Restoration: A Novel (Contemporary / Women's Fiction) (13 page)

“And where is your heart?”

“The wizard hasn’t given me one yet.”

Francesca laughed.  “I must read this story.”

“Rent the movie.  It’s much better.  Flying monkeys, good
and bad witches.  You know the plot: good battling evil.  The more I talk about
it, the more it sounds like my life.  Rent it, though, it’s a great visual
experience.  A true work of art.”

“Like Michelangelo.”

“Americans love their movies.  So yes, I’d have to say it
ranks right up there with Michelangelo’s work.  Francesca, when do you really
think I’ll be ready to go to Florence?”

“You ask the wrong question.  The question is, when will
Gianni think you are ready to go to Florence.”

“The answer to that is when you say I am.”

“When there is an opening, he will send you.”  Francesca
opened a vial of pigment.  “I do not think there are flying monkeys in
Florence, but you will still find battles to fight.”

“They can’t be any worse than the battle going on here.”

“I think you might be surprised.”  Francesca tilted the
vial and tapped some of the brown powder into a small, metal dish.  “You will
find a different country, new job, maybe even different battles but the same
war.”  

For a moment, Tess thought she’d knocked on the wrong door
when a woman wearing a long, tan dress with geometric designs and long, angel
sleeves answered the door.  Francesca appeared very different without her
simple work attire of plain slacks and blouses.  The ever-present bifocals
perched on her nose were gone, and her hair that so often was pulled back fell
gracefully over her shoulders. 

“I am so glad you could make it.  Come.”  Francesca took
Tess’s arm, quickly scanned the hallway and then pulled Tess inside, sealing
the chattering of her guests spilling into the hallway back inside the
apartment.  “You have come alone tonight.”

“Ben and I had a falling out of sorts the other week.”

“Ah, so this must be one of the troubles in life you
referred to.”

“The fact I’m troubled by him is troubling.”

“For one who likes control, love is troubling because it
cannot be controlled.”

“It has nothing to do with love,” Tess quickly responded.

“If you insist.”

Tess suppressed her annoyance.  “You have this overly
polite way of calling me a liar.” 

“A European skill.  Here, let me take your coat, please.”

Tess slipped out of her long coat, revealing a purple
dress with black and silver accents.  It was one of her favorites.  The spiked
heels of her black pumps sank into the plush, cream-colored carpet and
lengthened her already long legs.  The light carpet and the beige and white
furnishings gave Francesca’s apartment a more expansive look.  It was
conspicuous for its absence of the classic artwork that was her life’s work. 
Tess had expected to walk into a museum, something resembling one of the halls
in the Vatican Museums.

She looked around at the modern glass pieces gracing the
tabletops.  “Where’s the fresco painted on the ceiling?” 

Francesca laughed as she took Tess’s coat and hung it in
the closet by the front door.  “My apartment in Rome is where I keep what I
refer to as my antiquities.  Would you like me to stow your purse?”

Tess touched the black purse hanging by a thin, black
strap down to her thigh and pressed it against her body as if protecting
something inside it.  “I’ll keep it with me.”

“Come, I will introduce you to my other guests.”

As Francesca started leading her into her apartment Tess
asked, “Why didn’t you ask me?”

Francesca looked at her, confused.  “Ask you what?”

“About my troubles that I mentioned to you the other
week.”

“Tess, it is your life to share, not my life to pry into.”

She nodded, smirking.  “If Ben had the same attitude, I
wouldn’t be here by myself.”

“You and I, Tess, we are not lovers.  The rules for friends,
acquaintances and lovers are all different.”

She wanted to explain to Francesca that she and Ben were
not lovers in the physical sense, but Francesca had started introducing her to
other guests.  About thirty people mingled in the dining room, living room and
sitting room, and Francesca brought her around to each one of them.  After
introducing Tess to a circle of five other guests, Francesca graciously excused
herself before returning briefly to offer her a glass of wine and then excused
herself again.

One of the men in the circle, middle-aged with patches of
wispy curls on the crown and sides of his head, quickly engaged Tess in
conversation.  She pretended to be interested in what the short man beside her
was saying.  He was a curator at the Museum of Modern Art, a place she loved to
visit.  On most evenings, her interest in his work there would’ve been genuine,
but tonight she struggled to seem even politely interested.

As he spoke, she nodded and smiled while her eyes skipped
around the room to find out who else was there.  When answering his questions,
she found herself lost in her responses and wondered if they came out sounding
as confused as she felt.

The woman she recognized as Francesca’s lunch date from a
few weeks ago sat on the edge of a sofa in the living room chatting with a man
and woman holding hands.  When Francesca appeared from the kitchen, she
strolled over to the three of them and pressed a tumbler into Ingrid’s hand. 
Ingrid allowed her fingers to brush over Francesca’s, drawing a smile from
her.  Francesca pulled up an ottoman and joined the threesome. 

Tess watched Francesca and Ingrid share occasional
glances, communicating in the wordless language lovers share.  The foursome
laughed over something the man related to them, and Francesca took the
opportunity to reach over and latch on to Ingrid’s hand, giving it a lingering
squeeze before allowing it to slip away. 

Tess’s own touches, and those of her lovers, were always
so strategic, so tactical, except the last night she’d seen Ben and her
fingertips had explored his features without motivation aside from being fully
present with him in ways she’d never experienced before.

Ingrid glanced around at the other guests.  Tess shifted
her gaze just as their eyes met and quickly refocused her attention on the man
next to her.

“Your cheeks are red.  I hope it’s not something I said,”
he told her with a laugh.

“Just a wine blush.”  She lifted her glass, glad to have
it as an excuse.

“Red wine does that to me sometimes, just turns my entire
head a deep shade of red.  Can I get you a refill?”

“No, thank you.”  She saw his disappointment and perked up
her smile as a consolation for leaving him alone when he obviously thought the
conversation and company were engaging enough to merit another drink with him.

“I think I’m ready for something else,” Tess told him. 
“I’ll just go and check out the selection.  It was nice meeting you.”

She meandered to the dining room and the buffet arranged
with wine and liquor bottles.  As she poured herself a glass of red wine, she
heard the doorbell announcing the arrival of more guests.  A woman who strolled
over to the makeshift bar struck up a conversation with her, extolling the
virtues of bourbon over wine and sounding like she’d already had too much of
that virtue.

“There you are,” Sharon said, latching onto Tess’s arm,
surprising her.  “Where’s your beau?”

Tess watched the woman she’d been speaking with teeter
away on her heels.  “I came alone.”

Sharon wrinkled her nose and laughed.  “I didn’t.”

She looked past Sharon and froze when she saw who
Francesca was escorting over to them.

Sharon slipped her arms around her date’s arm and beamed. 
“Tess, this is Conner.  Conner, Tess.”

She waited for Conner to say something that would give
away that they’d met before, but he merely grinned and offered his hand in
greeting.  She slipped her hand in his and said, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Aye, it’s nice meeting you, Tess.”

“Conner works at that Irish pub I’ve been telling you
about.  He took tonight off to be here.  Aren’t I the lucky one?”

Sharon leaned into him and nuzzled her head against his
chest, seeming almost giddy and unable to believe her good fortune that she was
here with him.

“Aye, lassie, ’tis I who is the lucky one.  I kept seeing
this lovely face come into the bar and finally got up the nerve to talk to
her.”

“You’re shy?”  Tess asked, tempering her sarcasm behind
her best perplexed look.

“If you knew me,” he winked, “you’d know how shy I can
be.”

Francesca linked arms with Conner on his other side. 
“Conner, allow me to finish introducing you to the other guests,” she said. 
“Sharon has been to one of my get-togethers and knows most everyone, so I will
leave her here while I steal you away.”

“Bring him back,” Sharon said as they walked away and then
turned to Tess, gnawing her bottom lip.  “Can you believe it?  He and I
actually connected.  Christmas came early this year.”

“Is he all you wanted for Christmas?”  Tess forced a
smile.

“He’s enough for the next ten Christmases.  Look at him. 
Have you ever seen anyone as good-looking in your life?  It sure feels good to
be walking down the street with a nice piece of eye candy, knowing all the other
women I’m passing by would just love to have a piece. 

“And just so I don’t sound too shallow, he’s funny,
interesting and a genuine gentleman, as polite as they come.”

“Sounds like you hit the jackpot.”

“And he was just as anxious to meet me as I was to meet
him.  Can you believe it?  When I’m with him, he makes me feel special, like
I’m the only woman in the universe.  I could really fall for him.”

She didn’t know how to respond to Sharon without sounding
petty, so Tess just continued smiling.  She wondered whether Conner had
demonstrated his virility yet, but there wasn’t a way to ask without sounding
invasive.  Sharon was a sieve of information; somewhere, sometime, it would
seep out of her.

“So where’s your guy tonight?”  Sharon asked.

Anticipating such prying, Tess casually replayed the lie
she’d practiced; it was an excuse difficult to challenge.  “I can’t stay late
and he had something early planned, so we couldn’t make it work.”

Francesca returned with Conner.  Both were laughing over
something the other said.

“Here is your date, Sharon.  I am returning him to you in
exactly the same condition as when I borrowed him.  He has met everyone except
Ingrid who, has disappeared, probably in the kitchen refilling hors d’oeuvre
trays.  If you will excuse me, I will go and see if she needs help.”

“That’s the thing about throwing your own party,” Sharon
said as Francesca walked away.  “You’re always too busy making sure everyone
else has a good time that you can’t completely enjoy yourself.”

“I’m used to waiting on people,” Conner said, filling a
tumbler with ice and reaching for a bottle of whiskey.  “What can I serve you
tonight?”

“Tess, what are you drinking?”  Sharon asked.

“The cabernet.”

Sharon wrinkled her face.  “Is it good?  I like pink
wines.” 

“It’s quite good if you like a sturdier wine.  It has a
nice finish to it.  A hint of oak and berries.”

“No, I don’t like wines that taste like you can chew
them.  Conner, I’ll have whatever that white wine is.”  After he handed her a
glass of chardonnay, she sipped it and declared it “just perfect.”

Sharon guided the conversation.  It was her night to
introduce Conner to her world so she picked the topics, determined the pace,
made sure Conner participated and drew Tess into explanations of what she did at
work, pointing out to Conner that someday she’d be doing the same.

Whether he truly was or not, Conner appeared interested. 
Tess couldn’t help but think he was a chameleon who’d turn into anything the
woman he was with wanted, ultimately getting what he really wanted in return.

“I’m going to set this right here.  I need to freshen up a
bit.  Excuse me for a moment, I’ll be right back.”  Sharon set her wineglass on
the table and departed for the bathroom.

“So you work with Sharon.”  Conner grinned.  “ ’Tis truly
a small world.”

“Awkward, too.”

He shrugged and tossed back his last mouthful of whiskey. 
She waited for him to leer at her and then hit on her, but he finished his
drink and poured himself another. 

“Refill?” he asked, looking at her half-empty wineglass.

“No, thank you.  Since you’re here, I’d like to have my
wits about me tonight.”

He swirled the leftover ice in his tumbler.  “Are you
implying something?” 

“Very astute.”

“Me walking you home a few weeks ago?”

“It’s not the walk that came to mind.”

“Aye, I’m sorry to hear it was only the beer in you that
made you so friendly.  All the time I was thinking it was me you took a shining
to.”  He reached around her, snatched the whiskey bottle, and spilled the
tea-colored liquor over the melting ice cubes.  “Don’t be fretting, you can
drink up.  I won’t be walking you home this evening.  I came with a date.”

“Will she be getting your full dose of charm later?”

“Is that bitterness I hear coming from your sweet lips,
Tess?”  He slipped the whiskey bottle back between the scotch and vodka.  “I
enjoyed our night together.  I thought we both got out of it exactly what we
wanted.”

“I’m not bitter, just concerned about Sharon.  I’ve been
with too many men like you.”

“So, you’re a real expert on men.  Well, since you are,
you should know you needn’t fret for Sharon because it’s different with her. 
Take no offense, Tess, I enjoyed your company for sure, but dating and
conjoining are two different things.”

“Conjoining?” she responded, astounded at his choice of
words.