Maggie was wide awake before the alarm even went off. She studied Antonio’s signature. “XO…” Does he write that on all the girls’ t-shirts? At the Night Owl, she had been too engrossed with the girl’s shiny lip gloss to notice how he had signed her sleeve. Obviously, he did not typically sign, “Chad.”
Maggie thought about the cheetah stuffed animal, and how it reminded her of Cheetos. She recalled how sweetly Antonio had responded to his little fan. Her mind danced with pictures of him blowing his gum and later eating his ice cream. She could not remember the last time she had so much fun. But time was passing quickly, and soon she would be back in London.
She really needed to focus on work. She would get there early, and hopefully forget the miserable reality that she could never be with Antonio. It was just an illusion.
I need to quit thinking about him.
Maggie stood, in front of the mirror, looking a bit tired from the late nights, but nonetheless, today was the big, anticipated event—the fashion show. She wore a new, short sleeve dress made of a poly knit, hosting an overstated design in cream and red rectangular stripes running at various complicated diagonals. The dress had a v-neckline that gathered into the waistline covered by a belt—classy, sophisticated and one of Francis’ designs.
www.lovetheillusion.com/98.htm
The convention center sparkled, dashing in extravagance, a beautiful sight to behold, until she saw Francis Louis hunched over his computer, sitting at a round table in the center of the room. Everything looked remarkable and perfectly arranged, except for him.
“Maggie! I didn’t expect you until 9 o’clock.” His eyes followed her as she approached.
“I decided to come early.” Maggie wore her tattered emotions on her sleeve.
“Well, that’s great, there’s plenty to do! Did you eat breakfast, at least coffee?”
“Yeah, I had a bagel and an apple from the deli.” Maggie stood for a moment, trying to clear her thoughts of Antonio.
“You look tired,” Francis commented as if he was in charge of her appearance.
“I, uh, haven’t been sleeping well. You know how it is when you’re traveling.”
He observed her, with his beady eyes, just over the top rim of his glasses. “Perhaps, you need coffee! We have a fresh pot right here.” He fidgeted with the newspaper to move it out of the way, clearing a spot for her to join him.
“Thanks.” She proceeded to pour herself a cup. She wished she could take a nap.
“Sorry, no cream and sugar,” he added.
“It’s fine, Francis. So, is everything ready to go? It all looks wonderful…far better than the last show we did.” She tried to look energetic.
“Well,” he said stiffly, in his usual quick pace, “that’s not saying much, after we had to use those cut-rate cheesy blue tablecloths and cheap ugly vases with the poor excuse of dandelion looking floral displays, not to mention the caterers left us with food that must have been imported from one of China’s street vendors!”
She remembered his detailed recollection.
“I know, it was awful,” she gave way to laughter, “but this time I didn’t give them a chance to screw up. I picked everything out myself.”
He grunted while opening up the newspaper to read. “Well if it isn’t Antonio DeLuca making the news, again. He plans to expand his show to include Sweden now? Well, la tea da!”
“So do you think we should go over the list of buyers?” Maggie changed the subject. “How many are we expecting?”
I cannot believe he mentioned Antonio!
“What?” Francis looked up from the newspaper as if he had barely heard a word she said. “You should double check the models’ clothing rack and make sure nothing is missing. Cassandra came in and thought that a slip went missing that belonged with the sheer, layered organza formal she claims is way too transparent. It’s the one we put with that necklace that we imported from Spain that we couldn’t buy elsewhere. Perhaps it got misplaced under that floral silk dress that went with the nude silk leggings. And speaking of those, Elle said there was a run in them. I hope not! Now perhaps some of the stuff isn’t even on the right hangers.”
Maggie tried to focus, but her head was in a cloud when she heard him say, “Oh! And Latasha called to say she was feeling ill, but I told her, she’d better recover quickly. She wasprobably out too late last night, partying. Give me a break! Did I mention that we need to organize a packet of information for each buyer?” he reminded her. Maggie wished he would slow down as she listened to him ramble a mile a minute. “We have a catalogue and a separate price list that explains cost per quantity ordered. But now! I have a special flier printed on bright green laminated paper suggesting time frame!That’s when we need to receive the orders! That way, they don’t think that they can place some huge order at the last minute. That seems to be their favorite time to order…you know, last minute! Now, we have discount incentives for quantity orders and those are indicated on the orange flyers over there that just arrived in that box this morning.” Francis turned around and pointed at it, pausing for a second. Is he finally done? “Instead of leaving it all on a table for them to selectively pick through…” guess not! “I picked up these colorful custom envelopes with our Louis logo across the mid-section. I have to admit they are truly marvelous!” He must have said everything there is to say by now! “…But! Let me tell you, it was no picnic getting these done last minute! I walked into a print shop yesterday, and they told me they were backlogged with orders, and it would take a wretched three weeks to get them back. I told them, ‘nonsense, I need them today!’ So then I had to pay a three hundred dollar upcharge for rush production. And then it was no problem. They decided all of a sudden, they could print the envelopes in a day! These businesses in the U.S. are so scandalous!”
Will he ever shut up?Maggie wondered if he had any idea how demanding the U.S. businesses he dealt with must think the European fashion designers were.
He reached down next to his briefcase and proudly handed one to her. “All the information can go in these…Now the buyers can’t play the memory loss game—‘Oh, I never knew the order had to be in by’—sort of a last minute thought on my part.”
Maggie looked down at the envelope, signaling her approval.
She felt dizzy from his energy. She removed herself from the table and began to get busy. The fashion show did not start until three, and she mentally prepared for a long day.
“Sally, Matt!” Maggie smiled, looking up. She was glad to see them. They always brightened the mood.
“We ate at the breakfast buffet today,” Matt articulated, waltzing in with his usual enthusiasm, “and without standing in line! What a miracle! And now we are early. Another miracle!”
Sally darted over to help Maggie disassemble the boxes of fliers and catalogues, sorting them into the envelopes. But soon they were interrupted by Sally’s cell phone. Maggie could hear the ringtone as Sally headed over to her purse to pick up the call.
“Oh…Nooooo!” Sally shrieked as if it was the coming of Armageddon. “Matt! Greta just called, and she’s locked out of the house and thinks Ben locked her out when he left for work!”
“What? What was she doing outside?” Matt sounded out his pretentious fatherly concern. “I pictured her inside, in her usual spot on the sofa, with the Mountain Dew and Doritos bag.”
“She was sunbathing!” Sally explained in an exasperated tone.
“Is that right? Is it even warm enough for that?” Matt questioned. “Guess she’ll get to use her new cell phone and call a locksmith,” he concluded.
“Oh dear, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” Sally still sounded concerned. “She’s probably in that white, thong style bikini. She’s a young girl, and we don’t want some strange man coming over to let her in, especially—”
“Well, what do you suggest,” Matt interrupted, “Batman or Superman?” He laughed off her worries.
Maggie smiled at the two of them.
After several hours, Maggie had reorganized the clothing racks and found the nude leggings with a run in them. Sally was quite the genius, using them as an excuse to leave for a quick lunch break and some shopping. They both needed a break from Francis.
When they returned, it was half past noon and shortly afterwards, the models started arriving. Maggie listened to the latest drama as they wandered in.
“I wish I wasn’t here,” Latasha whined, holding her stomach. “I think I must have food poisoning from one of the fast food restaurants I ate at last night.”
“That’ll teach you to eat fast food.” Francis spoke into his newspaper.
“Well, I had a salad, and I feel fine.” Kensal bounced alongside Latasha, with a tote bag over her shoulders.
“Hey! I received a text last night from some chick I don’t know!” Matt announced with a low laugh, ready to entertain the staff with his “teenager drama.” Sally listened as he told the story. “‘Are you coming over tonight or what?’ And I see it’s from Hannah. And I’m thinking, who’s Hannah? So I type back ‘IDK,’ and she types back a sad face. So, I send a happy face, and I’m waiting for her to call me or text me back, when Sally informs me that Ben had used my cell phone a few days ago, when he couldn’t find his! Good thing! He doesn’t need to respond to that chick anyways. He was probably driving around all night and just couldn’t find her house!”
Maggie was entertained by his tales.
“Yeah, there sure is a lot to worry about when it comes to teenagers,” Sally added in her sweet, concerned tone.
Maggie looked over at Francis who was completely disengaged from any conversation around him. She guessed he was in his late forties, but he had a full head of sandy brown hair tinted with just a bit of silver-grey. He looked thin and fit,and knew how to dress, and she thought that perhaps women found him attractive. He had been divorced ten years ago, but he had not, to the best of her knowledge, made any serious efforts to pursue any women since then. He was callous and bitter, and often times, she thought his traumatic personal life had driven him to persevere in his career, and become the success he was. Perhaps they had that one thing in common. They found emotional safety in their career.
Elle came in and interrupted her thoughts.
“Are we ready to do this or what?”
Cassandra followed behind her in a graceful stroll. “Hi everybody.” She waved. “Looks like we’re all here!”
Cassandra was her favorite. She possessed a personality as delicate and as sweet as they came. Elle was nice, but very much a tomboy and rough, and not that conversational. Latasha personified the perfect drama queen and had everyone spinning their wheels wondering what would happen to her next. She was African American with flawless features and skin. She could wear any look and be beautiful. And Kensal? She had blonde hair to fit the part. She was a complete airhead, but so funny that it was impossible not to be completely forgiving. She would do anything for anybody and did not have a mean bone in her body.
Maggie watched them, as they all made their way towards hair and makeup. She always tried to put them in the dresses that best went with their personalities, and she thought that was one of the things she loved most about her job.
An hour and a half later, the models came charging out of the back room.
“Do my eyes look okay? I just hate eye shadow. And the lipstick! Not my color,” Latasha whined.
“Who cares, we’re getting paid,” Elle stated while chewing her gum.
“I just wish I could do my own makeup and hair this good,” Cassandra commented in her soft tone.
“Don’t you all just love the way that toner feels on your face?” Kensal added, lost in thought. “I just close my eyes when they are putting it on and pretend I’m lying on a beach in Mexico, absorbing the sun.”
Soon people started pouring through the doors, and Francis announced in his hasty expediting mannerism that the show started in only ten minutes. Matt took a seat back by the sound board attendant, and Sally stayed behind the stage curtain, waiting to assist in any quick clothing changes that the models needed help with.
Maggie sat in the front audience at a round table with Francis who twitched nervously about, while anticipating the presentation of his latest fashion deliveries. The music came on and the lights in the room got dim as they awaited the start of the show.
Latasha came out first,flaunting bright floral turquoise prints on a maxi dress that fell loosely against her hourglass shape. She wore her beautiful wavy hair under a hat, suggesting that she was headed for the Bahamas. Maggie admired her rhythm as she walked, and thought she must have been born with it.
Cassandra appeared with her long brown hair curled in a way that projected her youth. She strutted down the runway in an effervescent mannerism. She was adorned in Francis’ latest design— one that made all the heads turn—a soft blush organza sheer dress layered over silver metallic fabric. It barely swept the top of her strappy sandals, which glittered in the bright lights.
Kensal strutted out next, as if she knew all eyes were on her, her hair blowing in the breeze of the fan. Maggie admired her stunning appearance, as she sported a tight khaki color-blocked dress that mimicked a sheath from the 1950s, only longer. Francis styled the neckline with exceptionally large colorful stones, and she paced the runway in a high platform shoe, having no problem keeping in step.
Last, but never least, Elle stepped out. She wore a shapely white halter style sundress made of linen, covered in a special designer lace and finishing with a ruffle extending to the bottom of the lace hemline. Her short brown hair wisped about in a messy style around her face as big dangly earrings protruded from her lobes. She looked sassy and sophisticated.
www.lovetheillusion.com/105.htm
The day passed quickly enough, and to Maggie’s surprise they even managed to finish up earlier than anticipated. She listened to Francis talk all about how the show had gone exceedingly well, but that he had projected more orders than what they received. He blamed the economy, mentioning that if people would not be so senseless as to pay two to three hundred dollars a ticket to see Antonio DeLuca perform, they would have more money to purchase clothing. She found his comment humorous, but assured him that all sales were down in other venues as well, and promised to stay on top of the accounts when they returned home, and hopefully gain a few more orders.
After the events came to a close, Maggie left to go back to her room, anticipating Antonio’s dinner invitation. She could not wait to see him.
As she opened the door to her room, she immediately saw a red rose standing alone in a vase, sitting on the table that sat next to the window. She recalled the last time she held a red rose, standing over her mother’s grave. How did he know? Her face brightened on her way over to it. She picked up a note card that was situated flat on the table next to the vase:
“Meet Stanley in the front lobby— 8:00.”
She looked at her wrist watch, now six. Why am I supposed to meet Stanley? She wondered. Wasn’t she going out with Antonio? She picked up the note and vase and headed down to Antonio’s room.
“Maggie!” He opened the door, surprised to see her. He was dressed in a pair of shorts, and his hair was wet from the shower. She studied his wet hair, thinking that he looked amazing.
“I got done early…and I have this note and flower from Stanley, and…”
“You look gorgeous!” His eyes glazed over her.
Maggie blushed, and continued, “So I’m wondering why I’m supposed to meet—”
“That flower’s from me,” he interrupted her. “You need to meet Stanley, and he’ll show you to my limo that will take you to…I can’t say, or it’ll wreck your surprise. And you might want to change into something more… uh…dark!”
She gave him a curious smile.
“What are we going to do? Mud wrestle?”
“Trust me. You don’t want to wear that dress. But, I will see you later.” He seemed in a hurry.
Maggie started back toward her room, wondering what he had up his sleeve. Why do I need to wear something dark?
She rummaged through her suitcase. She had gotten beer on the black dress and…she had black jogging pants. Yuck...probably all sweaty! She leaned over to delve into her shopping bags. She could not even remember everything that she had bought on her break with Sally. “Perfect,” Maggie announced, resorting to her souvenir t-shirt with large letters spelling out “New York” vertically off to one side.
She rode the elevator down to the first floor where she saw Stanley who was on the lookout.
“Hi Stanley!” Maggie smiled wryly. “Antonio said I was supposed to meet you?”
“Yep, I’m in charge of getting you into the right limo. Bradley has the night off.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Maggie followed him out. “So, you don’t have to bartend at Biagio’s?” She had fun teasing him.
He smirked as he opened the door of the limo.
“Have fun,” he called out.
After a quiet ride, the limo pulled up to a quaint yellow brick house with white shutters. Maggie thought it resembled one she had seen in a children’s book when her mother used to read to her. It declared modesty, but overstated in charm and warmth.
“Have a good night,” the driver told her as she stepped out of the limo.
Maggie felt strange approaching the house. She walked up the brick pathway, until she got to the door. She reached for the doorbell, and soon after she heard it chime, Antonio opened the door, wearing a big smile.
She stepped inside, noticing his smooth attire—a thin grey cotton sweater that had a zip up collar, khakis, and a pair of black designer casuals. His hair was neatly combed, and she could see the strong outline of his face, covered in a five o’clock shadow.
“I’m cooking dinner for you tonight,” he announced.
She was surprised that he could cook.
“Sweet! Are we having macaroni or hot dogs?”
“Are you kidding me?” He looked at her, wearing a grin. “I can cook! I got my mamma’s spaghetti recipe down to a science.”
“So, why did I have to change for this?”
“Well…” Antonio walked over to the stove. “You got ketchup on your blouse and beer on your dress, so I didn’t want you to get spaghetti on that nice dress you were wearing!”
“Is that so?” She gave him a spirited smile, thinking him clever. “So let me guess, you got me a bib?”
“No.” Antonio laughed as he stirred the sauce.
She sat down at the kitchen table. Her eyes followed him as he walked over to the table where she was sitting.
“Would you like some of that wine?” He passed her a grin.
Maggie noticed the familiar label. It was the Italian wine that she drank at the bar—the same kind he had delivered to her room.
“Are you still trying to get me drunk?” She watched his eyes immediately attach to hers.
He smirked intuitively.
“Don’t you think I could have accomplished that by now, if I had wanted to?”
Maggie bit her bottom lip and decided, “Where’s the bottle opener?”
“Here, I’ll get it,” he offered.
The table was decorated with a red and white plaid tablecloth. A candle sat lit in the center of the table, and linen napkins were folded on top of the plates. Music from “The Phantom of the Opera”drifted in from the next room. It was obvious that he put a lot of effort into this night.
While Antonio poured the wine, Maggie inhaled the fresh basil, garlic, and onion that were simmering in the tomato sauce on the stovetop. Next to the stove, she noticed a basket of garlic toast.
Maggie sipped her wine, recalling when she first saw him at Biagio’s. She could not believe that he was now cooking dinner for her. She wanted to ask him if he dated anyone else, because she thought for sure he must. She still wondered why he was spending so much time with her. Did he think it was convenient that she left in a day—then he did not have to worry about her chasing after him? She was still fascinated by him, wondering what it would be like to be his girlfriend. Perhaps just for tonight, she would pretend.
She watched him stirring the sauce. She could not help but wonder why he had not yet kissed her. Maybe he just liked her as a friend. Or…Was he waiting for her to make the moves on him? Is that what he was used to? And should she? No. It would already be hard to leave. But the thought of kissing him left her heart beating fast in her chest.
Antonio brought the spaghetti and garlic toast over to the table. She watched as he strategically placed the sauce on top of the noodles. After he finished the preparations, he sat down and placed his napkin on his lap, indicating it was time to eat. He took a sip of the wine with his eyes on her.
“Go ahead, try it.”
“So, is this your house?” Maggie disrupted his gaze.
“No. It belongs to Bradley and Rainelle,” Antonio explained.
“Really?” Maggie thought back to the lady that she had met in the bathroom at the Night Owl, that later danced with Bradley. “What are they doing tonight?”
“I sent them out to Bouley. Rainelle was ecstatic that she didn’t have to cook.” Antonio grinned.
“It’s a beautiful house.” Maggie viewed the open staircase. She looked back to Antonio. She could not keep her eyes off him.
He glanced over to the staircase and passed her an intimate look. “Yeah, Rainelle knows how to add that personal touch.” He seemed deep in thought and she wondered what he was thinking. Although they were keeping to small talk, it seemed more serious.
Maggie resolved to keep things “light.”
“So, Antonio, why did you decide to make us spaghetti? You’re just dying to see if I can eat it without getting any on my clothes?” She started laughing.
Antonio hesitated, his mouth full of spaghetti, but then informed, “I had accounting send me a copy of your bill when you ate at Pappio’s Italian Restaurant, next to the hotel. I saw that you had spaghetti. I love my mamma’s spaghetti and was wondering if it was better than what you ate at Pappio’s?”
“You’re a good cook!” she had to admit as she wound another fork full of spaghetti. Antonio raised his brow as the side of his mouth curled into a grin.
“Well, it’s a family recipe.”
Maggie and Antonio took turns catching each other’s stares, and when they got done eating, Antonio said, “Okay, now that I cooked, you have to clean the mess!”
She got up from the table, willing to comply.
“I’m just kidding.” He grinned.
They cleaned up the kitchen together, and after everything was put away, Maggie shuddered, feeling a bit chilly.
“Didn’t you make us some chocolate mousse for dessert?” She smiled. She was having fun being his girlfriend.
“No, I’ve never made dessert before. But Rainelle left some chocolate cupcakes for us that she made, and I frosted them.” He removed them from a cupboard, setting them down on the counter.
“Really, that’s so sweet of her. But, I think I ate too much spaghetti. Can we eat them later?”
“Sure. You look like you’re cold.”
He started walking over to the chair in the living room.
“Yes, it’s not quite the season for short sleeves at night,” she said, rubbing her hands up and down her arms to break the chill.
He grabbed an alpaca afghan off the chair and wrapped it around her while peering into her eyes and embracing her in a hug.
She loved the close attention he gave her. She cuddled next to him with her hands against his chest, remembering when they danced at the Night Owl.
Moments later, he guided her with the blanket to sit down on the couch, and he sat next to her, placing his arm around her. Maggie did not want the night to end.
“I think we ought to put on the news and see if this storm is going to get us,” Antonio decided, holding the remote to a widescreen.
“Are we going to get snowed in here?” she asked.
He gave her a look of suspense. “Yep, that’s the plan. You’re going to keep drinking that wine, and then you’re going to get stuck here with me.”
Maggie sat speechless as she came to the conclusion that she liked the idea. But she did not trust herself alone with him.
“Don’t worry,” he dismissed her concerns. “It’s not supposed to hit until three this morning.”
“....WE INTERRUPT THE PROGRAMMING WITH A SPECIAL NEWS BULLETIN, FROM THE WEATHER STATION AT CHANNEL 7 NEWSROOM. JUST WHEN YOU THINK WINTER IS OVER, WE ARE VIEWING THE WINTER STORM TRACKER, REPORTING THAT A SEVERE ICE STORM WILL BE MOVING INTO OUR VIEWING AREA BY THREE TOMORROW MORNING. IT WILL BRING A HEAVY MIXTURE OF SLEET AND RAIN, MAKING TRAVEL CONDITIONS EXTREMELY RISKY. IF YOU ARE PLANNING TO FLY IN OR OUT OF ANY NEW YORK AIRPORTS, CALL AHEAD FOR FLIGHT CANCELLATIONS. PLEASE STAY TUNED TO CHANNEL 7 NEWSROOM WHERE WE WILL CONTINUE TO KEEP YOU UPDATED ON THE MOVEMENT OF THE STORM. REPORTING LIVE, FROM CHANNEL 7 NEWSROOM IN NEW YORK CITY, THIS IS DAN ROBERTS.”
“That does not sound good,” she said, wondering how late she should stay.
“Yeah, we’re supposed to have another show Saturday night, so hopefully it doesn’t impact the turnout. People have already bought the tickets, but I feel bad if they can’t get here,” Antonio explained.
“Most people probably don’t arrive the day of the show,” she assured him.
“Exactly.” Antonio thought about it. “That means that they would possibly get here Friday, which is bringing bad weather.”
Maggie absorbed his concern for his fans.
“Can you postpone the show?” she asked.
“No, we have never done that before, or cancelled either. The only way would be if I was sick or something, and so far I’ve been lucky.”
She sat next to Antonio, feeling lucky to be with him.
He got up and walked over to the fireplace.
“Should we make a fire while we wait for the ice?”
“Sure,” she agreed.
Maggie watched as he assembled the logs in the fireplace and lit the match, recalling the ring of fire when she was on stage. Her eyes danced over him as he assembled the logs around the flame. She waited for him to sit back down next to her.
“There!” he stated, his mission accomplished. He stood up and wiped his hands on the sides of his khakis. “So....” Antonio paused, giving her a sweet look. “Now that I’ve cooked dinner and made a fire, am I redeemed from your first impression?” He gave her a curious smile as he sat back down next to her.
“You are,” Maggie decided, “but you’re still a liar, Chad.” She wore a smirk, hoping to hide her true feelings for him.
www.lovetheillusion.com/113.htm
“I’m not a liar! Chad’s my nickname. You can’t blame me for having a little fun when you didn’t recognize me. I just couldn’t help myself. And Stanley thought you didn’t recognize me because I wasn’t wearing my mask. It was so funny,” Antonio recalled.
“Thatwould have been less frightening,” she teased.
“Really…then I’ll no longer be able to cook spaghetti for you!” he threatened.
“Pappio’s is pretty good.” She enjoyed getting under his skin.
Antonio reached over and grabbed the top of her arms and pushed her down onto the couch. As she stared up at him, he bent over her, his face inches from hers. Maggie felt as if she was going to melt right through the couch when he whispered, “My spaghetti is better!” He held her down, after making his proclamation, as he looked into her eyes, and she looked into his. She studied his lips, wanting his kiss. What is he waiting for? He seemed to read her mind, but looked satisfied just knowing he was getting to her.
He got back up and decided, “It’s time for cupcakes!”
She followed into the kitchen where Antonio was leaned against the counter eating a cupcake in one hand and holding the paper wrapper in the other. She watched in amusement, wondering why he would stand over the floor making crumbs as opposed to eating over a plate.
“These are really good. Try one,” he offered.
The candle was still burning, and she went over to the table to blow it out. He looked at her mysteriously.
“Are you afraid of fire?”
She wondered what he meant to imply.
“Is that a reference to when you had me dragged up onto the stage to run your flaming hoop over me?”
“Maybe.” He grinned at her, enjoying his recollection.
“You’re just lucky you didn’t burn me! But I think I was more frightened when you took off the mask.”
He seemed upset that she redirected the conversation, but he played along. “That was the best part of the whole show. You were thinking that I stood you up—and then there I was,standing right next to you!” Antonio appeared proud.
“That was just thrilling for you, I’m sure.” She rolled her eyes, realizing his quest for shock.
She watched him, his eyes glued to her. Standing a few feet from him, she recalled being at Biagio’s and first perceiving his sweet side. Her first assumption was right. And he knew how to use it to his advantage. He knew just how to balance the intimacy and sweetness as if he held the owner’s manual right in front of him. She really wanted to kiss him.
Maggie gathered up her emotions and placed them on a shelf.
“So Antonio, should I call you Antonio, or should I call you Chad?” Maggie considered which she preferred.
“That depends, are you my friend or my fan?” he challenged her. She contemplated his quick wit.
“I would have to say both,” she decided, attempting to sweet-talk him. She then broke eye contact with him, aware she felt more for him than simply wishing to be his friend or fan.
He appeared flattered.
“You should call me Chad,” he decided. “Antonio is what my fans call me, and since you liked me before you knew who I am, I think you should call me Chad. It’s my nickname, from my mamma’s maiden name, Chandler. She gave it to me. She used to scream it at me when I would cause trouble.” He laughed under his breath as if he never outgrew the pursuit.
She imagined him as a cute little troublemaker.
“Then Chad,” Maggie was curious, “do you have your own…place, somewhere in the city or other…place…in the States?” She stumbled for words after once again calling him Chad.
“You saw where I stay. Our company paid money to renovate various sections of the hotel to accommodate our production staff. And also to ensure security and various means to allow me privacy—like that elevator that we went in to leave and return—that only operates with my key pass. So, since we do all of our rehearsals and most of our shows in New York City, it’s easy for me just to stay there. I like it there.”
Maggie observed him as she sat down at the kitchen table to finally eat a cupcake. She pondered his lifestyle as he leaned casually against the kitchen counter, sharing more information and opening up to her. “I bought a house in Italy. It’s beautiful. It’s surrounded by land and a river that runs through the back of the property. Across the river you can see a village. It’s a beautiful sight, all lit up at night. We sit out at night and catch fish. It’s one of our favorite things to do. My parents stay there and take care of the place while I’m away. My mamma and papa love to spend time on the boat. And I bought them a puppy, Daphne, and now she’s two years old. Have you ever seen a Maltese? It’s the cutest dog ever.”
www.lovetheillusion.com/116.htm
“And we have a garden, where we grow all the vegetables you can imagine. Mamma and Papa sell what they jar up at the local market, but just for fun, you know. They are retired, but very young at heart though, and my mamma says when she misses me, she looks at my papa, and there I am—a spitting image. I love them a lot, and I try to go home as often as I can.”
“I noticed during the interview that they asked about your parents moving back to Italy. They didn’t like it here or...”
He immediately shifted his eyes to the floor. “Just a bad situation. I don’t want to talk about it.” He paused and then sounded agitated. “And you know what? Every time I do any interview, no matter what, they always bring it up. I have to stay alert, so that I can redirect those reporters back to what they should be asking in the first place! They love to get off track, you know, like with Arianna. They got everyone probably thinking she’s having my baby!”
Maggie felt her insides curl. She waited to see if he would say anything else about her.
“So tell me about your family.” He seemed embarrassed, as if he had talked too long.
“Well, I’m the only girl out of four siblings,” Maggie began, “so I got kicked around pretty good when I was growing up. My brothers always gave my parents the impression that they were looking out for me, but I knew I was the one looking out for myself. They knew how to dish it out. They were all into the sports, and so when they played, they played rough. One time, I decided to be brave and play football with them. What a mistake! It was them against me! After a half hour, I hadn’t even touched the ball. I started bawling when Greg, the oldest, yells to me, the youngest, ‘Waaaa, waaa, you’re such a baby,’ and flies the football in my direction at about fifty miles an hour. You know, I caught the ball dead on. And after they recovered from their shock, they all raced over to tackle me. Elliot and Mason grab the ball out of my hands; I’m on the ground, yelling out, ‘you cheaters!’ And after they steal the ball, they run it into their end zone for a touchdown. When I got up, my arm was out of its socket. My mom was working, so my dad had to sit with me in emergency for over four hours to get in to a doctor who put my arm back in its socket, and…” She thought of any additional information that she wanted to share. “We never had any pets. My dad has allergies.”
“Sounds like a rough childhood.” He laughed.
“I survived!” She waved her hand, indicating the insignificance. “You know, now, we all get along great. They’re all married, and I’m even Auntie Maggie to Greg’s daughter, Kyra. I just love her. She’s already a little fashion diva, at the age of five. They live here in the States…so, unfortunately, I don’t get to see them very often.”
“Where is that?”
“They were in Boston, where I grew up, but now they just moved to Chicago. I kind of feel close to them, being here in New York.”
Maggie and Antonio both were aware that their relationship had transcended to a new level after another evening together, but the front door opened and Bradley and Rainelle were home.
Maggie heard them laughing, and Bradley announced, “We just saw the funniest movie ever; it’s this action comedy adventure. Things kept blowing up when you least expect it and Rainelle kept jumping in her chair, and I say ‘Girl, you better watch out, or you’re gonna spill that popcorn all over the place.’”
“Thanks for lending us your house,” Maggie said. “It’s a great place, very homey.”
“No, thank you Antonio,” Bradley concluded, giving him a light punch in the arm.
Silence lingered on the ride back. Maggie wondered what Antonio was thinking. Without even looking at him, she sensed that he too was in deep thought. The air felt heavy, as if it spelled out an ending to what had begun as an awkward coincidence at Biagio’s, several days ago. And now, she never felt so good sitting next to someone.
They got back to the hotel, and they made their usual entry through the secret passage. And Antonio walked her to her room.
Standing in front of the door, he took her hands in his.
“Maggie, I think the storm is going to delay your flight…If so, I can arrange for us to use the pool.”
Maggie accepted his offer, but her voice broke. “Call my room when you want to go.” She dropped his grip, and turned to go into her room. She knew better than to kiss him; it was already a mistake to be spending so much time with him. Her feelings for him were intense. And she was leaving soon.
His t-shirt, that she wore the night before, was still on the floor near the bed where she had left it that morning. She stared at it until she fell asleep.