Changing Scenes (Changing Teams #2) (14 page)

Chapter

Twenty-Seven

Donato

As always, spending time with the family was great.

There was just something about coming home from midnight Mass and stuffing yourself full of roast turkey and potatoes and all the rest of the food, then getting up on Christmas morning, opening presents, and lounging around with family. A few weeks ago I would have said this was my all-time favorite activity. Then the day came, and all I could think about was how much I wanted Astrid there with me.

By the time noon rolled around on Christmas Day, I was missing Astrid something fierce. To take my mind off of my girl, I made myself useful in the kitchen. There was always something to be done in there, whether it was putting together plates of leftovers or scrubbing pots. Grandma had tasked me with making the dinner rolls, and I was up to my elbows in dough when I heard my siblings talking about me…and Astrid.

“Hey, that’s Donnie’s girlfriend,” Amelia squealed.

“Donnie ain’t got no girlfriend,” my brother, Afonso, said. “Not one that looks like that, anyway.”

I wiped my hands on a towel, then I went into the living room and checked out the television. Amelia and the rest were watching some fashion channel. It was a program about up and coming designers, and they were featuring the Kendra Saunders show. There was my girl, wearing that bright pink dress and strutting down the runway like she was the hottest thing on the planet.

“That’s her,” I said. “Astrid.”

“You mean to tell me you’re dating Astrid Janvier?” Lucia demanded. “I don’t believe you. I want evidence.”

“How do you even know who she is?” I demanded.

“Please, she’s one of the hottest models around.” Lucia grabbed Amelia’s tablet and pulled up an online lingerie website. After a few clicks, she turned the tablet around and showed my family a picture of Astrid in a pink lace bra and matching panties. What a great first impression. “See? You know how well-known you have to be to get in with this brand? And she’s walked for them in New York
and
London.”

“She’s pretty hot,” Afonso said, ducking when his wife took a swing at him. “That site got any more pictures of her?”

“All right, all right,” I said, grabbing the tablet and handing it back to Amelia. “You can all stop looking at pictures of my girlfriend in her underwear.”

“So sensitive,” Afonso said. “Still, I don’t believe it. What would a chick like her be doing hanging around with a cook?”

Amelia paused the television and stuck out her hand. “Donnie, show them the picture. The one of the two of you.”

I pulled up our selfie on my phone, which Amelia immediately snatched out of my hands and showed to Lucia and Julia. “I told you Donnie has a girlfriend,” Amelia said triumphantly.

Afonso leaned over Julia’s shoulder and grunted. “What, she lose a bet or something?”

“Funny,” I snapped. I grabbed my phone before my nosy sisters decided to go through it. “I was at that show,” I said, jerking my chin toward the screen.

“I love her shoes,” Lucia said. “That must be the best part about being a model, getting to wear all those expensive clothes. No one really owns stuff like that.”

“Astrid does,” I said. “Those are her own shoes. She’s got a closet full of them.”

“What?” Lucia squawked. “Those are like a thousand dollars a pair!”

“What? No way,” I said.

“Ask your girlfriend what designer they are.”

“All right,” I muttered, and fired off a text. When she replied, I announced, “Manolo Blahnik.”

Amelia typed something into her tablet. When she found what she wanted, she turned the screen toward us. “See? These shoes are crazy expensive.” I leaned close to the screen and swore; man, they really were a thousand bucks a pair. Some were even more.

“Yeah, well, she probably takes them home from shows,” I said. I nodded toward the television and added, “Kendra let her keep that dress.”

“She has a boyfriend already,” Julia, Afonso’s wife, announced as she held up her phone. “Look, there’s an article and everything.”

I grabbed Julia’s phone, and skimmed the article she’d found. “The article’s from a few months ago,” I said, hoping the relief didn’t creep into my voice. “And that’s her agent, John Archer.”

“So she’s never been on a date with him?” Lucia asked, one eyebrow up higher than the other.

“Never has, as far as I know,” I replied.

Lucia nodded, then she yelled, “Ma, Grandma, Donnie finally got a girlfriend.”

My mother and grandmother came rushing in, and we went through the whole spiel again. Once everyone in my family was convinced that a girl like Astrid would give me the time of day, my grandmother asked the burning question.

“Donato, this girl is Catholic?” she asked, her hands clasped together.

“Uh, I’ll ask her.”

I fired off another text, wondering but not really caring what Astrid’s response would be. Truth be told I only went to church on holidays, but I wasn’t telling Grandma that. When I got Astrid’s reply, I grinned.

“Not only is she Catholic, she went to parochial school,” I announced. “Our Lady of Perpetual Mercy in Astoria.”

“Good, good,” Grandma said, patting my shoulder. “You bring her for Easter.”

“I will, Grandma,” I promised. “I will.”

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

Astrid

Our Christmas dinner lasted the standard two hours, which Mom felt was long enough to express her motherly ways, but not too long, thus resulting in her getting bored. Mom bored was a dangerous thing, and usually led to her psychoanalyzing everyone from her beloved children to hapless waiters and busboys. The one person she never sunk her trained therapist claws into was Dad. No one, not even his wife, wanted to know what was going on inside his head.

After the dessert and coffee, Mom and I visited the ladies’ room while Dad and Bruce fought over the check. While I freshened my lip gloss, Mom set a plain white envelope in front of me.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“You know how we usually have the family retreat in February?” Mom asked, and I nodded. “Your father and I decided that since this is a milestone anniversary, it should be just the two of us.”

“Makes sense,” I said, hoping my relief wasn’t too apparent. This year’s family vacation would have occurred during Britt’s wedding, and there was no way I was skipping my maid of honor duties for more mindless family drama. “Not many people make it to thirty-five years. You should celebrate.”

“True,” she said. “But we know how you look forward to these trips too, so we’re giving you the means to take your own little vacation.”

“Really?” I picked up the envelope and peeked inside, my eyes widening when I counted out twenty crisp hundred dollar bills. “Mom, can you and Dad afford this?”

“Of course we can,” Mom said. “That’s less than we would have spent on your portion of the trip.” Mom took the envelope from my hands and tucked it into my purse. “Now, Astrid, I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but I want you to listen to me. Take this money and do something for yourself, something fun. Promise me you will.”

“I promise, Mom.” I grinned, knowing exactly what I’d do—I’d throw a New Year’s party for Donnie.

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

Donnie

It was two days after Christmas, and I was still at my family’s place in New Bedford. That in itself wasn’t unusual; since the restaurant was closed it was a great time to hang with the fam. But this year I had an ulterior motive—I wanted to pick Lucia’s brain about fashion.

“So, models,” I said after lunch. Lucia and I were alone in the kitchen, cleaning up and loading the dishwasher. Man, we went through almost as many plates as the restaurant during a lunch rush. “They make good money.”

Lucia shrugged. “I guess. I mean, you always see them in mansions and taking vacations in Europe, so that must take some cash, you know?” Lucia picked at some baked on sauce, then she gave up and set the pan in the sink to soak. “Although, all that stuff could just be a photo op. Maybe they’re all set up, who knows?”

“Who knows,” I repeated. “You know a lot about this stuff?”

“Only what I read in magazines.” Lucia looked me in the eye, and raised an eyebrow. “Spit it out, little brother. You want to know what I’ve read about your girl?”

“No,” I snapped. “And I’m not your little brother. Older’n you by a couple years, remember?”

“Yeah, but you’re the youngest brother.” Lucia walked to the kitchen doorway and surveyed the scene in the family room. “Okay, they’re all occupied. What do you want to know?”

I frowned, pissed yet grateful that Lucia saw through me so easily. “You ever read about her and a guy?”

“Not a word, except for that date she went on with her boss that one time,” Lucia replied. “Astrid’s been on these eligible single girl lists for the past few years.”

“Really.” I tried not to grin and let Lucia know how much that relieved me. Not that I didn’t trust Astrid, but I liked a little reassurance. “Does she really get sent to London?”

“All the time,” Lucia replied. “Paris too. I bet she gets paid damn well for those trips.”

“I bet.” I didn’t know how I felt about that aspect of Astrid’s career, what with her getting sent to Europe for work. The last time I was in Europe was the day we left Portugal, and that was over twenty years ago. Of course, that was my lesser concern. The top one was Astrid’s lifestyle, which I couldn’t hope to match.

After my sisters had told me how much the basics of Astrid’s life cost—things like her shoes—I did some research on my own. A conservative estimate placed the value of Astrid’s wardrobe north of twenty-five thousand dollars, and that was just the clothes I knew about. She probably had a mink coat and box of diamonds in the back of her closet, for all I knew.

And I was a cook. I made good money, yeah, but I didn’t know how I stacked up to the other guys she knew. Yeah, Astrid had said that she didn’t care about stuff like that, but that was then. Will it not matter for always?

“Anyway,” Lucia continued, bringing me back from my thoughts, “it doesn’t really matter about the trips and parties. That’s not what women really go for.”

“Yeah? Why don’t you tell me what they really like?”

“Love, silly,” Lucia said. “I’d live in a box with Brian as long as he loved me. And if Astrid loves you, she’ll be happy with you wherever you two end up. Trust me.”

Before I could reply there was a shriek from the family room, and Lucia left to investigate. I turned to the sink and began scrubbing out the pan. Maybe me and Astrid would work out after all, just like we were.

Chapter Thirty

Astrid

Donnie had gotten back from New Bedford a few days after Christmas, smack dab in the middle of my work week at Al’s Place. While I missed him terribly, I fended off his attempts to visit me, since the last thing I needed was him knowing about my moonlighting as a cocktail waitress. Besides, I assumed that I’d get to see him for our standing Thursday night date. When I texted Donnie on Tuesday night, I found out how wrong I was.

Astrid: Never thought I’d say this, but I can’t wait to go to the fish market.

Donato: No market this week.

Astrid: Why?

Donato: Restaurant’s not open for almost another week. Fish would go bad.

Astrid: :(

Donato: Miss you too, babe.

Astrid: I have to work all day Friday anyway.

Donato: Holiday photo shoot?

Astrid :)

Smiley faces weren’t lies, right? It broke my heart to put off our reunion for a few more days, but I was sure it’d break even further if Donnie knew how messed up I really was.

The silver lining to my unrequited longing was that my finances seemed to have turned a corner. I hadn’t succeeded in booking any work on my own, but a few pending payments had hit my account on the first of the month. Those, coupled with my cash tips, enabled me to pay my rent, both Visas, and make a dent on my American Express balance. Of course I had nearly no money left over after those bills, and they weren’t the only bills clamoring for attention.

I suppose I wasn’t really out of money. I still had the two grand my parents had given me in lieu of the annual family vacation safely tucked away in my lingerie drawer. I checked on it every day, recounting the bills, making sure they were all present and accounted for. All of that money was going to my next party, the after New Year’s party I was going to throw in Donnie’s honor, every last cent of it.

When Monday rolled around I still hadn’t seen Donnie. I’d worked all weekend—and made more serious cash, enough to pay this month’s cell phone bill—I decided to move my party plans forward. After my shift at Al’s I went to the cell store and paid my bill, then I sent my man a text.

Astrid: Hey. Restaurant reopens tomorrow?

Donato: Yeah.

Donato: Miss you, babe.

Astrid: Miss you too.

Astrid: Tell me we’re not going to the fish market Thursday.

Donato: Um, what?

Astrid: Call me.

My phone vibrated not a minute later. “Mr. Chef,” I greeted.

“Are you going to call me that forever?” he asked, and I laughed. “What’s this about Thursday?”

“It occurs to me that you’ve never had the pleasure of attending one of my legendary Thursday night parties,” I replied. “Not only do you have that serious omission in your life, since we weren’t together on New Year’s, I didn’t get to kiss you at midnight. In honor of your return from the wilds of Massachusetts, I’m throwing an after New Year’s party in your honor.”

“Party, huh? What goes on at these parties?”

“Drinking. Socializing. Being fabulous.” When he remained silent, I asked, “Why so quiet? Don’t you like parties?”

“I do, it’s just that this is my weekend off,” he replied. “I wanted to spend it with you, not you and a bunch of other people.”

“You’re off until Monday?”

“Yeah.”

“Then bring your Jeep up here, park it in my space, and stay until Monday.”

“You’d like that?” I swear, I could hear the smile in his voice.

“I’d love it.”

“Okay, babe, it’s on. I can’t wait to see you Thursday. And kiss you at midnight.”

“Me too.”

We said our goodbyes, then I clutched my phone to my breast and smiled. This was going to be my most epic party yet.

***

After my Wednesday shift at the bar I met up with Britt and Melody for a fitting at Jorge’s shop,
Tiendre del Sastre
. Jorge had made some serious progress on our dresses, and Britt was on track to wear the most beautiful wedding gown in history. The bridesmaid’s dresses weren’t too shabby, either.

“Jorge, this is amazing,” I said, smoothing the burgundy satin over my hips. “You have got to be the best tailor in the universe.”

Jorge shrugged and muttered something around his mouthful of pins that may or may not have been in Spanish. I looked at Britt and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, don’t pay any attention to him,” Matilda, Jorge’s wife, said from across the room. She was lounging on a couch, her hand resting on the bump that just barely showed. They were an odd couple, he being a slight Spanish man who felt more at home with fabric and thread than people, and she a tall, alabaster beauty who worked as a linguist. By all rights they should have never met, but they did, at a party Michael threw when he and Jorge turned eighteen. Both agree that it had been love at first sight; I remembered reading fairy tales when I was a girl, and wishing for a prince to find me and sweep me off my feet.

I shook my head; Donnie had said I was a dreamer, and he was right. He was also the one that brought it out in me.

“He gets embarrassed whenever anyone compliments him,” Matilda was saying. “I think it’s cute.”

Jorge grunted. “Cute does not help with fittings. However, my love, you are my inspiration.”

Britt, Melody, and I all glanced at each other, Britt pressing her hand over her mouth to hold in her laughter. A declaration of that sort from Jorge was unheard of; I must remember to tell Michael.

“How far along are you?” I asked Matilda.

“Twelve weeks,” she replied. “We’ll learn the gender soon,” Jorge muttered again, and Matilda gave him an indulgent smile. “Jorge would rather be surprised.”

“Well, we need to know how to shop,” Britt declared, “and since I’m the bride, I’m in charge.”

Matilda’s smile widened. “I like that.”

“So, Jorge,” I began, “are you and Matilda coming to my party tonight?”

Jorge glanced at his wife. “It depends on the lady,” Jorge replied. “She tires very easily now.”

“I think we can stop by,” Matilda said. “Besides, I’m dying to meet the Donato. Melody said he’s cute.”

I shot a glance at Melody, who shrugged. “It’s true,” she said.

“Yeah,” Britt said. “He cooks, and he’s a looker too.”

“Careful, or I’ll tell Sam you have wandering eyes,” I warned. Britt made a shooing gesture, so I turned back to Jorge. “Do you have any dresses around here that might look good on me? One that’s finished, that I could wear tonight?”

Jorge looked at me over the rim of his glasses. “What sort of dress?”

“Like the mod one Britt wore for Michael’s showing,” I replied. “Something elegant, yet sexy. Something memorable.”

Jorge rubbed his chin. “I believe I have something for you.”

***

As always, Jorge made good on his words.

While Melody helped Britt get out of her wedding gown, I followed Jorge into his storage room. He started sliding hangers back and forth on the suspended rods, searching for a dress like the one I’d described, when my gaze fell on one of the most stunning dresses I had ever seen. It was a red caftan, cinched in at the waist with a burnt orange sash and slit up both sides. The wide, billowing sleeves and the bottom hem were embroidered in the same burnt orange and accented with gold, making the dress resemble a summer sunset.

“This is gorgeous,” I declared, swiping it from the rack and holding it against me to assess the fit. It looked perfect. “Jorge, you are the greatest tailor in the universe.”

“Perhaps, but that is not truly one of my creations,” he said. “I am only responsible for the decoration.”

“Still, it’s gorgeous.” I walked over to the mirror, and imagined Donnie’s face when he saw me in that dress. “How much?”

Jorge grunted, then he removed his glasses and polished the lenses. “Unfortunately, tailors do also need to eat. I cannot merely gift it to you.”

“That’s fine.” I hung the dress on a rack and reached into my purse for my money envelope; since I planned on ordering the food and liquor for my party after the fitting, I’d brought it along. “How much?”

“Astrid, the silk was quite expensive, and the embroidery time consuming—”

“How. Much.”

“I cannot let it go for less than three hundred.”

I counted out three hundred-dollar bills and handed them over. “I thought you said it would be expensive,” I said.

“That is the friend price,” he replied. “A moment, and I will wrap it up for you.”

“Okay.”

I went back out to the changing area, and approached the girls. “I have my dress,” I announced. “Who wants to go party shopping with me?”

“I will,” Britt said. “Now that I have money I love shopping almost as much as you do.”

If she only knew. “Awesome. Mel, Matilda, are you coming too?”

“I have some things to do for the wedding,” Melody replied.

“Should I be helping with that?” I was seriously slacking off on my maid of honor duties.

“No, it’s fine,” Melody said. “I just need to follow up with the catering service. Really, I’ve got this.”

“You can use Jorge’s office, if you’d like,” Matilda said. “I’ll be in there taking a nap.”

“It’s settled, then,” I declared. Jorge brought out my dress, so I put on my coat and grabbed my purse. “Come on, Britt, I’ll drop off my dress and then we can shop like we mean it. See you three tonight!”