The Art of Stealing Hearts (6 page)

“I
mean, I guess…” I
look down, feeling my cheeks redden.

“What?”
Paige knows
me too well. She squints at me. “Why
are you blushing?”

“Something
else happened last night,” I
say, dropping my voice.

“Oooh,”
she squeals.
“Something
juicy? It sounds juicy.”

“I
met him.”

“Yes!
What’s
he like?” Paige
demands. “Give
me the gossip. Who was he there with? Did he seduce you with his
eyes? Describe his ass. Details, my friend, details!”

I
laugh, and settle back in bed with my laptop. “God,
he is so hot. Like a god, Paige, for real.”

“Drool,
much? Your face is bright red!” She
laughs. “You
liiiiiike him. You want to kiss him. You want to make sweet, sweet
looooove.”

“So
does every other warm blooded female who looks at him,”
I grin. “But
I bid for him when he left to take a call and afterward he asked me
out. That means something, doesn’t
it?”

“Absofuckinlutely!”
she exclaims.
“Hot
famous guys have to go out on dates, too, don’t
they?”

“He’s
famous? Like on TV famous?” I
ask.

“Occasionally.
He does guest appearances on New York or London morning shows to talk
about business or finance, or art.”
She shrugs.
“He’s
young and articulate and loaded. Not to mention hot as lava.”

“He’s
in finance?” I
realize I don’t
know anything about him. Besides how charming and cute he is.

“Yeah,
family money from banking that he took global a few years ago and
tripled his business,” Paige
says, shaking her head at me. “He’s
worth billions. Grace, you should really know who you’re
going out with.”

Billions?
I feel nauseous. “So
this guy is famous and worth more than I could make in fifteen
lifetimes. Great.” We
have nothing in common. This date is going to be a total disaster.

“At
least you know he’s
not interested in you for your money,”
she quips,
and I wish I could throw something at her through the screen.

“Gee,
thanks.”

“Because
there are so many other things to love you for!”
Paige covers.
“Your
wit, your heart, your amazing taste in friends…”

“I
get it,” I
laugh, but I still can’t
shake the feeling I’m
way out of my league.

Paige
peers at her camera. “You’re
looking a little green.”

“I
just didn’t
know he was so famous.” I
take a deep breath. “It’s
such a different world for me, you know?”

“I
know.” She
gives me a sympathetic smile. “But
I mean it, he’s
the lucky one to be taking
you
out.”

“It
doesn’t
feel that way. And these people I work with have been a nightmare. I
just really want to show them I can be worthy,”
I say,
wishing my mom could be here.

“Shut
up. You already are more worthy than all those trust fund brats with
their sports cars and diamond lipstick cases. Don’t
you forget that. And if St. Clair doesn’t
realize it too, then fuck him up his billionaire ass.”

I
burst out laughing. “I
am so lucky to have you,” I
say.

“Don’t
you forget that, either,” she
beams. “When
you’re
a famous artist and the world is clamoring for your attention,
including all the eligible hot guys, just remember who stood by you
way back when.”

“Some
girl named…Penny?
Polly?”

“Ha,”
she says, and
sticks her tongue out.

My
phone vibrates with my alarm. “Sorry
babe, I need to go get ready for my deli shift,”
I say. “And
we didn’t
even talk about you!”

“Eh,
nothing’s
new over here,” she
shrugs. “London,
schmondon. It won’t
stop raining, my hair is begging for mercy. Talk next week?”

“Duh.”

“And
take a picture of St. Clair’s
butt when you see him again,” she
demands. “Remember,
no glove, no love!”

She’s
still making kissy faces at the screen when I sign off.

Downstairs
in the deli, Giovanni and Nona’s
daughter Carmella runs a tight ship with an iron fist. I’m
on register duty today, taking orders and writing tickets for the
sandwich makers, but I can’t
stop thinking about St. Clair. Charles. It even sounds hot. Why are
British men never Charlie? I don’t
care what he calls himself; if he called me I would listen to him
talk all day.

“Would
you like mayo and mustard?” I
ask the lady in front of me who ordered a turkey avocado on wheat.

“Just
a touch of mayo,” the
woman says and I think of Charles’
hands on
mine, his lips on my cheek. He’s
like no one I’ve
ever met before. Confident, but not cocky, smooth, charming, but also
genuine.

“That’ll
be ten fifty,” I
say. Charles trusted me with
millions
of his dollars. Would he have done that with just anyone?

“Next!”

A
young couple comes up, hanging all over each other. His hand is in
her back pocket, and she’s
nuzzled up against his chest.

I
want Charles to want me like that.

“What
can I get you?” I
say, trying to push away the thought of him. What the hell’s
happening to me? I’ve
never felt this way about a man before, never really ached to be near
someone like this.

“…and
extra pickles.”

“I’m
sorry, what?” I
ask, flustered. I’m
zoning out here.

“Grace?
Earth to Grace?” Carmella
snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Are
you sick or something? You are way off your game today.”

“I’m
sorry, Carmella. I had to work late last night. I’m
a little out of it.”

“Take
your break,” she
says, pushing me out of the way and taking my place to help the next
customer like a cog in her own well-oiled machine.

I
head out front and take a seat on one of the benches outside the
deli. I can smell the ocean not too far from here mixed with the
marinara simmering in the kitchens, and the late afternoon light is
filtered by the low clouds drifting past like leaves in a flowing
river. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, releasing the tension
in my shoulders.

“You’re
way too pretty to always be so stressed, dollface.”
Cousin Eddie
steps out of the doorway to the restaurant next door.

“Do
you stalk me or something?” I
ask, tired.

“I
live to melt all your troubles away,”
he says,
flashing a smile big enough to reveal his silver molars. “Come
out with me tonight. We’ll
dance, drink, be merry.”

“No
thanks.”

“Come
on,” he
says, sitting next to me. The scent of his cologne is thick. “Give
me one good reason why not.”

“I
have plans tonight,” I
say, relieved to have an actual excuse for once.

He
squints in disbelief. “What
plans? Like a date?”

“Yeah,
like a date,” I
say. “Is
that so hard to believe?”

“You
have a date!” Nona
squeals, loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. “Oh,
thank God,” she
says, walking out from Giovanni’s
to hug me. “We
were getting worried about you.”

Fred
peeks his head out of the door. “Grace
has a date?” he
says. “With
who?”

I’m
sure my face is turning red, I’m
so embarrassed. I wish I could shrink into a little ball and avoid
their questions.

“So
who is this young suitor?” Nona
says. She nudges me. “Is
he handsome?”

“Of
course he is, mother,” Carmella
says from the doorway to the deli. She and Fred, like two peas in a
pod. “How
pretty is our Gracie?”

“No
way he’s
hotter than me,” Cousin
Eddie says, puffing out his chest.

“Who
is he?” Nona
asks again, beaming.

I
don’t
know what to say. I never dated much: I was always too busy with
school to have a serious boyfriend, and then later, with my mom
getting sick, dating wasn’t
really a priority. “Tell
us,” Nona
urges again. “Give
an old woman some vicarious fun.”

I
smile. “Fine,
fine. It’s
a guy I met through that art job.”

“Fancy,”
Carmella says
as Fred demands, “Is
he loaded?”

I
hesitate, not willing to say too much just yet. I have no idea where
things are going with St. Clair. “Relax
with the questions! It might just be one date, you guys.”

Fred
laughs his full bellied laugh. “So
that’s
a yes.”

Nona
puts her hand on my forearm. “Do
you like him?”

I
look at the ground so they can’t
see how much. “Yeah,”
I say. “But
I am worried about tonight. I think he’ll
take me somewhere fancy, but I don’t
have anything to wear.”

“Is
that it?” Nona
cries. “I
have just the thing. Come.” She
tucks her arm through mine and steers me towards her apartment down
the block.

“But
my shift—” I
protest.

Nona
tuts. “Carmella
will fix that, won’t
you? Everybody else, back to work!”

Her
short, seventy year old legs are surprisingly swift, and soon we’re
up in the di Fiore’s
big, bright apartment that covers two floors, the one they bought
back when North Beach was just a run-down immigrant neighborhood, and
not the fashionable place it is now. They could get millions if they
sold it, but Nona won’t
hear of it: this is her home.

“This
trunk was my mother’s,”
she says,
fishing a trunk out of the closet. It looks like it’s
at least as old as she is. “She
died young, like yours, poor dears.”
Nona opens
the lid and reverently pulls out a dress swathed in plastic wrap,
like the kind dry cleaners use. “This
was a gift from her for my twenty-fifth birthday. I was in a new
country, with a new husband, and I barely knew the language. Walking
down the street, I felt like everyone could tell I was just a girl
from a small village in the countryside. But this dress…this
dress made me feel like I belonged.”

I
hold my breath as she unzips the plastic and ceremoniously reveals
the contents: a timeless navy blue dress in thick luscious fabric,
with detailed stitching.

I
almost gasp. “It’s
so beautiful.”

“Gucci,”
she says.
“Back
when nobody knew who that was, of course. My mother got it for me in
the fanciest store in Rome. She said I needed the best for my new
life in America. It’ll
be perfect on your trim figure.” She
holds it out to me. “A
bit shorter on your long legs, but I think you can stand to show off
those gams.”

“I
can’t…”
I pause. It’s
so lovely – and
it means so much to her. “This
is yours.”

“Why
not?” Nona
laughs and pats her belly. “Like
I’ll
be wearing it anytime soon. Too much pasta. It’s
too late for my Carmella, too. But you, you still need a dress like
this.”

“Are
you sure?” I
ask, tears brimming behind my eyes.

“You
did tell me he was handsome, yes?”
She digs
around in the trunk and comes up with some dark heels that she sets
on the floor, and then she walks over to her jewelry box and gives me
a pearl brooch and pearl earrings. “You’ll
look perfect.”

She
reaches up to pile my hair on top of my head. “Wear
it up,” she
says. “Let
me help.”

I
let Nona dress me up. With a belt, the dress fits like a glove, and
does indeed highlight the figure I inherited from my mom.

Nona
does my make-up too, fussing over my eyes in front of her antique
vanity. “Your
mom would be so proud of you, following your dreams like this.”

The
tears are back, and I try to keep them in since I don’t
want to ruin all Nona’s
hard work on my eyeliner. “Thanks,”
I manage.

“You’re
looking more and more like her every day,”
Nona says and
my heart fills with bittersweet joy.

“I
wish she could see it,” I
say, a lump in my throat.

“She
can,” Nona
says firmly. “Now,
open your eyes.”

I
open my eyes and see…me,
but a version of me I didn’t
know I could be. Glamorous, but understated, just like my mom was.
“Wow.”
My hair is up
in a loose bun with tendrils falling down to frame my face, my
make-up tasteful, the dark shading around my eyes highlighting my
hazel irises. “I
look like Audrey Hepburn,” I
say.

“You’re
just beautiful.” Nona
beams. “Like
your mother.”

“Going
to one of her art parties in the city,”
I say,
remembering watching her get ready, curling her hair, picking out a
dress and shoes.

“She
always had handsome suitors, too,”
Nona says and
winks at me.

“Thank
you, Nona. You are my fairy godmother,”
I say and hug
her. “And
not just tonight.” I
kiss the top of her head. “Your
mom is proud of you, too.”

“You
sweet girl,” she
says and squeezes me closer. “And
this man better not try any funny business or I’ll
fold his bones like gnocchi.”

I
get to Hakkasan at 7:50. I don’t
want to be early, in case he is and he thinks I’m
desperate, so I wait outside. But then I decide that if he isn’t
early and he arrives and sees me standing out here doing nothing,
he’ll
think that’s
weird.
Get
it together, Grace.
My hands are shaking and I have butterflies in my stomach. I’m
so not equipped for this. When was the last time I was on a date?

San
Francisco evenings are always the coldest, as the ocean breeze comes
inland and brings the fog and thick sea air. Union Square shoppers
hurry by with their Neiman Marcus and Prada bags, and tourists take
photos in the square. I didn’t
have a jacket that went with Nona’s
vintage dress, so I’m
sleeveless and chilly.

I
go inside, taking the elevator all the way up to the top floor. The
doors open and it’s
like I’ve
been transported into another universe. Moody blue lighting emanates
from blue panels in the walls, overlaid with metal panes that have
Eastern shapes cut out like stencils. The effect is stunning.