More Muffia (The Muffia Book 2) (33 page)

“Why not slip out now?” she asked, with a glint in her eye.

“You’re bad,” I said. “It’s not like that. If anything, I’m feeling very prudish with him.”

“That’s a good sign,” she said. “Good luck.”

I saw my opportunity to rejoin Frank and quickly headed down the stairs at the back of the stage only to bump into Viggo at the bottom of the steps.

“Hi, Quinn.” He gave me his full-wattage smile. “What a great event. Really well done.”

“Lauren did a great job,” I said, as I began to angle past him. “And thanks again for participating. It wouldn’t have been nearly as successful without you and the other guys.”

“My pleasure. Hey, I was wondering if you might like to have a drink with me sometime—like after this winds down maybe.”

I stared at him, flabbergasted. He had been the object of my fantasies for months, and it was hilarious that now he was in my way instead of being my destination.

“Thank you, that is so nice… ”

“But no, right?” He smiled again. He was heartbreakingly handsome. But now that’s all it was.

“Thank you, though. I’m very flattered.”

I turned from Viggo without a trace of regret. And there was Frank, who’d been listening to the entire exchange. Frank nodded to Viggo, who seemed surprised at my choice and again offered me his arm. “Ready?”

A girl could get used to this…

“ ‘I have no idea how to love another human being, unless it’s by tearing them to pieces and eating them.’ ” Rachel was reading from
When Will There Be Good News?
while the rest of us were chowing down on bangers and beer, in keeping with the book’s Scottish setting. “I mean, isn’t that just exquisite?”

“Don’t you think it’s a little gruesome?” Lauren said. “Doesn’t sound like love to me.”

“Not to mention depressing,” added Jelicka.

I sighed. “It’s not literal.”

“Is that what the serial killer says?” Clearly, Sarah hadn’t read the book...again.

“The police officer,” said Kiki. “Louise.”

“Seriously?” Sarah was disgusted.

“She’s so in love, it hurts,” Paige clarified. “Louise Monroe is a great character, don’t you think? Tough, but with a conscience. A real girl’s girl.”

“Absolutely,” Maddie said. “She felt real to me. She was successful, but also conflicted, and the author shows the reader that living in the gray area is possible—something I work on every day.”

“I know
that
,” Sarah said, adding a dollop of mustard to her banger. “My life is all about the gray area. But I’ll wait on that ’til the roundy.”

We all empathized with Sarah’s husband and house problems and were ready to listen whenever she wanted to bring them up.

“It was still an interesting pick for book club,” said Lauren.

“One of the reasons I love our book club,” I said, “is because we get introduced to books we never would have read otherwise. I really liked this one, so I wanted to share it. And you all have turned me on to books I wouldn’t have read, either. Like that book “Snow.” I would never have read a book about girls killing themselves in Eastern Turkey if it wasn’t for...whose pick was that?”

There was some grumbling. It hadn’t been a popular pick.

“Mine,” said Rachel. “Not everyone agreed with you, Quinn.”

“Well, I thought it was worth reading,” I said, with Madelyn in agreement.

Vicki stood to reload her camera, which was focused on the table in a wide shot. “I read crime novels all the time, but I didn’t know this author, so thank you, Quinn. Now I’m going to read all her other books.”

“Okay, I know I didn’t read it,” said Jelicka. “But why is it called
When Will There be Good News?
The title is terrible and gives the impression there’s no good news in the whole damn thing. Who’d want to read that?”

“Atkinson likes odd titles, but you remember them because they’re odd,” I said.

Jelicka had grabbed a copy of the book and opened it. “No kidding. What’s
Started Early, Took My Dog
about? Hope there’s a dog in it.”

“Here’s another beautiful passage,” Rachel said. “ ‘Love wasn’t sweet and light, it was visceral and overpowering. Love wasn’t patient, love wasn’t kind. Love was ferocious, love knew how to play dirty.’ ”

“You keep selecting the same quotes,” said Paige. “What’s
that
about?”

“She’s right, though. Love
does
play dirty,” I agreed. “Or it
can
, anyway.”

“Rachel, what’s the matter?” said Kiki in a quiet, calming voice. “Why are you so hostile?”

“I’m not hostile.”

“You are. I don’t think I’m the only one who’s noticed.” Kiki looked at me, then Maddie. A few of us nodded our heads.

I whispered so only Rachel could hear, “I didn’t say anything.”

“She’s sad, I think,” said Sarah. “Just plain sad.”

Rachel sat back with a sigh.

Sarah cut through the crap to speak the truth.

“I
am
sad,” Rachel said. “I’m actually more disappointed by all the assholes I’ve chosen to spend time with. Disappointed in myself is more like it.” A tear was forming in the corner of her eye. “I don’t know where I’d be without you guys.”

“Maybe even sadder?” Jelicka said, which drew a scant smile.

“I really wish sometimes that I could have been happy in a same sex relationship but goddamnit, I love men’s bodies too much.”

“I understand that,” said Jelicka. I threw her a look. “I’m not kidding. If I didn’t like sex with men, what would I need one for?”

Lauren snorted. “How about conversation, friendship, strength, love, joy, a travel companion, security… ” She was rattling off a list and, thanks to Frank, I had a sense of what she was talking about.

“Spoken like a truly happy woman,” Maddie said. “Let’s be honest, here. None of us would mind having a significant other who was ‘all that,’ but we’ve gotten to the point in life when we realize that settling is not an option.”

“Right,” said Rachel. “And I have to learn to pick a different type—kind of hard when your picker is broken. I need to work on getting my picker fixed.”

“Here’s a passage I marked,” I said, opening my copy of the book. “ ‘There had been another man once. The kind of man she could have imagined standing shoulder to shoulder with, a comrade-in-arms, but they had been as chaste as the protagonists in an Austen novel. All sense and no sensibility, no persuasion at all.’ ”

“Now
that
I like,” Lauren said, spooning more fried kale onto her plate, without regard to that diet she was always on. “I mean it’s sad, but it’s not so violent.”

“I underlined that one, too,” Maddie said. “That’s what Louise is thinking about what’s-his-name, the guy she let get away—”

“Brodie,” said Rachel.

“Right, Brodie—before they meet again after all that time.” Maddie’s hand went to her heart and she sighed. I felt bad for her, knowing she was still missing Udi.

“I’m sorry you guys. I have to get going,” said Kiki, as we wrapped up the roundy-round. “Big day tomorrow.”

“Who’s next, Paige?” asked Maddie.

“Why do you all always ask
me
who’s next? You were able to figure it out by yourselves at Rachel’s.”

“But we
like
it when you do it,” Lauren said. “We missed you last time.”

Paige smiled, a smile that still looked a little tight, post-plastic surgery. She shook her head. She could protest all she wanted, but she liked her role as head Miss Bossypants. “Well, I happened to check before I came tonight and it’s Kiki.”

“Perfect,” said Jelicka. “My side of town.”

“The side of town you used to complain about driving to,” Lauren pointed out with a grin.

“Well, I’d never lived in the valley before. It’s actually pretty nice!”

Kiki and Maddie, the long-standing Valley-ites, looked at each other and laughed.

It’s exciting and amazing and, I now realize, very rare to be crazy for somebody who’s also crazy for you. When you’re young, you can lie on your bed for hours staring at the ceiling and pining for someone in an all-consuming, obsessive torrent. But as you get older, you don’t have the time or the luxury for that sort of dedicated, self-absorbed longing. When you get older, you have to work, and work becomes the balm that eases all the unrequited pining. So in those scant moments of idleness, when you find yourself pining for the same person who’s pining for you, it feels all the more gratifying.

Nothing happened between Frank and me the night of the benefit or, for that matter, the night after. But
nothing
isn’t exactly right. We talked and cuddled until we fell asleep in each other’s arms. It was perfect. I don’t want to jinx us by saying too much while things are so new, but I have a really good feeling about him. He’s still not really my type—but my type, like Rachel’s type, has only led to disappointment. So many of Frank’s positive qualities have overcome what I previously thought of as deficiencies. We’re going slow, so there isn’t much to report on the sex front; but if his kiss is any indication, I think it’s going to be great when it happens.

The biggest hurdle in life for me has been choosing what to believe in. They say we can trick our minds into believing many things. If we physically smile, we’ll start to feel happy. If we tell ourselves over and over that something good is going to happen, oftentimes it does. In sports, and in the pursuit of many other endeavors, those who coach those in pursuit say we should act “as if.” Act “as if” we are already a great tennis player. Walk across the stage “as if” you are the character you are playing; go into that business meeting “as if” you deserve to be there and can make the deal. I hope I am still destined for great things, but I think it’s more important to believe that anything is possible, even “happily ever after,” so I am going to act “as if” I’m already on my way.

Things don’t need to be all tied up in a bow. And who wants them to be when there’s still so much life to live—because even the tightest bow can loosen, and life is long.
Yes, yes, yes; thank you, thank you, thank you.

A month after the benefit, one Sunday morning when Frank and I were drinking coffee, reading the newspaper, and starting to feel very comfortable with each other, Lauren called to say she and George were headed to Japan on Tuesday for an International Beer symposium at the Kirin headquarters in Tokyo.

“Can you recommend any good restaurants?” she asked. “Or any other can’t miss sights?” She had the idea that since I’d been over there with a major celebrity, I would know all the trendiest places. It wasn’t true, but I did nothing to disavow her of the assumption.

I had, in fact, saved a few of the nicer menus and some other mementos from the trip.
But where were they?
It had been a couple of months since I’d come home, and I couldn’t remember where I put it all.

“Hold on,” I said. I gave Frank a kiss on the cheek and went looking for my Tumi bag. That stack of stuff must still be in the rolling bag that I took over there.

“Should I call back?” Lauren asked.

“Nope, got it all here,” I said, opening an outer zipped compartment and pulling out the collection of pamphlets, menus, and other miscellaneous pieces of paper. “Just have to find the menus.”

I brought the stack back to the couch where Frank was sitting, a football game on the T.V. with the volume down low—what a guy— and began looking through it.

“Everything has an English subtitle, so it should be easy to write the names down,” I said.

“That’s good, because the only Japanese word I know is ‘sushi.’ ”

I started giving her some names as I continued through the stack, while Frank periodically turned his face to me, his eyebrows raised.

“Sound Lady; write that one down,” I said. “It’s a pedicure place. Really good, but I have no idea why it’s called that. Probably got lost in translation.”

Frank raised his eyebrows again, and I threw a pillow at him.

I turned the pamphlet for Sound Lady over, and there was a piece of paper on top of the stack beneath it. It was handwritten and in a foreign language, but it wasn’t Japanese. I lifted it off the stack and turned it over.

“Huh,” I said, causing Frank to glance up.

“What?” said Lauren. “Sound Lady offers more than just pedicures?”

“I’m not sure. This piece of paper—I don’t know how it got into my stack of brochures and stuff. Looks like Hebrew.”

Frank moved closer, examining the paper. “It’s Hebrew,” he mouthed silently.

“Is it important?” Lauren asked. “Just go to the next one.”

“It
could
be important,” I said. “If I could just...” I closed my eyes for a few seconds, mentally retracing my steps as I tried to figure out how it might have ended up in my bag.

Could Udi have put it there? I didn’t see any other explanation.

Holy Muffia, here we go again...

THE END

“Who can resist a book about a book club where the members refer to themselves as “Muffs”? Meet Madeleine Scott-Crane, a savvy 42-year old single mom and mediator as she and her six friends take their monthly meetings to an unconventional—and often shocking level. Nicholas’s romp through suburban Los Angeles is sexy, edgy and laugh-out loud funny. With a few of life’s lessons thrown in along the way,
The Muffia
is smart, sassy and simply irresistible—just like her heroine. A must-read.

—
Hannah Dennison of The Honeychurch Hall Mysteries & The Vicky Hill Mysteries

“I just loved this book. Such a great read. It really speaks to women of all ages but especially those in their 30's and beyond. What a great surprise from a new author!”

—
Ely Pouget, actor & producer. CSI, The Mentalist, The 3Tails Movie: A Mermaid Adventure

“5 Stars. Nicholas deftly walks the tightrope of the sexual landscape unfolding around her—of the young, the older and the in between.”