia flavor.”

“A cheesesteak!” I shouted. “Oh, gosh, I haven’t had a cheesesteak in years!”

How perfect. Of course I’d been to all the restaurants he could have taken me to.

“You watch your weight?” he asked as he gave me a once-over.

“No.” I shook my head. “Fear of cholesterol.”

“Good for you,” he answered with a chuckle. “You’re never too young to start worrying about that stuff.”

“Well, I do watch my weight, of course. But I’ve got a good metabolism. My . . . my . . . my sister . . . she got my father’s genes. She’s always on a diet, but I think she cheats more than she diets. Not Lucy and me, though. We can pretty much eat what we want.”

“Your sister must hate that,” he replied.

I thought about that for a second. “You know what?” I answered. “I bet she does.”

I was already climbing on a motorcycle for the second time in my life, thinking,
If the motorcycle isn’t going to kill me, neither will the cholesterol in a cheesesteak.

“You’re a girl after my own heart,” he said. “But if you’re going to have your first cheesesteak in years, it better be the best.”

“JR’s, on Seventeenth Street?” I asked.

“Pat’s, in South Philly!” he shouted.

“I’m in!”
I shouted back as the motor revved and we were off again.

A few blocks in, we hit a red light.

“How are you doing back there?” he asked me.

“You can go faster if you want!” I shouted.

“I would like a Philadelphia cheesesteak sandwich, please,” I ordered through the window when we arrived at Pat’s.

The man behind the partition gave me a quizzical look.

“She’ll have a Whiz,” Zachary broke in. “Do you want fried onions?”

“Oh, yes.” My mouth watered.

“Whiz, wit,” Zachary told the man. “Two Whiz, wit, inside out.”

“What is that you told him?” I asked as we moved down the line.

“Cheesesteaks are ordered in a different language here,” he told me. “I ordered us steak sandwiches with Cheeze Whiz and fried onions.”

“And that’s a Whiz, wit,” I confirmed, enunciating my words, which he chuckled at. “Oh, but I’d rather have Swiss cheese. Can you tell him that?” I turned back to the man at the partition.

“Oh, no,” he said, taking me aside as if I’d said something off-color. “They won’t serve it with Swiss cheese. They’ll kick us out.”

“Oh! And what was the
inside-out
part?”

“The sandwich is better if they take out the bread from the middle,” he explained.

“Oh, that’s smart,” I said. “And less calories. I’ll have to tell my sister,” I added, but then again, why get Barbara angry by bringing something like that up?

I grabbed a whole bunch of napkins from the counter as Zachary secured two seats at one of the picnic tables outside the building. I handed him half of the napkins as I spread one out on the table like a place mat.

“Wow, you’re really dainty,” he remarked with a chuckle.

“I guess I am,” I admitted. “But who knows who’s been sitting at this table?”

“Good point,” he said, putting my cheesesteak in front of me and then taking a napkin and spreading it out,
daintily,
in front of him.

As I took the first bite of my cheesesteak, uh, Whiz, wit (which, incidentally, tasted magical), I tried my best not to get any of the onions on me, as they dripped from the other side of the sandwich.

“Messy, but good,” he said, taking another bite.

“You said it,” I said.

“Now you can officially tell your friends back in Chicago that you ate your cheesesteak from
the
place to eat cheesesteaks. I guess that’s like Giordano’s for you?”

“It’s what?”

“Like Giordano’s, for deep-dish pizza. Don’t tell me you live in Chicago and you’ve never eaten at Giordano’s.”

“Of course I have!” I exclaimed, hoping he wouldn’t ask me any more questions. What the heck was Giordano’s, and what was deep-dish pizza? “So tell me about your Web site,” I said, quickly changing the subject.

“Well, you know, I’m sure a stylish girl like you has bought things from my site before.”

“No.” I shook my head. “I never buy anything off the Internet. I don’t even have a computer.”

“You what?” He looked at me like I was living in the Dark Ages (which I was).

“I don’t have a computer. I don’t believe in typing in my credit card so the world can get ahold of it. Knowing my luck, someone will steal all my money.”

“You know, most sites have software that protects you from that. Not only that, buying things off the Internet is safer than buying things over the phone.”

“Oh, come on.” I balked. “I’d rather give my credit card to a live person than type it in blindly over the Internet!” I told him, thinking it made total sense.

“You really have no idea about my Web site?”

“No, why?”

Zachary shook his head. “It’s just that when most women find out that I started couture.com, they get visions of Versace dancing in their eyes. It’s like being a rock star. Girls all want a piece of me. Unfortunately, I have a hard time figuring out which they like better, me or the Web site.”

“I find that very hard to believe,” I said, taking in all of his handsomeness. “I mean, with those stunning eyes and that gorgeous smile, you mean to tell me that you actually get taken advantage of?”

“You’d be surprised. Lucy tells me not to give them so much that they’ll just use me for it, but I can’t help it. Call me
old-fashioned, but I think that when you take a girl out on a date, you should treat her nicely.”

“I said the same thing to her earlier!” I exclaimed.

“I’m glad you think so,” he said.

“Trust me,” I said, “if a girl is stupid enough to just use a man like you for free clothes or a dinner, she’s not worth it.”

“I like the way you speak,” he said, taking another bite of his sandwich.

“Although I might use you to walk up there and order me another one of these sandwiches after I finish this one.”

“You can use me for that.” He laughed, looking at me a little longer than he should have. He kept on staring as I took another bite.

“What?” I asked him, covering my mouth, which was full of sandwich.

“So you’ve really never heard of my site, and you’ve never bought anything off the Internet.”

“No,” I told him. “I told you: I don’t trust buying anything online. But tell me what the site is all about. I’ve heard of Amazon.com; is it like that?”

“Well, yes, but Amazon is more like, say, Woolworth’s five-and-ten-cent stores, which you’re probably too young to remember. That was a place that sold everything from goldfish to televisions.”

“I think I’ve heard of it,” I lied, remembering countless hours I spent in my youth at the Woolworth’s on City Line Avenue.

“Well, couture.com is more of a department store. It’s a site where you can shop for all the latest styles, from stockings to
dresses to gowns and coats, but the thing is, everything is tailored to fit your style.”

“But how?” I asked, perplexed.

“Well, there’s a place on the site where you can store all your information, your likes and your dislikes and your size. It takes about twenty minutes to fill out. We’ve got a long, detailed list of questions. And then you get e-mails once a week, or once a month, or every day if you’re a big shopper, with pictures of outfits that have just come in that fit your profile. Whether you’re looking for jeans or a couture gown, the site chooses what you would like according to your taste, price range, and what fits your body.”

“That’s incredible!” I exclaimed.

“Oh, it’s really successful,” he went on. “And then, if you download a picture of your full body, we can overlay each outfit onto the picture so you can see what you’d look like in it before you order the merchandise.”

“So if I go to the site and I see a blouse I like, I can just put it on my picture?” I asked.

“Well, you’re the model in the picture.”

“I am?” I was puzzled.

“Well, on your page. You know when you look at a catalog and you see the model in the outfit?”

“Sure, sure.”

“Well, on the site, it’s
you
wearing the outfit.”

“But how do you get everyone in the clothes? How does everyone who goes on the site get to see themselves, and not someone else?”

“That’s the beauty of the Internet,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“That’s ingenious!” I screeched. “That’s the most brilliant thing I’ve ever heard. And you can do it right in your own home?” I was beside myself at this news.

“Of course. I mean, this is old news. A lot of sites do it now. We were just one of the first. I can’t believe you’ve never heard of it before.”

“No wonder all these ladies clamor for you. You’ve made their dreams come true!” I tried to take it all in. “So let me get this straight. It’s kind of like the olden days, when I was younger and my grandmother used to tell me how all the saleswomen knew what you liked and they’d pick things out for you. Only in this case it’s on the Internet?”

“Actually”—he paused and took a deep breath—“it’s really funny you should say that. I got the idea from my grandmother, who worked for years at Saks Fifth Avenue, in Bala Cynwyd.” He paused again. “Actually, it was at her funeral that I thought up the idea. And this is the part I’ve been meaning to get to.” He smiled. “See, my grandmother’s best friend’s daughter was giving a eulogy about how my grandmother was the last of the great salesladies, and how she always knew everyone and what their tastes were. I know that’s a bad thing to say, that I thought of my business model at my grandmother’s funeral.” He looked down and smiled, as if he was thinking of her. Then he looked at me. “I’ve never told anyone that. But I have to tell you now, the truth is . . .”

And I knew exactly what he was going to say, and I suddenly felt my knees give out.