I'll Take Manhattan (66 page)

Vito and Billy were wearily saying good-bye to their last guests when one of the gatemen called the house to say that another person had arrived, asking for Mr. Orsini.

“Tell whoever it is I’m sorry but it’s too late, Joe, the party’s over,” Vito said. “
What
? What? You’re sure? No, it’s all right, let the car through.”

“Totally impossible,” Billy muttered, “even the catering crew on the picture was here tonight. Vito, make an excuse, don’t dare let anyone in. If I can find the strength to climb the stairs I’m going to bed, I’m beat.”

“Go on, darling, I’ll handle it.”

Ten minutes later, after Billy had stripped off her clothes, put on a robe, and was starting to take off her makeup, Vito entered her dressing room and closed the door behind him.

“Who on earth was it?” Billy asked, drooping with exhaustion in front of the mirror.

“It’s … a long story.”

There was a note of utter disbelief and shock in Vito’s voice that told her this had nothing to do with a guest who was too late for the wrap party.

She spun around and looked at him searchingly. “It’s bad news, isn’t it?”

“Don’t look so frightened, Billy. This isn’t about us, this isn’t about you.”

“Then it’s about you! Vito,
what’s wrong
?”

“Oh, Jesus,” he said, dropping onto a chair and looking past her, his eyes seeming to focus on the wall. “I’ve never told you so many things about me … it’s unforgivable. From the second we got married I’ve been so fucking preoccupied with the picture, not a minute to spare, I kept promising myself that as soon as all this craziness was over I’d tell you the whole story, the minute we had some peaceful time together.… I should have told you the day we met but it was the last thing on my mind, it didn’t seem to matter then because I didn’t know we were going to get married … the only thing that I could think of was the present, the past was the past, and then everything happened between us so quickly.…”

“Vito, if you don’t get to the point—”

“My daughter’s here.”

“You can’t have a daughter,” Billy said flatly.

“I can. I do. I was married before. It lasted just over a year. We were divorced and she’s lived with her mother ever since.”

The shock of his words kept Billy’s voice almost even. She struggled so hard to keep from shouting that she almost whispered.

“A child. I wouldn’t care if you’d had ten other wives, but a child, Vito? In the year that we’ve been married, are you trying to make me believe that there was never,
ever
a single minute when you could have told me this, for Christ’s sake? My God, so what if you’ve been divorced, but a child! You must be insane. We’ve had hours and hours, you could have told me during any one of
hundreds of meals, before we went to bed, when we got up in the morning … don’t give me that shit about never having peaceful time!”

“I was always going to tell you, it just didn’t happen,” he mumbled.

“No way, Vito, give me a fucking break. You let it go too long and then you didn’t want to rock the boat. You should have told me before we got married, it wouldn’t have made any difference; but now, springing it on me now? I just can’t believe this is happening. What’s her name?”

“Gigi.”

“Why did she come here tonight?” Billy asked, fighting the desire to scream. She had to remain calm because Vito looked as if he were going to faint. “Because of the Oscar?”

“Her mother … her mother died.… She was buried … yesterday. In New York. Gigi sent me a telegram. It must be with all the others. When she didn’t hear anything from me she got on a plane and just … came.”

“Where is she now?”

“In the kitchen. I gave her a glass of milk and some cake and told her to wait until I’d talked to you.”

“How old is she?”

“Sixteen.”

“Sixteen,” Billy screeched. “Sixteen! My God, Vito, that’s not a child, that’s a teenager! Practically a woman. Don’t you know anything about sixteen-year-olds? Vito, get me a brandy, a large brandy. Never mind, just bring the bottle.” Billy scrubbed off the cream that was still on her face and hurried toward the door.

“Billy …”

“What?”

“Shouldn’t we talk more before you meet Gigi?”

“About what, Vito?” Billy said furiously. “She wouldn’t be here if she had another place to go, would she? She hasn’t seen you in at least a year because I’d know if she had, so if she flew all the way across the country without even hearing a word from you, you’ve got to be her only refuge, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh, Christ! Billy, you’re not giving me any credit for anything, this is an old story, it was over fifteen years ago and you’re being as judgmental as if it had just happened.”

“I’m being realistic,” Billy said viciously. “It
has
just happened—to me.” Billy turned and quickly made her way down to the big
kitchen. She hesitated only a second before pushing open the double doors, hearing Vito still on the staircase.

A small figure was sitting very still on a high stool behind the big butcher block table. In front of her were an empty glass and an empty plate. When Billy walked in Gigi looked up and slid off the stool, standing wordlessly, without moving. Billy’s first thought was that Vito must be wrong, she didn’t look old enough to be a teenager. And she didn’t look like Vito. What was visible of her face through a mess of plain brown hair was delicate, oddball, somehow immediately and indefinably elfin. In the several baggy, rather ragged sweaters she wore layered indiscriminately over her jeans she seemed to be a waif, a scrap, a sprite, blown into this grand, bright kitchen by a teasing gust of wind.

Gigi remained still and speechless for a long minute, enduring Billy’s inspection. In her straightforward stance, poised squarely on her cowboy boots, standing as straight and tall as she could. There was nothing of apology nor of defiance yet somehow, tiny and nondescript as she was, she had presence, immediate, undeniable presence. She was tired and very sad but not pathetic, she was alone but not needy. Something about her was deeply interesting. Gigi’s eyes met Billy’s, Gigi smiled—and a piece of Billy’s heart she didn’t know she possessed fell in love.

Copyright © 1992 by Judith Krantz

To be continued
in Judith Krantz’s SCRUPLES TWO,
available now!