A Taste of Fame (13 page)
Wade actually grinned. “Right, and, well, since you all know my mom and since everyone seems to get along, can I tell her it’s okay if she decides to come?”
The girls and I had no choice. We nodded our assent, and the discussion continued just as if Wade hadn’t dropped a bombshell.
Somehow, despite my new worries about Mrs. Gage, I managed to learn the producer would expedite our tickets to arrive on Monday and we would all fly out early Tuesday morning, arriving just in time to make a live appearance on the show that evening. Though, apparently we wouldn’t actually be competing, as this was our week off. According to Lizzie—who said this was according to Lisa Leann—the reason we had to be in the studio was so we would be in place when the top six teams started work on the first of their New York City parties. As we were already in the top six, since being in the winner’s circle last week, we had to be on-site so we could get our marching orders the following morning.
After polishing off a slice of Vonnie’s apple pie a la mode, I stood to leave. “Gotta run, everyone. My shift starts at nine.”
Before David could respond, Wade stood. “Think I’ll walk the deputy to her Bronco.”
David nodded, a bit smug. “Go ahead, Donna, I’ll catch up with you later tonight.”
As we stepped onto Vonnie’s front porch, I was captivated by the evening sky. It rimmed the last rays of golden light around the edges of the mountains while a full moon glowed in the deepening turquoise.
A breeze played with my curls, which were still too short to pull into a ponytail. Wade followed me to my Bronco, and I turned and leaned into it. “Wade, I can hardly believe your mom wants to join us.”
He stood close enough to kiss me, but didn’t. “I know. I’m almost as surprised as you.”
“But why would you even want her there?”
He smiled down at me in a way that made my heart flutter. “For us.”
Before I could respond, he continued. “I know my mother has stood between us, Donna, because of the past. But it’s time for a fresh start. I’m ready to show her we belong together.”
I clicked my electronic key to unlock the door to my truck. “I’m not sure we have anything to prove, Wade, and—”
He leaned down to give me a gentle kiss. I was so surprised I briefly kissed him back.
His eyes filled with tenderness. “We’ll get through this.”
“But …”
He leaned in to kiss me again, but I managed to slide into my truck, feeling too many emotions to understand them. “We’ll talk later,” I said, starting the motor. “I’m late.”
His smile was wistful. “Then that makes two of us.”
A few minutes later, I passed Lisa Leann’s darkened condo and realized Henry must either be out or already in bed. But before I could formulate a better theory, my cell phone rang. I checked the caller ID which once again read “Private.”
I picked up and listened to the familiar silence before clicking out of the call without speaking.
I bit my lower lip. I suddenly had yet another person to add to my list of crank-call suspects. But unfortunately, this one couldn’t scare me more than if she were determined to cut out my heart with a butcher knife.
I shuddered. Faye Gage had me in a tizzy. Me, a law enforcement professional, felled by the fear of rejection. Honestly, I had no more idea how to handle Mrs. Gage than how to fly. But then, I had more to worry about than Mrs. Gage. I had to guard my heart, at least until I could decipher how I really felt about the men in my life. That meant I had to pledge no more kisses until I had a theory I could live with.
I have to admit, Lisa Leann and I soaked up the New York lifestyle like sponges on wet stainless steel countertops. As soon as we’d gotten our bearings, unpacked, and touched base with our loved ones back home, we headed back down the narrow hall and stairway and then swept into the lobby and to the night manager—a lovely young woman of Hispanic descent—on the other side of a high L-shaped counter. Behind her were tiny cubicles, one stacked on top of another, filled with old-fashioned room keys and slender white envelopes.
“Look,” I said, pointing rudely. “I think people actually live here!”
The night manager smiled warmly. “The SoHotel is the oldest hotel in New York City. We have rooms for those who live in the city and those who are visitors like yourselves.”
“I read that,” Lisa Leann said with a nod. “I read that before we came here on the Internet.” She shook her head. “What I mean to say is, I read that on the Internet before we came here. We didn’t come here on the Internet.”
“No, we came here on the subway,” I reminded her.
The night manager’s eyes widened. “You came here, to the hotel, on the subway? With luggage?” She looked from one of us to the other. “From where? From one of the airports?”
I nodded while Lisa Leann groaned. “Well, heck,” I said. “We’re real New Yorkers now.”
Rose—the night manager—giggled a bit, then said, “Ladies, how can I help you this evening?”
Lisa Leann turned to me. “You know, everyone says New Yorkers aren’t friendly. But so far, everyone has been so nice.”
I pointed to Rose. “She wants to know how she can help us, Lisa Leann.”
“I’m just saying—”
I looked at Rose. “We want to go to Il Cortile on Mulberry. It’s a restaurant.”
“Yes, I know.” She pointed toward the stairs leading back down to the street. “You can literally walk it. Out the front door, take a left, two streets over, take a left. It’ll be on your right. Easy as anything.”
The night air was warm and the sun had disappeared behind the buildings, but the light around SoHo and leading into Little Italy was silver and magical. I could see, even here in lower Manhattan, why New York City was easy to fall in love with. I took in deep breaths and sighed. I was happy. At nearly sixty years of age, I’d had the first completely spontaneous day in my life, coming to New York City, riding a subway, and now walking in unknown territory to get to a restaurant.
By the time we got back to the hotel and into our room, our tummies were full of some of the best food I’d ever eaten. Lisa Leann had managed to talk the chef into allowing her to check out his kitchen, so she was satisfied in more ways than one. “I now want a warm shower and to fall into bed,” she said as we entered the room.
Fine by me; I was ready to call home and let Vernon know how I’d survived my first evening in the Big Apple.
“What’s Lisa Leann doing now?” Vernon asked after I’d filled him in on what had transpired since our last conversation.
“She’s in the shower,” I told him. “And Vernon … she and Henry … there was a lot of tension in their earlier phone call. I mean … I’m not gossiping or anything, but… .”
“All right, then,” Vernon said. “On to the next topic.”
I rolled my eyes. “I get your point. Okay. As soon as Lisa Leann gets out of the shower, it’ll be my turn, so I’ll say good night now.”
“Good night, Evie-girl,” he said. “I’ll hold your pillow close and pretend I’m snuggling with you.”
I felt heat spring to my cheeks. “Vernon Vesey, you say the sweetest things.”
When Lisa Leann exited the bath, declaring the showerhead to be in working order and the spray of the water to be just perfect, I was sitting in the middle of the bed, returning a text message to Donna.
I CAN UNDRSTND CONCERN RE: MONEY,
I texted.
NOT SURE HOW LNG UR DAD WILL BE ABLE 2 CME.
“What are you doing?” Lisa Leann asked.
I pressed “send” and looked up, ignoring her question for one of my own. “Lisa Leann, what in the world are you wearing?”
“Pajamas, silly.”
“I know they are pajamas, but where did you get them?”
“A place called the Cat’s Pajamas. It’s on the Internet.”
I leaned in for a better look. The pajamas were two-piece poplin. Pink, of course, printed with frosted cakes and other delectable edibles in a variety of yummy colors. “You do beat all for staying within theme,” I said to her. “And here I just brought a plain old cotton gown.”
She pointed to my phone. “Is that text from one of the girls?”
“Donna. She sent me a text about the meeting tonight.” Lisa Leann shot me a look of concern, one that read,
Why are they texting you and not me
? I quickly added, “No need to worry your little red head. Everything is apparently just fine.”
Lisa Leann folded up her travel clothes she’d brought with her from the bathroom as she said, “Don’t you just love texting? You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. You can get right to the point and stay on the point.” She shook her head as though in wonder of it all.
I stood from the soft mattress. “Are you through in there? I’m ready to wash this day from my body and go to bed.”
“You betcha. It’s late, and a good night’s sleep is in order. First thing tomorrow, we hit the Empire State Building.”
I shook my head as I closed the bathroom door. “I sure hope it sees you coming and moves out of the way,” I mumbled as quietly as I knew how.
“I heard that,” she called from the other side of the door.
The following morning, after a breakfast of Lisa Leann’s homemade protein bars, I stood on one side of the rumpled bed, rearranging the items in my purse, while Lisa Leann stood on the other doing the same. “Should we leave some of our money in here?” she asked.
I looked around the tiny room. “It might be a good idea to not carry all our cash on us. Where would you suggest we hide it, though?”
Lisa Leann pointed down. “I always put it between the mattresses.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“No, seriously … Henry and I put it between the mattresses, and then we make the bed. They’ll never think to look there. Believe me, Evangeline. I’ve done quite a bit of traveling in my day.”
I handed her a stack of bills, then pulled the MetroCards from my wallet. One, I remembered, was just to get into the system and was now void. The other would get us through until we were carted around by the studio’s limo. I waved the first one at Lisa Leann. “Be sure to ditch the first card we got,” I said. “It’s no longer any good.”
Lisa Leann was busy stuffing money between the mattresses. She looked up briefly, said, “Oh, yeah … good idea,” then went back to her task.
Ten minutes later—and with our bed neatly made—we were out of the tiny room and on our way to exploring what New York City had to offer. We stopped at the front desk and asked the day manager about the subway to the Empire State Building.
“Right on Bowery, left on Grand,” he said. “You’ll see the subway. Take the D train.”
We headed out, heads held high, shoulders back, and strutted our stuff like we’d been walking the streets of SoHo our whole lives. This morning, without the weight of luggage and hunger, I was able to take in more of the sights and sounds of the city. The crowds were thick and the traffic buzzed, echoing between old cast-iron buildings that apparently served as both commercial and residential. As I made some attempt to count the number of cars and cabs lining the street, Lisa Leann rambled on about the history of SoHo. I craned my neck and looked up to the clear blue sky. The sun was already warming the city and raising the aromas from the local cafés and the strange blended smells of herbs, fruits, and vegetables from a few storefronts. I grinned in delight at it all, the colors, the people, the scents. The flow of the crowd, stopping in unison at cross streets, looking forward at the “wait” sign on the other side, then harmoniously starting up again when the “wait” turned to “walk.”
But when it seemed we’d gone over too many cross-streets, I stopped.
Lisa Leann took another two or three steps before she turned. “What’s wrong?”
I pointed to an upcoming intersection. A major intersection. “That’s … what?” I squinted to read the sign. “Canal?” I looked at Lisa Leann, who was glaring straight ahead, a sudden glint in her eye.
“Ooooh. Do you know what Canal Street is?”
“Well, I know what it’s not. It’s not Grand and it’s not the subway.”
Lisa Leann waved her hand in a “come here, come here” motion.
I took the few steps toward her; she linked her arm through mine. “Canal Street, dear Evangeline, is in Chinatown. Look,” she said, pointing to the buildings. “Look at all the Chinese writing and the reds and golds. This is where all the knockoff purses are. Don’t you remember me telling you this?”
“Oh yes. Yes, yes. Purses, watches, scarves …”
Lisa Leann swung us around so we were facing the direction from which we’d come and began pulling me with her as she walked. “Well, I’m about as excited as a Texan can get, let me tell you. We are staying no more than three blocks from Canal Street, Evie. The place to see and be seen.” She patted my arm. “Tomorrow, you and I are going purse shopping, girlfriend. Prada, Kate Spade, Gucci …”
I clutched the strap of the simple black no-name purse that was draped over my body. “Why would I want to buy something I don’t need? Foolish waste of money. If we’re going to spend money on something, let’s spend it on food. I’m ready for some real breakfast; nothing against your protein bars.”
We crossed Hester Street and kept walking.
“Don’t be silly, Evangeline. The whole point of being here early is to soak up the culture.”
“Food can be a cultural experience. Think about last night … that pasta stuff was pretty good.” I nodded once for effect. “Besides, I thought the whole point of being here was to find the best shops for our next challenge.”
“That too.” She pointed straight ahead. “There it is. There’s Grand Street.”
We took a right. I kept my eyes open for the Metro sign—a large M. Spotting it, I pointed. “There’s the subway.”
Lisa Leann and I—still hooked together at the bend in the arms— left one side of Grand for the other. We were met by a barrage of outdoor Asian markets boasting food products, the likes of which I’d never seen.
“Would you look at this?” Lisa Leann asked as we passed them. “Now this is something we need to learn more about.” She raised her left arm—the one not linked to mine—and said, “Oh, Evie. All the ways of life one can find here! This is just fabulous!”
