Beware That Girl (16 page)

Any doubts Olivia might have had on the way over disintegrated the moment she saw Mark at his table at the Last Drop Café. It was as if a spotlight was trained on him. Olivia made her way to him with her heart pounding in her throat.

The café was quite a few blocks out of school range, so it was new to her, and way more interesting than the Starbucks where the Wonders regularly met. The place was dolled up in deep Victoriana, with plush velvet mismatched chairs and ornamental antique side tables. Cozy, dark and comfy. Kate would love it.

“I hope you approve of my little find. I enjoy the vibe here.”

Mark rose to greet her, and Olivia caught her breath. He was out of his “school clothes” and instead wore a pair of faded jeans and a fitted navy-blue T-shirt. He looked…he had beautiful…everything.

“May I get you a cappuccino? They do a good job here.”

“Perfect.” She watched his every move as he made his way to the barista.

“Skim milk, no sugar,” he said, returning with a foaming cup. “Did I guess right?”

“Perfect.” She was repeating herself.

“So I took your advice about only offering ‘experiences’ at the live auction this year.” Mark raised his mug of black coffee to his lips,
his lips,
and held it for a heartbeat before he took a sip. She was mesmerized.

Olivia nodded, or she thought she nodded. Either way, he continued.

“The gala committee was wild about the idea. There was quite an infusion of excitement, and all because of you, Olivia.”

She probably nodded again, or demurred or something. His arms were a work of art, defined, sun-dappled, strong. They looked strong.

How would they feel wrapped around her? God, this was…

“So far, we’ve got a dozen box seats to sporting events and four different sets of on-the-floor tickets for this boy band.” He looked amused. “I forget their name, but I’ve been assured that the dads will go into a bidding frenzy just to surprise their little darlings. We’ve also got a bunch of vacation homes on offer for a week. One is in the Hamptons, and there are two chalets in Aspen and one in Whistler. Plus the Sanfords’ villa in Aix-en-Provence. The Petersons arranged for a six-person spa weekend at the Grange, featuring some hot-yoga guru, and Serena’s father kicked in a tasting tour of his restaurants in New York, Chicago and London, including airfare. Smacks more of a guilty conscience than a tax write-off, if you ask me.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Probably,” she managed to whisper. “Poor Serena, I think they’re divorcing.”

Mark nodded. “I suspected as much.”

She was distracted by the sound of her own heart beating. Olivia had to strain to hear him. She leaned in closer.

“Then there’s tickets to that Robert Downey Jr. play, including dinner and a night at the Four Seasons, as well as a helicopter tour of the city. I could go on and on, but…well, we’ll break records because of you.”

Were there other people in the café?

Mark asked about her and Kate’s Yale aspirations. He listened intently and then insisted that they needn’t concern themselves at all. He went on for a bit about his plans for the advancement committee in the coming year and how he had sold his platform to the board.

“Between the Winterfest Gala and the Wonders, the board thinks I walk on water—for the moment, at least.” He moved imperceptibly closer.

Olivia willed him closer still. “Well, of course,” she managed. “Creating the Wonders was a brilliant idea!”

“Yes,” he agreed almost reluctantly. “Each one of you brings something extraordinary to the table. But especially you, Olivia. You have something even more—something that burns beneath that cool beauty and intelligence.”

Her breath caught.

His hand grazed hers, carelessly. “I owe you, Olivia. You can count on me for anything and I will be there for you.”

She was in danger of being flooded with emotion.

“Don’t retreat.”

“What?”

He took her hand into both of his. And she dissolved.

“I sensed it from the beginning. Maybe that’s why I was so drawn to you.”

“I, uh, I don’t…”

The corner of his mouth played at a smile. She needed to reach over and touch that corner.

“Some of us have things happen to us, and then we guard against it. We throw up walls that will never leave us exposed again.” He squeezed her hand gently. “And it works. Sometimes all too well, right?”

He
knew
her.

Mark leaned back against his chair, taking warmth away with him. She wanted him to hold her hand again, to hold her. She so needed to be held.

“The pain’s shut out or flattened, but so is everything else. All the beautiful light.” He sighed then. “You are special, Olivia. So mature. The girls at the school must be like children to you. Am I wrong?”

“How…how did you know?”

“
Am
I wrong?”

“No.”

“Let me help you find your way back.” He leaned over again. “Let me help you find your way to feeling things you never thought possible. I can do that, Olivia. I
want
to do that.”

She needed him to touch her, kiss her. She’d never wanted anything more.

Instead he rose. The café was no longer bustling. Somehow it was eight o’clock and the place was closing. People were preparing to leave. Mark offered his hand. He helped her into her coat wordlessly, tenderly.

They were nearing the door, and any words Olivia might have had were lodged in her throat.

“Do you trust me?” he asked as he opened the door for her.

The frigid December air bit into her.

“Olivia?” Mark took hold of both her arms before she could turn east and head for home. “Olivia, I need to know—
do
you trust me?”

“Yes,” she said it clearly. There could be no doubt, because there was no doubt. She wasn’t a child. It would be worth it. Whatever it was, whatever was coming. “Yes, I do.”

“I’m glad.” He smiled and let her go.

Olivia had changed her shoes at least fifty-seven times. She was just meeting a couple of her old high school friends for brunch. I didn’t get it. She’d blown off every other attempt at get-togethers, and now, all of a sudden, the girl was deep into shoe frenzy.

“Too
too
?” she asked, trotting out in a pair of charcoal Jimmy Choo ankle boots.

“No, perfect. If you cuff your jeans, it’ll be that expensive/casual thingy you rock so well.” I could have shot myself. It led to her retrying her entire skinny jean wardrobe to see which one “cuffed” the best.

“You look spectacular!” I called into her room. Even though she hadn’t seen Anita and Jessica, her so-called friends, since the summer, Olivia had never seemed to care that much about them or what they thought. She said they were as phony as rhinestones. So? Must be a rich-girl thing. Image above all else.

Anka and I got her out by 10:17 a.m.

“What a production!”

Anka looked grim. “I vas never to loving zose girls.”

I, on the other hand, loved Anka more each day. It snuck up on me. The woman was such a force. “Hey, Anka, how about we go to Chinatown, you and me? We can get some great vegetables and maybe something nice you can bring to your sister this afternoon.”

She made a face.

“What? What’s the matter?”

“Zat place is full of immigrants-type peoples.”

“Well, yeah, but aren’t you, uh…? Look, Chinatown is full of great stuff and great food. I know you’re going to love it. I’ll show you where I worked.”

“Okay, zen.” She bustled off to get our coats and her purse. “Ve go. I am to bringing za shopping list.”

—

Even on a Sunday morning in the middle of winter, Chinatown was packed. The noise, colors and confusion were an assault on the senses after the perfect vacuum of the penthouse. I kept checking to see how Anka was faring. She was in her element. There wasn’t a grapefruit, salted cod, carrot, Fruit of the Loom package (five for $2.99) or plastic change purse that she didn’t pick up or run her hands over. If someone accidentally bumped into her, she smiled. Anka sucked it all in.

Maybe for us it was more home than the home we occupied.

I didn’t know about her, but I could be
me
here.

I had to surgically remove her from Lee’s kitchen store. Anka bought sixteen little blue-and-white bowls for a party Olivia was never going to have and last year’s model of Vitamix blender for her sister. “She is too sickly to notice vat year model it is being.” I steered her to the Chens’ market, knowing full well that I’d never get her out once she spied their mind-numbing array of fresh fruit and vegetables. As usual, Mrs. Chen materialized out of nowhere. Despite the weather, she was still sporting her trademark blindingly white apron and embroidered dragon slippers.

“Katie, ha! You come back!”

I stepped toward her.

She stepped back, clearly worried that I was going in for another hug. She examined Anka.

“Dis your mudda?”

“No, dhalink, I am to being za housekeeper.”

I felt like I was trapped in an eighties sitcom. What was I thinking? There was no way that these women could traverse the highways of their respective accents and cultures. As if to prove my point, Mrs. Chen slapped Anka’s hand, making her drop the Fuji apple she had reached for.

“Bah, no goot!” Mrs. Chen linked arms with Anka and dragged her to the back of the store and out into the alley. Wow, Anka was going to get to pick from the produce that hadn’t been uncrated yet. This was an honor reserved for Chinatown royalty. Now what? Given Anka’s proclivity for produce, we could be here for the night. I was stranded minding the haul from Lee’s. The Vitamix bag alone was the size of a truck tire.

“Michelob? Michelob, is that you?”

I swung around and then around again.

“It is you!” And there, in all his irritating handsomeness, was Johnny. “What are you doing here? Couldn’t stay away? I’m flattered.”

“You know very well that I used to work here,” I sniffed. Man, he got under my skin.

“Sure,” he said, shrugging. “But now you live in nosebleed territory. So I have to assume you came back to get a glimpse of me.” He tossed Anka’s discarded apple in the air and then bit into it. Mrs. Chen would take him out with an iron pipe. “Glimpse away, Michelob.”

What the hell? “I’ve glimpsed plenty, thank you. Anyway, never mind me—what are
you
doing here?”

Johnny extended his arm out to the street. “This, fair Michelob, is my domain,
my
turf. My people have a bakery on Mulberry.”

“Hey, my name is Kate. I would appreciate it if you called me that,
Johnny.
And I say again, who the hell names their kid Johnny anymore?”

“It was my father’s name.”

Oh, damn. “Was?” I felt myself wince.

“Was.” Johnny stopped chewing. “My dad, John senior, passed away a few months ago. I had to leave school for a bit to help out, but I’ll be going to CUNY in January.”

“OhI’msosorryreallyIam.” The words tumbled and tripped out stupidly. I felt awful about his dad, about making fun of his name and about feeling whatever the hell I was feeling at that moment. “What’s a CUNY?”

He shook his head and smiled. “The City University of New York. I’m taking paralegal courses, marking time and collecting credits before I apply for the NYPD. And you…?” He eyed me. “I’m guessing nothing but Princeton for the
gweilo
princess?”

“Nothing but Yale.”

He grinned. “You’ve got to admit I’m good.”

“I’m not admitting any such thing, except…well, I really am sorry about your father. Really.”

“Enough to call a truce?”

“Truce? There’s no need. Look, Johnny, I’m not looking to—”

“Chill, girl. Just friends. Even though you have the Chens watching your back—and believe me you can’t do better than Mrs. Chen—I’ve got a feeling that their little
gweilo
is even more out of her element uptown than downtown.”

Out of my element? I was right back on fast burn. Who did he think he was? If he only knew who he was talking to and how far I had…

“I’m cool with the Upper East Side party folk too, if you recall, and”—he surveyed the expanse of the market—“nobody knows the ins and outs of this place better than me. These people trust me. So I’ve got uptown
and
downtown cred.”

Could he be more full of himself?

Just as I was about to take him down, I heard Mrs. Chen’s slippered feet slapping behind me.

“Johnny, ha! Good boy!” She gave him another apple. “You like Kate? Very pretty, ha?”

Shoot me now.

Before he could answer and Anka could catch up, Mrs. Chen actually threw her arm around me. “You watch, she need. Always trouble, ha?”

What. The. Hell.

Did he bow? What was going on? How did this happen? I’d gone from eighties sitcom to “straight to DVD” thriller. Johnny turned to Anka and introduced himself as my
good
friend Johnny Donato. Wait, Donato? Of Donato’s Bakery? I loved that bakery. Somehow, that just pissed me off more.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

Anka, in an uncharacteristic show of stupidity, was charmed.