Christmas Bliss (18 page)

“You don’t even want to know what I had to do to get those tickets either.” We both looked up, and Carlotta was standing behind my chair, holding out a shoe box.

“Here,” she said, thrusting the box toward me. “Put those on, finish your lunch, and then you two need to get out of here. There’s a cab waiting for you out front.”

I opened the shoe box, and nestled in a fold of pink tissue were a pair of black flats with a distinctive round gold logo buckle that I recognized instantly.

“No,” Daniel said. “I can’t leave. We’ve got three big parties coming in the door right now…”

“I’ve got it covered,” she said, yanking him up by the collar of his coat. “Lend me that, will you? I’m the messiest cook on the planet, and I hate to ruin a six-hundred-dollar dress with bacon grease.”

Daniel was protesting at the same time as he was unbuttoning his jacket. “This won’t work, Carlotta. We appreciate it, but really, I don’t feel right about leaving.”

“These are Tory Burch flats,” I said, holding one up. The price sticker was on the sole of the shoe: $350.

“They were on sale,” Carlotta said. “Put them on. A gift from me to you. Go. Hurry.”

“I can’t accept these,” I started, but she cut me off again.

“Just go,” she said, shooing us toward the door. “Have a good time, and then I don’t want to see either of you back here tonight. Understand? You’re taking the night off, Danny.”

Chapter 20

Weezie

Dusk had fallen on Broadway by the time we emerged from the theater. People around us were smiling and laughing and chatting about the play—even Daniel, I realized, was humming “There Is Nothing Like a Dame.”

I squeezed his arm and laughed. “That was your favorite song? In the whole show?”

“What’s not to love about a song that features bearded sailors dressed up in coconut shell bras and grass skirts?” he asked. “Let me guess, you liked ‘Some Enchanted Evening.’”

“Hard to decide. There were so many sweet songs, but yeah, I loved that and ‘Younger Than Springtime.’ I swear, I could turn right around and go see it a second time, it was that good. Come on, admit it, you loved it too.”

“It didn’t suck too bad. For a musical. So, was it everything you expected?”

“And more,” I assured him. “After this, you don’t even have to bother with a Christmas gift for me. Because nothing you could do could top taking me to see
South Pacific
. On Broadway. At Christmas.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and gave him an enthusiastic kiss to emphasize just how happy he’d made me.

He returned the favor, and as we stood there, kissing right there in the middle of Broadway and 42nd Street, people just kept walking right around us, as if we didn’t exist.

Finally I peeled myself off Daniel’s chest, and we drifted down the sidewalk, traveling through Times Square.

“Where to now?” he asked. “It’s kind of early for dinner.”

I hesitated.

“Come on, I know you still have at least a dozen things you want to do, and I’ve been such a jerk, too busy working to spend time with you. What do you really, really want to do?”

“Well … I’ve always wanted to go to the Metropolitan Museum…”

“Oh man…”

“I promise I won’t drag you through the whole museum. I just want to see the big tree with all the hand-carved angels and cherubs and the fancy eighteenth-century Neapolitan crèches.”

He heaved a huge, martyred sigh. “Theater and a museum, all in the same day? That’s asking a lot of a good ol’ boy from Savannah, Georgia.”

“You are so
not
a good ol’ boy,” I said. “But if you really don’t want to go…”

“Who said I don’t want to go? I just have to give you grief, because otherwise you’d start taking me for granted. Is it too cold for you? Should we grab a cab?”

“Not too cold at all. We’ve been sitting in that theater for three hours. It’ll feel good to stretch my legs.”

“It’ll probably be mobbed with people,” Daniel commented, but he kept walking.

“I know.”

“We probably won’t even get close enough to see anything.”

“I bet we will. Anyway, it won’t hurt to try.”

We started walking, looking for a cab.

We passed a place called Joe Allen’s. Daniel pointed at the sign. “That’s a famous restaurant, you know. According to Carlotta, lots of actors show up there after shows. We could stop in, warm up, get a drink…”

“Maybe after? You know how I get if I have a drink in the daytime. I’ll need a nap…”

“A nap? We could go back to the apartment and I’ll tuck you in…”

I punched his arm. “And neither of us will get any sleep. I know you, Daniel Stipanek.”

“Later?”

“Much later,” I promised.

*   *   *

As he had predicted, the great hall where the Christmas tree was set up was mobbed—and even as we paid our admission, we were told the museum would close in fifteen minutes.

“Fifteen minutes? That’s all we get?” I tried not to look as disappointed as I felt.

“Fifteen minutes of Christmas is about all I can take. Come on,” Daniel urged, tugging me gently into the swirl of people, all apparently headed in the same direction as us—the Medieval Hall.

The sounds of hushed voices and the scuffling of feet on the marble floor echoed in the high-ceilinged hall, and from somewhere you could hear piped-in music from some kind of stringed instrument. Lutes maybe? After all, this was the medieval room.

We were packed in shoulder to shoulder, with what seemed like thousands of people, and slowly we managed to edge our way closer and closer to the tree, which we could see, towering in the middle of the room, propped in front of a baroque altarpiece. It was crowded, yes, but people were in a holiday mood, polite and reverent.

Finally we managed to inch our way within sight of the display. The tree, a twenty-foot blue spruce, was magnificent, hung with dozens and dozens of carved and jeweled angels and cherubs out of some Pre-Raphaelite fantasy. Just the angels and the tree itself were so gorgeous, so baroque and gilded and golden, it was difficult to take it all in. At some point, I realized my jaw was hanging open.

Set up at the base of the tree, the crèche figures were arranged in a kind of grotto scene, with the manger and the Holy Family at the center, and then ringed around them was a whole village of characters straight out of the story of Luke. The angels and archangels were there, and the three Magi, and barnyard animals and the shepherd and their flock, and villagers … all of it hand-carved and gilded in the most exquisite detail.

Daniel was being patient, but at some point, I realized he’d been shifting from one foot to the other. Luckily for both of us, we heard the closing gong sounding, and security guards appeared to help empty out the hall.

*   *   *

The first snowflakes of the day were falling as we came out of the museum. “Come on.” Daniel pulled me in the direction of a street cart, where the smell of something being grilled over charcoal wafted into the cold air.

“Roasted chestnuts!” I cried when he handed me a waxed paper packet, inhaling the scent. He showed me how to eat them, and we walked arm in arm down the street.

“Now where?” I asked.

“You’ll see.”

Snow was falling harder now, and I was glad of my coat, warm gloves, and Daniel’s scarf, which he wrapped securely around my neck.

He stepped out into the street, raised his arm, and whistled—but nothing happened. Buses, cars, and taxis inched past us in the traffic, but no cab pulled over. We walked on two more blocks, finally stepping under the parapet of a hotel, where Daniel discreetly handed the doorman a five-dollar bill. The doorman stepped into the street, blasted a shrill tweet on a silver whistle, and a moment later, we were being handed into a cab—with a fully functioning heater. Heaven.

Ten minutes later we pulled alongside a park bristling with tents outlined with Christmas lights.

“Where are we?” I asked as we got out of the cab.

“Bryant Park. It’s a Christmas market,” Daniel explained. “I know you wanted to go to a real New York flea market, but they’re only on weekends, so this is the best I could do. Carlotta said sometimes vintage dealers set up here.”

“That’s so sweet. But I know you hate to shop. We can skip it if you want.”

“No way,” he said gamely.

We strolled around the park, stopping in the tents, which all had zipped-down sides—and space heaters. We found a church-sponsored booth with crafts made by senior citizens, and I bought the tiniest hand-knitted sweater, cap, and booties for BeBe’s baby. Daniel bought New York Yankees baseball jerseys for his brothers, and when Daniel wasn’t looking, I bought him a Yankees cap—and a beautifully illustrated coffee table cookbook.

After we’d wandered and shopped for an hour my feet were cold and wet, and for the first time in my life, I realized I was all shopped out.

“You hungry?” Daniel asked.

I nodded gratefully.

“Carlotta told me about a great little restaurant just around the corner. She even offered to call and make us reservations.”

*   *   *

A black-and-white awning marked the entrance to the restaurant, whose name, Daniel assured me, roughly translated to “beautiful garden” in Italian.

The single dining room was tiny, with a low ceiling, whitewashed brick walls dotted with vintage Italian travel posters, and less than a dozen tables, all covered with red-checked tablecloths. Candles glowed from raffia-covered Chianti bottles on each table.

“This is so romantic,” I said, after the waiter seated us and brought us individual carafes of prosecco. “It reminds me of
Lady and the Tramp
.”

He tried to look offended. “A Disney dog cartoon? Weezie, this is a four-star restaurant.”

The waiter came back with a basket of bread and a beaker of olive oil, and I let Daniel order our dinner while I sat back in my chair and soaked up the atmosphere.

“
Lady and the Tramp
isn’t just a dog cartoon,” I said after the waiter left. “It’s about acceptance, and opposites finding their true love. It could be about us. My favorite scene is where they’re sharing a bowl of spaghetti in this little Italian bistro, and a strolling accordionist comes over, and they gaze into each other’s eyes…”

Daniel grabbed my hand. “I’ll do anything for you, Weezie Foley. I’ll sit through a three-hour musical, get stomped to death in a museum so crowded you can barely breathe, let alone see anything. I’ll even Christmas-shop with you. And you know how I feel about Christmas. But I draw the line at ordering spaghetti with red sauce in a four-star Manhattan restaurant.”

He hadn’t even noticed the waiter hovering over his shoulder. “Sir? The lady would like to change her order?”

I turned around and beamed up at him. He was stocky with an elegant black handlebar mustache and a spotless white apron that barely stretched across his generous belly. In short, he looked exactly like my memory of the waiter in
Lady and the Tramp
.

Daniel sighed. “Cancel her capesante. Spaghetti it is.”

*   *   *

The waiter brought thimble-sized glasses of grappa and biscotti. I tasted both and nearly swooned. “This,” I pronounced, “was the most perfect, most bestest New York day ever.”

“I’m glad,” Daniel said. “Look. Since we’re on the subject of New York, there’s something we need to talk about.” His face was solemn.

“What is it?”

“Don’t get that panicked look,” he said. “It’s nothing bad. It’s actually pretty cool. Carlotta offered me a job, Weezie. She wants me to stay on and be the chef at Cucina.”

“Stay on? Like, past Christmas?”

“Stay on, like, forever. Like live in New York and everything. What do you think?”

What did I think? Live in New York? No effing way! I wanted to lean across the table and grab my fiancé by the neck. New York was everything I’d wanted to see and more. Too much more, really. I hated clichés, but this one was true. The city was a nice place to visit, but I definitely didn’t want to live here. Now I just wanted to drag Daniel back home to Savannah. To our home. Where my dog was waiting to lick my face, and I could climb in my beat-up truck and go wherever I wanted to go and not have to bribe a guy five bucks to get me a cab. Snow was fine, but I’d seen, and walked through, enough already. I didn’t want to trade in my flip-flops for galoshes.

But how could I tell Daniel any of that? I felt a stabbing sensation in my gut, but I managed to form a frozen smile. “What do you think?”

Chapter 21

BeBe

By Thursday morning, Jethro and Jeeves had made an uneasy peace with each other. Jethro had taken up residence under our dining table, while Jeeves commanded Harry’s leather armchair in front of the shell-encrusted fireplace.

Jethro snoozed on, snoring softly, oblivious to my existence. But Jeeves raised his muzzle and gave me a quizzical look as I tiptoed out of the bedroom. “Shh!” I cautioned. It was only six o’clock. I wanted to get out to Oak Point as early as possible, in hopes I might catch Richard by surprise. And I didn’t want to have to explain to Harry where I was going or what I was doing.

Too late. The bedroom door opened and Harry stepped out, dressed in boxers and a white T-shirt. His hair was mussed, and he yawned widely. “What’s up?” he asked, looking as surprised as Jeeves was about my unusual early-morning appearance. I was dressed in my warmest maternity leggings, one of Harry’s old oversized flannel shirts, work boots, and a down-filled parka, which wouldn’t quite zip.

I had hoped not to have to use it, but I had a pretext planned and ready.

“Weezie called yesterday. There’s an estate sale at one of those old plantation houses down near Richmond Hill. She got the sale flyer, and she’s all hot and bothered about some old crap they’re selling. Since she won’t be back until Saturday, I promised her I’d go take a look.”

“At six in the morning?”

I poured a mug of coffee and handed it to him. “It’s one of those once-in-a-lifetime sales. Like the one out at Beaulieu—where she sweet-talked me into camping out with her. The doors won’t open till ten, but Weezie says all the dealers start lining up way before then.”