44 Charles Street (9 page)

She and Chris helped Marya clean up the kitchen, but Marya had tidied as she went along, and there was surprisingly little mess. Marya went to unpack then, and Chris and Francesca walked slowly up the stairs.

“I was dreading today,” Francesca admitted. “It’s my first Valentine’s Day without the man I bought the house with. It turned out to be a lot of fun tonight, thanks to Marya.”

Chris nodded solemnly, a little more distant now that he was alone with her. He was always very guarded whenever he talked to Francesca or Eileen except when Ian was around. Marya had really brought him out of his shell. And Francesca couldn’t help wondering what had happened to him to make him so withdrawn. She was beginning to think that it wasn’t so much his personality as traumas that had occurred.

“Today was probably hard for Marya too, without her husband,” Francesca commented. “She’s a lovely woman. I’m glad she moved in. Her food is fantastic. We’re all going to get fat if she cooks like that for us every night.” Chris smiled at what she said.

“I think this was just a special event. I haven’t celebrated Valentine’s Day, or even thought about it, for years. It’s for lovers and kids,” and he was neither, although he had talked to Ian that afternoon and sent him a Valentine’s Day card. Ian had a crush on his teacher and a girl in his class, and had sent them both cards, he had told his dad.

They said goodnight to each other outside Chris’s door, which had once been her dining room and library and was now his home. She hadn’t seen the rooms since he moved in and had no reason to, since he was renting them from her. And she walked slowly up the stairs to her bedroom, feeling lonely again. It was inevitable. There was so much hype about that day, if you didn’t have a lover to share it with, it felt like a day of mourning. But Marya had made it a lot easier and happier for her, and she was grateful to her for that.

Francesca heard Eileen come in later that night, and she could tell that she had someone with her, and hoped she was all right. Her trust and innocence about the men she met on the Internet worried Francesca considerably, but they were whispering and laughing as they tiptoed past Francesca’s door, and she saw him in the kitchen over breakfast the next day. Marya had left freshly baked rolls and croissants for them and gone out for a walk. And Eileen’s date of the night before was happily gobbling the croissants and barely said hello to Francesca as she walked in. He looked a little rough around the edges, but Eileen was smiling and seemed happy and young as she giggled at him. Francesca was mildly annoyed to have to deal with him over breakfast, and Chris didn’t look thrilled either as he poured himself a cup of the coffee Marya had made earlier. Mealtimes on Charles Street had become a lot more interesting since Marya moved in.

“How do you all know each other? Are you two a couple?” Eileen’s date asked them as Chris shot him an evil look, poured himself a bowl of cornflakes, and didn’t bother to answer. Francesca just said they were roommates, and let it go at that. The man had several tattoos and had rolled up his sleeves, which exposed his arms. They were in vivid color, and his hair was long. He said he worked in TV, and then explained that he was a grip, and he fondled Eileen’s buttocks openly just as she sat down. Chris almost laughed when he saw the look of disapproval on Francesca’s face. She thought it was a bit much over breakfast among strangers, but Eileen didn’t seem to mind and looked pleased. She kissed him passionately, and he looked like he had his tongue halfway down her throat. His name was Doug. And she had met him on the Internet, of course. It seemed to be her only resource for meeting men, which concerned Francesca. Other people seemed to meet decent men on the Internet, but Eileen appeared to be alarmingly naïve. Doug was still in the kitchen when the others left.

Francesca excused herself and said she had some calls to make from her room, and Chris said he had a client meeting at ten, to present the project he had been working on for weeks. It was finally complete. He had been designing new packaging for a well-known brand. He left the house with his portfolio a few minutes later, and so did Eileen. And by the time Francesca left for the gallery at eleven, she was alone in the house. Marya had gone out too after cleaning up the kitchen when she came back from her walk.

The house was beginning to feel full and busy.

Francesca had arranged for a cleaning service to come twice a week, and they were all sharing the expense, rather than having to clean the house themselves. She was thinking about Eileen as she walked to work in a light February rain, and wondered if they’d be seeing Doug again. She hoped not, and thought he was crude, and a lot less than Eileen deserved. She seemed to be much more interested in quantity and the number of men she could meet, than in quality and narrowing the field to some better guys who were worthy of her. Francesca reminded herself that she was young and still naïve. She would have worried about her a lot if she were a younger sister. As a tenant or roommate, it was none of her business. But her Internet hobby was a little unnerving. It was a whole new world to Francesca, and not one she wanted to explore, although a lot of people were enthused about it and claimed they met nice people that way. It seemed risky to Francesca and she hoped Eileen would slow down a little and be careful in the meantime.

Francesca had a new show to curate and hang at the gallery that afternoon. It was a group show she had been working on for months, for two abstract painters and a sculptor, and she thought their work enhanced one another. It was important to find work that didn’t overshadow or distract from the rest of the show. One of the artists did enormous canvases and it was going to be hard for her to hang them alone. Without Todd to help her hang the shows now, she had asked one of their artists to come in and do it with her if he had time. He worked as an installer for several galleries to make extra money, and he was pleasant and helpful, although vague about time. He had been one of the first artists she signed up and his paintings sold fairly well. And he worked hard and was serious about his art and well trained. For once, he arrived on time, and Francesca figured out where she wanted him to hang the paintings, and he got up on a tall ladder for several hours to adjust the lights once they hung the work. It was after six when they were finished, and they both were tired but pleased with the result. He was ten years younger than she was and a cute guy.

“So where’s Todd these days?” he asked her casually. She had told most of their artists verbally that she had bought him out, but hadn’t sent an official letter to them yet. She hadn’t had the heart. And most of them could figure out that he was no longer around. A few asked her, but most of them had guessed that he was gone when they didn’t see him.

“I bought him out,” Francesca said equally off-handedly. “My father is my business partner now. Todd is practicing law again.” She thought it was all he needed to know, and the artist nodded.

“You two still together?” he asked over his shoulder, as he put the ladder away.

“No, we’re not,” Francesca said, and turned away, embarrassed and saddened by the question. She didn’t know why, but it made her feel like a failure, as though she had been unable to keep him or make it work. She hated feeling that way and wondered if Todd did too.

“I wondered about it. I haven’t seen him around in a long time. Did you sell your house?”

“No, it’s mine now, with three roommates.” It was more information than he needed.

“I’m happy to hear it,” the young artist said with a broad smile. “I’ve been waiting for him to get out of the way for years. How about dinner some night?” He looked hopeful as he asked. He admired Francesca for how hard she worked and how good she was at what she did. She was fiercely dedicated to her artists, and did everything she could to promote their careers.

Francesca took a breath before she answered his invitation to dinner. “I don’t think so, Bob. I’m not so keen on mixing business with pleasure. I’ve never gone out with any of my artists, and I don’t think I should start now.” She tried to look businesslike as she said it, and Bob seemed undaunted.

“There’s always a first time,” he said hopefully.

“Yeah, maybe, but I don’t think so. But thanks anyway. I’m really not ready to start dating yet. It’s kind of a big adjustment after five years.”

“Yeah … I’m sorry …” He looked disappointed and left a few minutes later, and Francesca locked up the gallery and walked home. It was raining harder than it had been that morning, which matched her spirits. It depressed her to think of dating anyone, or sleeping with anyone except Todd, although they had stopped sleeping with each other months before. It was going to be hard getting used to someone new. She just didn’t want to yet. And she walked up the steps of 44 Charles Street, soaked to the skin, and with a heavy heart.

She went straight to her room, without dinner, and cried herself to sleep that night. It told her that she wasn’t over Todd yet, and she wondered how long it would take. Maybe forever.

Francesca felt better in the morning, and she smiled when she walked into the kitchen. It was early, and she thought she’d be alone, but instead she found Marya making pancakes for Ian. They looked like Mickey Mouse, had a cherry for a nose, and raisins for eyes when she put them on his plate. They had just met. It was Saturday, and one of Ian’s weekends with his father.

“Hi, Ian,” Francesca said easily, as though they were old friends. “Pretty cool pancakes, huh?” she asked him, and he nodded with a grin as she smiled at Marya over his head. He was an irresistible child with a big happy smile and wise old eyes.

“Marya’s going to make cookies with me later. Chocolate chip. My mom used to make those with me,” he said carefully. “She doesn’t anymore. She gets sick a lot, and she sleeps all the time. Sometimes she’s still asleep when I get home from school.” The two women exchanged a look but said nothing. Francesca wondered if she had an illness, but she didn’t want to ask.

“I like chocolate chip cookies too,” Francesca added to lighten the moment.

“You can make some with us if you want,” Ian said generously as Chris walked in. “Or we’ll save you some if you have to go to work.”

“I’d love that,” Francesca said warmly, as Eileen walked in with the unattractive Doug, who asked for pancakes too. Francesca was quick to step in. Marya hadn’t been hired as a cook, she was a world-class chef who was doing them a favor and making them a gift by cooking anything for them. She wasn’t a short-order cook there to prepare them breakfast. “We’re doing self-service,” Francesca said quietly, “except for Ian.” Doug looked annoyed, shrugged, and helped himself to a cup of coffee as Marya looked at Francesca gratefully. Chris had taken due note of the scene, and didn’t like Doug either. He was crass and rude, and made it clear to everyone in the room that he and Eileen were sleeping together and when Ian left the room for a few minutes, Doug even intimated that they had had some pretty hot sex the night before. Eileen didn’t seem to mind his saying it, but the others did on her behalf. It was a lack of respect for her that she appeared not to notice or object to.

Oblivious to the scene, Ian happily finished his pancakes and politely thanked Marya when he was through. He then carefully rinsed his dish and put it in the dishwasher. Francesca noticed and wondered if he had to take care of himself if his mother was sick or sleeping all the time. He seemed unusually capable for a child of seven.

They were all still milling around the kitchen when the doorbell rang. Francesca went upstairs to answer, and was horrified to see her mother standing outside, waiting to come in. She was wearing a Chanel running suit and Dior sneakers, her hair was in a ponytail, and she looked beautiful even without makeup, but she was the last person Francesca wanted to see that morning. She had no desire to introduce her to her roommates or listen to her mother’s comments about them after.

“Hi, Mom,” she said hesitantly, not sure what to do. “What are you doing here?” She was hoping she would leave without coming in, but doubted she would. Her mother was too persistent and curious for that.

“I’m trying a new skin doctor in SoHo. I hear she’s fabulous, so I thought I’d drop over before I see her. May I come in?” She looked expectant and imperious, and Francesca stepped aside, feeling like a kid in trouble. She knew her mother would not like the scene in the kitchen.

“Of course,” Francesca said, as her heart sank, thinking of the odd melee of people in her kitchen, and suspected her mother would be shocked, particularly by Doug and his tattoos.

“Something smells delicious,” Thalia commented as Francesca debated between taking her upstairs to her bedroom, with the unmade bed, the living room where there was no place to sit, since she hadn’t gotten around to replacing the couch and chairs Todd had taken, or the kitchen, where all of her roommates were having breakfast. She hated to introduce them to her mother. But Marya had just taken a fresh tray of croissants out of the oven, which provided an irresistible lure toward the kitchen.

“One of my roommates is a famous chef,” Francesca explained as her mother headed down the stairs toward the kitchen without her. Reluctantly, Francesca followed.

Chris was at the kitchen table with his son doing a drawing, Marya was at the stove in her apron holding the fresh batch of croissants, and Doug with all his tattoos visible was wrapped around Eileen like a snake, while she giggled and was still wearing a slightly indiscreet nightgown with her robe hanging open. It was not the scene she wanted to present to her mother. She introduced her to all of them simply as her mother, as Thalia pursed her lips and stared over all of them to Marya. She seemed to be the only civilized person there, in Thalia’s opinion.

“You must be the chef,” Thalia said, looking slightly daunted. The idea of her daughter living with all these people still upset her. And she had instantly noticed Doug and his tattoos and thought him dreadful.

“I am. Would you like breakfast, Mrs. Thayer?” Marya asked kindly. She was slightly startled by the grandeur of Francesca’s mother. Even in a sweatsuit, she looked as though she should be wearing a ball gown.