“Yes, Mrs. Rockport. Yvonne isn’t here today. Are you looking for something off the rack?”
“If she were here I would already have a glass of champagne in my hand. Not that she carries the good stuff, but it’s the courtesy that matters.” After a brief pause, the older woman said, “What are you waiting for? Go get one.”
Crotchety old bitch.
Julia admonished herself for the thought. Money doesn’t make people happy. She’s probably miserable and lonely. Why else would she come to the shop alone when someone like her could have whatever she wanted delivered?
Turning her attention back to the mirror, Julia held her hair up and studied it from the side. No, I’ll feel like I’m going to prom. Simple is better. She sternly looked at herself in the mirror again. Not that I’m going. She let her hair drop, then brought her hands up to undo the zipper, but it was caught.
Oh, great.
She tried again without success.
Maybe I can get it over my head without unzipping it.
The material fit her too snuggly.
In resignation she opened the dressing-room door and stepped out. Giving in to an inner impish impulse, she walked over to the older woman, who had maintained her health into what looked like her late seventies. She stopped in front of her, turned, and spoke over her shoulder to her. “Do you mind unzipping me?”
The woman’s mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”
Kill them with kindness. That was her father’s motto—and honestly, sometimes it was fun to do. She pretended not to understand that the older woman found the request distasteful. “The zipper is stuck. Could you give it a little pull?”
“Do I look like I work here?” the woman asked in a tone a queen might use in the presence of one of her filthiest subjects.
Then a bit of her no-nonsense mother came out. Turning around to face the woman, Julia said bluntly, “No. I’ve found the people who work here to be quite pleasant.”
“Unbelievable. They will let anyone shop here now, won’t they? I’ve never, in all of my life, met anyone so without class.”
With a sweet smile, Julia said, “I have. I heard you talking to the clerk. You know what? I don’t care how much money you have, you shouldn’t treat people that way. She probably makes just over minimum wage plus commission, so she has to kiss your ass, but I don’t. You weren’t nice to her, but you should have been. I feel sorry for you if you can’t see that.”
A slow red spread up the woman’s face. She opened her mouth, then closed it with a snap.
The clerk returned and, with a shaking hand, handed a glass to the older woman, who accepted it and said, “Thank you.” A show of manners that seemed to surprise the clerk. Then she said, “You may want to help this young lady out of her dress. She’s trapped.”
The clerk said in a rush, “It’ll only take a moment.”
With an expression Julia couldn’t decipher, the older woman said, “Take your time.”
Julia returned to the dressing room, followed by the young clerk. Once inside, the woman made quick work of untangling the material that had wedged inside the zipper. Then she met Julia’s eyes in the mirror and said, “I heard what you said to her. You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to tell her off, but I need this job.”
“My father always says that people treat others the way they feel on the inside. She can’t be a happy woman.”
From across the floor, Mrs. Rockport said, “Until just now I had no idea that the dressing rooms were not soundproof.”
Julia and the clerk hunched over in a shared guilty laugh they fought to contain.
The clerk said, in a much softer tone than she’d used before, “She heard us. I am so fired.”
If there was one thing working in her father’s showroom had taught Julia, it was how to calm a disgruntled customer. “I’ll fix this,” she whispered.
Changing hastily back into her jeans and blouse, Julia squared her shoulders and went to face the woman, hoping to smooth some ruffled feathers. The clerk would likely spend the rest of the day hiding in the changing room if it didn’t work. She walked directly over to the woman and said, “Don’t be upset with the clerk. This was my fault. My mouth gets ahead of my brain sometimes. That was unforgivably rude of me. I apologize.”
Settling somewhat, Mrs. Rockport said, “Everyone has an off day. I, myself, woke up in a foul mood.”
Julia hid her grin but couldn’t hold her tongue. “It didn’t show at all.”
The woman narrowed her eyes, then let out a bark of a laugh. “You have spunk, don’t you? I was like you when I was younger. Outspoken long before it was fashionable to be so.”
Julia’s face split in a genuine smile. “I can see you as a firecracker.”
“Oh, I was. My father feared I’d never settle down.” She looked wistful as old memories brought a small smile to her face, but the moment was short-lived. “I did, of course. Everyone does.” She sat down as if suddenly tired, then said, “So, tell me about the man you’re buying that dress for.”
“I’m not buying it,” Julia said in a rush. “I could never afford something like that.”
The woman looked her over shrewdly. “So, he’s buying it for you?”
“Maybe,” Julia said and plopped down on the seat next to the woman who a moment ago had been an adversary. “I shouldn’t let him. Really, if I had any sense, I wouldn’t even see him again.” Without waiting for a response from the older woman, Julia said, “He’s rich and used to getting what he wants. I come from a working-class family. I don’t care which fork is the right one to use at dinner, and he was probably born knowing that sort of thing. All we really have in common is—” Julia stopped and blushed. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m sharing this with you.”
Mrs. Rockport quietly studied her for a moment, then said, “I married my first husband against my father’s wishes. He didn’t come from money. In fact, when I met him he didn’t even have a job. But he had dreams and a smile that could make a foolish decision seem like the only one that made sense.”
Julia turned in her seat. “What happened?”
“We had one magical year, then the Korean War started and he signed up to go. His friends were going and, even though my father would have helped him dodge the draft, he wanted to serve his country.” Her face twisted a bit. “He never came home.”
Julia put her hand on the woman’s and wiped a tear away with her other. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
Mrs. Rockport patted her hand and recomposed herself. “It was a long time ago. I married again. He was a good man who loved me very much. He died, too, a few years ago.” She took a deep breath. “You can make all the plans you want, but life has a way of turning out however the hell it wants to, no matter what you do. And in the end, all you have are memories.”
Uncharacteristically, Julia was speechless.
The older woman laced her fingers in thought. “Let your man buy you that dress. Give yourself something to smile about when you’re my age.”
Julia blushed and instinctively touched her necklace. Would everything work out the way it was supposed to, even if she let herself look away long enough to build those memories?
“That’s a beautiful piece you’re wearing,” Mrs. Rockport said.
Julia smiled. “I designed it. The gems aren’t real. When I have my own business one day it will have real stones, but for now that’s just a dream.”
“May I?”
Julia nodded and the woman touched it lightly.
“It looks like something my sister would have worn. She loved flowers and diamonds.”
Following an impulse, Julia took the necklace off and put it in the woman’s hand. “I’d like you to have it.”
Mrs. Rockport tried to hand it back. “I couldn’t possibly.”
Julia pressed it into her hand and said, “More than anything else, I am an artist. And for me there is no greater pleasure than knowing something I’ve created has touched so
meone’s heart. If it reminds you of your sister, you should have it. I can make another.”
Clearing her throat, the woman fingered the necklace gently, then nodded. “I would pay you, of course.”
Julia shook her head. “I wouldn’t take it.”
“You’re an awful businesswoman,” the woman chided gently.
“Maybe,” Julia said with a rueful smile.
They sat there quietly for a moment, then Mrs. Rockport asked, “So, are you getting the dress?”
Julia nodded shyly and blushed again.
“Claudia,” the older woman called out to the clerk. “I’m feeling spontaneous today. Please have one of each dress here wrapped and sent to a local charity. Tell Yvonne I want a list of where they went. But make sure you get credit for the sale. Put it on my account.”
After double-checking she’d heard right, the clerk rushed off to ring up the sale.
“What’s your name?” Mrs. Rockport asked.
“Julia. Julia Bennett.”
The woman stood and held out her hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bennett. I hope our paths cross again.”
Julia couldn’t imagine how they would, but she shook the woman’s hand warmly and said she hoped the same.
Alone in the boutique again, she asked the clerk to box up the dress and held it tightly the entire taxi ride home.
Am I about to create memories I’ll treasure for a lifetime?
Or make a mistake that will haunt me?
And are women nearing eighty a reliable source for sexual advice?
Chapter Twelve
Gio watched Julia pour over the menu in a way none of the many women he’d brought here ever had. Food was not why people came to Le Loire, the theater district’s highly exclusive restaurant. They came because reservations were booked more than a year out and merely getting a table meant that you had arrived in some way at the top of New York’s social stratosphere. They came to see and be seen.
A quick look around the dining area revealed a collection of New York’s wealthiest and visiting famous. Gio wasn’t impressed by either, but he knew most women were.
Dressed as she was, Julia blended perfectly with the crowd. He’d caught more than one of his peers eyeing her appreciatively. She wasn’t the first beautiful woman he’d escorted in public. Normally he didn’t care one way or another what others thought of his date, but when he caught one blatant male admirer staring at Julia’s profile from a few tables away, he’d half risen out of his chair without thinking.
To what? Brawl?
The man had met his eyes, read his intent, and hastily looked away. Gio had let out a long breath and settled back into his seat, surprised by how possessive he already felt about the woman sitting across from him.
“Have you had the seafood here?” she asked, drawing him back from his thoughts.
“I’m sorry?”
“The plateau de fruits de mer. I love seafood, but I had this dish once at an expensive restaurant in Rhode Island and it was served with a tiny octopus and whole prawns. Some had eyes. I can’t eat anything that still has eyes.”
“I normally have the Kobe steak,” he said, somewhat bemused by her level of animation. He’d never seen a woman order anything but a salad—dressing on the side, all possible calories or carbs banished from their meal. “Chef Cazon is excellent. I’m sure you’ll be pleased with whatever you order.”
“You can’t come to a place like this and have steak,” she said with a laugh. “How about this? I’ll order for you and you order for me.”
“Why?” he asked slowly.
She seemed as confused by his reluctance as he was by her suggestion. “Because it’ll be fun?”
His idea of fun had more to do with what they would do after dinner, but he decided to humor her. He opened his menu. “What do you like?”
She put down the menu. “I’m not going to tell you. You have to try to figure it out.”
“I don’t play games,” he said, more out of habit than from a real desire to end the exchange. He did want to know what she liked, and he intended to spend the rest of night exploring just that. He reached for a glass of water, seeking a calm that he’d more easily achieve by pouring the cool drink on his bulging crotch than by drinking it. Slow down. No need to rush.
She cocked her head to one side and said, “Maybe you should. Then you’d look less like you’re constipated all the time.”
He choked on the water, swallowed it the wrong way, and choked more.
She was up, out of her seat, and patting his back forcibly. “Are you okay?”
He stood, cleared his throat one final time, looked into her anxious eyes, and let out a laugh that echoed through the suddenly silent restaurant. He took one of her hands in his and said, “Sit down, Julia. I’m fine.”
She looked around, realized that all eyes were on them, and returned to her seat in a rush—a beautiful pink flush on her cheeks. She picked up the menu again, this time hiding behind it. “I shouldn’t have said that. Why don’t I think before I speak?”
Gio reached across the table and took one of her hands in his. “You are refreshingly honest.” The smile she gave him as a reward for his comment stole his breath away. Still, he couldn’t resist teasing her a bit. “Constipated, huh?”
She blushed again. “Not literally. Emotionally. Like there is so much you want to say but you won’t let yourself.”
He dropped her hand as the words cut too close to home.
The sommelier came by and asked if Gio would be ordering his usual, or if he would like to see a wine menu. Gio said, “The usual.” Then looked across at Julia. “Unless you have a preference.”
“I don’t drink.”
“Not even one glass?” he asked.
“No one in my family drinks much.” A warm smile spread across her face. “My father always said he’d rather get lost in Renoir than old grapes.”
“That’s an unusual viewpoint,” Gio said, gesturing to the sommelier that they had finished their order.
“My father’s a unique man, and perfect for my mother. They are the most amazing people in the most surprising ways. My father was a starving artist until he met my mother. He was everything her family didn’t want for her. He came from a tough background. He had no money to speak of. But he loved her. She told me she knew from the first moment they met that he was the one for her. Just like that. They met. Wham—it hit both of them, and they were never apart after that. She helped him make a business out of his love of art. That’s what people do when it’s right. They bring out the best in each other. I know how lucky I am to have such great parents. And that’s why I’m here.”
The more she spoke, the more uncomfortable Gio felt. In some ways Rena was right. Julia sounded dangerously naive and innocent. Modern women didn’t believe in love at first sight. They were practical—as jaded as he was. Rena was wrong, though, in thinking that getting to know Julia better would lessen how important their differences were.
He wanted to ask her what she’d meant by her parents being the reason she was here, but the waiter arrived and asked for their order. Instead of giving hers, Julia surprised both of them by asking, “Is it possible to speak with the chef?”
The waiter looked from her to Gio. Gio nodded and the waiter headed toward the kitchen.
“I’m sure the waiter would know which items do or do not have eyes,” he said softly.
Julia smiled into his eyes but for once did not share her thoughts. The chef was at the table almost instantly.
“Mr. Andrade. It is a pleasure to have you join us again. What can I do for you?”
Gio sat back and gestured indulgently toward Julia. “Eli, it was Miss Bennett who had a question for you.”
Julia enthusiastically put out her hand to the chef, who shook it politely.
“A pleasure, Miss Bennett.”
“I heard a rumor that my dining partner tends to eat the same thing every time he comes here. I saw that you had a f
ew items that were traditional dishes. Are those family recipes?”
A huge, pleased smile spread across his face. “Yes, they are. My mother visits a few times a year and insists that they remain on the menu.”
“She must be so proud when she comes here. Which dish is her favorite?”
“She says the boeuf bourguignon reminds her of home. It’s a simple beef stew in red wine with bacon, mushrooms, and onions.”
“That sounds like the perfect comfort food. Does making it remind you of your childhood?”
“Yes,” he said in surprise. “It would be my honor to make it for you.”
Julia nodded and an impish smile stretched across her lips. “You seem to know Mr. Andrade. What would you pick for him?”
“I would not presume to know his taste.”
“Humor her,” Gio ordered softly. For a reason he couldn’t pin down, it was important to him that Julia wasn’t disappointed in this game.
With a shrug, the chef said, “Before tonight I would have said that his palate had become dull from his predictable diet. However, it looks like he’s ready for a change, so I would suggest the sautéed langoustine with a summer truffle and chanterelle in a sweet sauce. I’ve added a few enhancing spices. It is mild and pleasing at first, but has a bite that is unforgettable.”
“A bite?” Julia asked, missing the undercurrent of the conversation. “That sounds either delicious or dangerous.”
Exactly what I was thinking myself. Gio nodded to the chef to approve the choice. Would a night of sex with Julia lessen the hunger within him or increase it?
He didn’t know, but he was driven to find out.
The chef turned to Julia, raised her hand, and kissed it. “It was a real pleasure meeting you, Miss Bennett. I hope to see you again.”
Julia blushed, and Gio was glad the chef retreated back to the kitchen before he made Gio say something that revealed how possessive he was becoming toward Julia.
Julia watched the chef disappear into the kitchen, then groaned when she glanced back at Gio and caught him frowning at her. I can’t believe I told him he looked constipated. Who does that? Only me and my big nervous mouth.