The Green Lace Corset, стр. 64
Even though it was early evening, Mrs. Landenheim still had her curlers in. “Isn’t Zorra the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?”
Sounded like a burlesque dancer. “Zorra?”
“It’s feminine for Zorro.”
“Clever.”
Thai wound around Anne’s ankles and mewed loudly.
“Okay, I’ll give you some love too.” Anne crouched carefully, almost tipped over, and patted the Siamese. Thai snarled and skittered away.
“Did you hear Val’s moving?” Mrs. Landenheim asked.
“No. I’m sorry.” Anne stood back up. She would miss his nightly warm-ups floating up to her from the apartment below before he left for his performance in Beach Blanket Babylon.
“Don’t be. He got a part in a TV series.”
“Really? Which one?”
“Crazy Ex-Boyfriend. He’s playing the boyfriend.”
Anne hoped someone else artsy would move in. Maybe Dottie could rent it if she really did come out. But housing costs had increased so much, only a techie could probably afford to live here now. Maybe Mrs. Landenheim would give Dottie a break on the rent.
“Ray Ray is taking me to Vegas for a few days soon.”
“For an Elvis wedding?”
“Maybe.” Mrs. Landenheim raised her eyebrows. “Would you feed the cats for me?”
“Sure.” It would be good practice for a baby.
“You won’t need to poop-scoop or anything. We’ll only be gone two nights.”
That was good, because Anne had heard somewhere that cat litter was unhealthy for pregnant women. She nodded.
“Really?” Mrs. Landenheim pushed open her door. “Come on in, and I’ll show you what to do.”
Having never been inside, Anne had always been curious, and followed her neighbor. The apartment smelled of cat. A forest of philodendrons hung from macramé baskets. The sofa and love seat were covered with plush purple and pink pillows. And on every flat surface were Siamese-cat ceramics that would be great in mosaics.
“Here’s the kibble.” Mrs. Landenheim opened a cupboard and filled two bowls. “You have to use separate bowls, or Thai goes nuts. Tap the water bowls too.”
“What’ve you got in the bag? Let me see.” Mrs. Landenheim held out her hand, fingers polished pearl pink.
Oh, well, I’ll have to tell her sometime. Anne sighed, pulled out the velour top, and handed it to her landlady.
“It’s a little big, isn’t it?” Mrs. Landenheim had a confused look on her face.
“Not in my condition.” Anne stared at her flip-flops. She didn’t want to see Mrs. Landenheim’s reaction.
“You’re having a baby?” She put a hand on Anne’s stomach. “That’s sure gonna change things around here.”
Anne wasn’t sure what her landlady meant and didn’t want to ask.
43
The next evening, all the way to the restaurant, Sergio tried to convince Anne of all the reasons she should move to New York: his place was bigger, better private schools, near Central Park.
Jam-packed Jardinière was filled with tony patrons. Even though Sergio had made a reservation, they still had to wait for a table in the noisy, boiling bar. Anne tugged off her black velvet coat. Underneath, her Modern Family shirt and black pants seemed to be okay, but she could only get her feet into the Uggs she’d bought in a size bigger than what she usually wore. Sergio was probably mortified, but he hadn’t said anything.
After twenty minutes, they followed the hostess up the stairs to a lovely loft table overlooking the downstairs bar. Once they were seated, Anne told Sergio about the odd happenings at the museum. “Fay wouldn’t say on the phone what she’s found out. After you leave for the airport tomorrow, I’m meeting her for coffee so she can tell me all about it.”
“Can’t wait to hear. Why don’t you come to New York and stay for a while?”
Anne blurted out, “Won’t it be crowded with your gorgeous, dark-haired woman?” She’d promised not to say anything but couldn’t hold it back.
“Who?”
“You know who I’m talking about. Dottie saw you with a girl at an art show, and she wouldn’t make something like that up.” Anne kept her voice calm, like she’d been practicing with the students.
“Probably Bella. She came for a visit.”
“Your sister?”
“Yes. Short, dark hair.”
“But she has long hair.”
“She cut it.”
Anne remembered another time Bella had visited Sergio. At first, she’d thought he had a new girlfriend.
“I’m sorry.” She hung her head.
He took her hands in his. “Cara mia. There’s no need. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get out here to see you. Work has been crazy busy.” He glanced down at her stomach for the twentieth time. “I’m sorry about the way I acted when you first told me about the baby.”
“I know. You’ve said that before. All’s forgiven.”
“I’m estatico now.”
Hearing him say he was happy about the baby made her feel like he’d spewed a mouthful of diamonds at her, or the twinkle lights strung across the restaurant’s ceiling.
Anne paused, took the collage from the silver tote he’d sent her, and slid it across the table to him. “It’s a girl.”
“Meraviglioso.”
“Isn’t it meravigliosa if it’s a girl?”
Sergio laughed. “Pink champagne’s in order here.” He glanced at the wine list and waved at the waiter. “Do you have the pink Veuve Clicquot?”
“I’ll send over the sommelier.”
The sommelier came by with a draped cloth over her arm. “What may I get you?”
“None for me, thanks.”
“What’s wrong?” Sergio asked.
“It’s not good for the baby.”
“But it’s a special occasion. Pregnant women drink wine all the time in Italy.”
“My midwife did say an occasional sip was fine.”
“I’ll get it right away.” The sommelier left.
Sergio sat back with a smile. “What shall we name her? How about Patricia Parmeggianno? I like the alliteration.”
She squinted. “I’m not sure.” She hadn’t told him yet she’d decided not to give the baby his last name. It would take forever for her to learn how to spell it. McFarland had been hard enough when she was young.
He took a roll from the basket, buttered it, and placed it on Anne’s bread plate. “Madison?”
“That’s a helicopter parent’s name. I’m going to raise her to be an independent woman. If you want a city name,