If Wishing Made It So (10 page)

Hildy looked over at Tony G., who had been walking around aimlessly or sitting on the step stool just hanging out. Hildy had turned down his offer to wash the kitchen floor or clean the bathroom. He had taken offense at her refusal and muttered something like,
This place could use a good scrubbing.

Hildy finally instructed him to think up a game plan for their ‘‘situation,’’ just to give him something to do. His immediate suggestion was that he should conjure up a 9mm Beretta, she should shoot whoever came looking for the bottle—he’d do it himself but genies were unable to kill anybody, he explained apologetically—and the two of them could dump the body or bodies in the ocean with cement blocks tied to their feet.

Hildy had given him a look that would put frost on a bonfire. ‘‘Obviously you belonged to this Mafia person a little too long.
I
am not going around shooting people and disposing of their bodies.’’

‘‘It would be in self-defense,’’ Tony G. argued.

Hildy did not answer him, or even acknowledge him, until now, when he mentioned the silver car. She raised her right eyebrow in a quizzical way. ‘‘No, I don’t know anybody who drives a Mercedes of any model. Why are you asking?’’ She put her fingers under the tap water to rinse off the fish smell.

‘‘Because that car just pulled next to your VW Beetle in your front yard.’’

Hildy started. ‘‘How do you know that?’’

Tony G. had in fact looked out the window, but he wanted to impress her and said, ‘‘I know these things. Oh, wait, you do know the driver. It’s that Michael fellow.’’

Hildy’s face went white as paper. ‘‘What? Are you kidding? Mike is here?’’

‘‘It appears that way to me—and before you ask, no, I didn’t bring him here. He showed up all on his own.’’

Panic swept over Hildy. She turned toward the genie. ‘‘You can’t stay here. I can’t let him see you. How would I explain you? Go back in your bottle. Hurry!’’ Her voice was frantic.

Tony G., having been ordered to vamoose, vamoosed, turning into a wisp of smoke and disappearing into his bottle. Hildy grabbed it off the floor where it still lay, stuck the cork into it, and looked around wildly for a place to put it. The refrigerator caught her eye. She wrenched open the door and put Tony G. next to the two-percent milk. She thought she caught a glimpse of him shaking his head no, no, through the amber glass, but he’d have to cope. She hoped he had a blanket.

She ducked into the bathroom to run a brush through her hair even as she heard knocking at the front door. She forced herself not to rush, fling it open, and throw herself in Mike’s arms. Instead she let him stand on the stoop and knock a few more times. Finally she heard him call out, ‘‘Hildy! Hildy! It’s Michael Amante, are you in there?’’

Only then did she open the door a crack, peer out before slowly opening it all the way, and say calmly (instead of squealing as if she was over the moon at finding Mike on her doorstep, which she was), ‘‘Well, my goodness, it’s Mike. What are you doing here?’’

She stood in the doorway. She did not ask him in.

It was not the welcome he had hoped to get. ‘‘Hildy, uh, I didn’t have your cell phone number.’’

‘‘That’s right.’’

‘‘And, uh, I wanted to talk to you?’’ He put his hands in his pants pockets and played with his change.

Hildy folded her arms across her chest and did not smile. She knew the old maxim that what is too easily won is too little valued. ‘‘Talk to me? What about? Old times—or your wedding plans to what’s her name—Kinky?’’

‘‘Ah, come on, Hildy, don’t be mad. I acted like a horse’s patootie today. I wanted to apologize and . . . and talk—really talk. I thought maybe we could go get a pizza or something. Really, I’m sorry about today. Let’s start over, okay?’’ His face lit up with hope.

‘‘Why this burning desire to talk to
me
, Mike? You’ve managed pretty well not talking to me since spring of senior year at Lake Lehman High.’’

Mike’s voice went from asking to pleading. Both guilt and yearning filled him. ‘‘I know. I know that. It was May fifteenth, a Friday, three weeks before graduation. I want to apologize for that too, for everything that happened that night. Please, Hildy, come on out with me. Just for a while. There’s so much I want to tell you.’’

To Hildy, Mike suddenly looked younger, so much like the boy she had known in high school that her heart melted. She hadn’t eaten since she saw Corrine hours ago. She was a little hungry. How could it hurt to say yes to a quick bite to eat? It seemed so important to him to talk with her, it would be just plain mean to refuse to join him for a snack.

‘‘For just a short while—for pizza and that’s it,’’ she answered. ‘‘Give me a minute to get my wallet and house keys.’’ She closed the door in his face and ran back to the refrigerator. She reached in, removed the bottle, and pulled the stopper out.

Tony G. materialized in a puff of white smoke that was tinged blue around the edges. He was frowning and his bare arms were covered with goose bumps.

‘‘That was cold of you,’’ he said, his choice of words deliberate.

‘‘You were only in there five minutes. I’m sorry, okay? I’m going out for pizza with Mike. What should I do with you?’’ Her words rattled along in a rush.

‘‘Take me along.’’ He took a wide stance and put his hand on the hilt of his sword.

‘‘I can’t do that. It would be awkward. Two’s company and all that. Tell me where to hide you until I get back.’’

‘‘Nowhere. If Jimmy the Bug or his guys come looking for me, they’d find me here. They could dismantle this tiny place down to the studs in the walls in under an hour. You need to take me with you.’’

Hildy shook her head no. ‘‘That’s not going to happen.’’

‘‘Look, I’ll be in the bottle. Stuff me in the tote under a towel, I’ll mind my own business.’’ Tony G. extended his hands beseechingly.

Hildy thought fast. She did not want Tony G. tagging along, but she didn’t want the Mafia stealing him back either. ‘‘I’ll take you if you give me your word as a Roman and a centurion that you will not eavesdrop, or God forbid, watch me tonight.’’

‘‘If you order me not to, I have to obey you. You don’t need me to take an oath,’’ Tony G. said, but he didn’t sound convincing.

‘‘Pardon me, but I’m not up on genie rules and regulations. How do I know you don’t just make them up as you go along? If you want me to take you with me, swear.’’

Tony G. rolled his eyes dramatically for Hildy’s benefit. In truth, he thought she had gotten the best of him. He had intended to monitor every second of her date. It was damned boring in that bottle. He took his sword from its sheath, got down on one knee before Hildy, and bowed his head. ‘‘I swear on my honor as a Roman and a centurion that I will not listen or watch you’’—he looked up and smiled—‘‘unless you need me to, of course.’’

‘‘I won’t need you. I don’t need a chaperon. Now get back in your bottle.’’

Once Tony G. had disappeared, Hildy jammed on the stopper and stuffed the bottle in the SAVE THE WOLVES tote, covering it with her IT’S YOUR LUCKY DAY IN ATLANTIC CITY beach towel. She checked to make sure her wallet and house keys were in there too, then ran back to the front door where she stopped, took a deep breath, and forced herself to take her time as she opened it again.

Mike still stood on the stoop exactly as she had left him. No, she decided, he wasn’t exactly the same as when she shut the door in his face. He wore a wide grin and his eyes were sparkling.

‘‘Come on, let’s go,’’ he said and grabbed her hand.

An electric shock shot up Hildy’s arm from his touch. ‘‘Oh!’’ she yelped.

‘‘What?’’ Mike asked. ‘‘You say something?’’

She shook her head. ‘‘Stone in my shoe, I guess. I’ll shake it out in the car.’’

He took her around to the passenger side and opened the door for her. She peered in at the napa leather seats and burled wood dashboard with its GPS screen.

‘‘Pretty impressive, huh?’’ he said proudly.

‘‘I’d be more impressed with a hybrid,’’ she said truthfully. ‘‘I’m saving up for a Prius.’’ She got inside, putting her tote at her feet, and glanced over at Mike in the open doorway. Disappointment clouded his eyes, so she quickly added, ‘‘But this car is very nice, beautiful. I’m sorry, Mike, I just never thought about owning a car that cost about as much as my house. I’m glad you’re doing so well.’’

He started to say something, then stopped himself. Once he too had gotten in and started the motor, he asked her if she had any suggestions where to eat.

‘‘I know where they make the best pizza this side of Italy. The Dark Star Café. You’re going to love it. Just go out the boulevard and turn right.’’

Since the Dark Star was only five blocks away, they rode in silence except when Hildy pointed to the purple sign in front of the restaurant and said, ‘‘There it is.’’ She felt so light and floaty, almost as if this were a dream. She didn’t want Mike to see how excited she was, but she could barely contain the emotions churning inside her. She told herself he just wanted to talk and this wasn’t a date and it wasn’t going to lead to a relationship. Yet the crazy hope, the hope she refused to acknowledge even existed, was that it would.

‘‘Hildy!
Come sta
?’’ The owner of the Dark Star Café greeted Hildy like an old friend, even though she had been coming there for only a week. A psychedelic Grateful Dead poster from Watkins Glen, 1973, hung on the wall behind the counter. ‘‘Keep On Truckin’ ’’ played on the sound system.

‘‘
Va bene.
I’m fine, Chef,’’ she said. ‘‘We’re going to have a pizza, the Caprese, the one that comes with slices of prosciutto, chunks of roasted pepper, and is topped with the homemade mozzarella.’’

‘‘That’s the house favorite.’’ From behind the counter, the chef smiled broadly at her and gave a questioning look at the tall, good-looking young man standing at Hildy’s shoulder. ‘‘A personal pizza? Or a large for the two of you?’’

‘‘Make it a large. I have help eating it tonight. Mike, this is Chef Salzarulo, the owner. Chef, this is Mike Amante, an old friend.’’

‘‘Ah, a
paisan
!’’ The chef spoke in a big voice even when he didn’t have to be heard over a Grateful Dead guitar riff. He leaned across the counter and offered Mike his hand. ‘‘You have a special lady there. You’re a very lucky man.’’

Hildy’s face reddened, and she began to sputter he wasn’t her boyfriend, but Mike cut off her protest. ‘‘She is very special. I couldn’t agree more.’’

Chef Salzarulo winked at Hildy before turning away to make the Caprese.

When they sat down at a table to wait for their pie, Hildy could barely make eye contact with Mike because all he did was stare at her while he grinned like an idiot.

Unable to endure the intense scrutiny any longer, she pasted a smile on her face and said, ‘‘So, here we are.’’ She felt that was lame, but she didn’t know what else to say.

Mike just kept right on grinning. ‘‘You look great, Hildy. I like your hair like that. I couldn’t really tell how you wore it when it was all wet and full of sand. It’s shiny, real pretty.’’

‘‘Um, thanks. You said you wanted to talk?’’

‘‘I’d rather just look at you.’’

Hildy’s stomach did a somersault. Her pulse speeded up. Her fair cheeks turned rosy once more. His words pleased her and utterly confused her at the same time. ‘‘Mike, what are you doing? I don’t understand. Really, why did you come looking for me?’’

She thought she heard something like a snort from under the table issuing from inside her tote bag. She scraped her foot to cover the noise. She frowned. She was going to give that genie a piece of her mind if he was listening after he had sworn not to.

Mike saw her displeasure and become concerned. ‘‘I don’t mean to upset you, Hildy. Believe me.’’ His handsome tanned face looked open and honest. ‘‘I’m not sure why I came, and that’s the truth. I just knew that after we met on the beach this afternoon, I had to see you again. I’m sorry for that, for the way I acted when Kiki showed up, I mean. Everything happened so fast and I felt guilty, and I don’t even know why.’’

Hildy heard another loud snort from her bag. ‘‘Stop that,’’ she said and kicked the tote bag.

Mike appeared taken aback. ‘‘Okay, so I do know why. The minute I saw you, I felt immediately attracted to you.’’ He reached across the table and took her hand in his. He held her fingers lightly and stroked her knuckles. ‘‘I’ve missed you,’’ he said.

Hildy snatched her hand away. ‘‘No, you haven’t. You’ve been building a lucrative career, appearing on Page Six of the
New York Post
, and getting engaged to a supermodel.’’

‘‘She’s only a photographer. She just looks like a model.’’

‘‘Oh, shut up, Mike. The point is, you haven’t missed me, so what do you want?’’

Instead of looking at all chagrined, Mike laughed. ‘‘Same old Hildy. You were always the firecracker.’’ He leaned toward her. ‘‘Listen to me. What I just said is true. The minute I saw you again, it all became clear. I have missed you. There’s been a big gaping hole in my life, and that’s because you weren’t there.’’

‘‘Mike, please don’t hand me a line. What you’re saying is such bull. You’re going to get married.’’

Mike looked away and sighed. ‘‘I know it doesn’t make sense.’’ Then he turned his warm brown eyes on her. ‘‘But tell me you don’t feel anything for me.’’

Hildy didn’t say anything. She just stared at him for a minute while she tried to control her feelings, which had just exploded like a supernova and were speeding out into empty space at the speed of light. ‘‘Mike, I’m not going to answer that. Look, the pizza’s ready.’’

Chef Salzarulo put the steaming pie in front of them along with two plates, knives, and forks.
‘‘Mangia!’’
he boomed.

Mike stared, then leaned forward over the pie and sniffed. ‘‘Hmmm, smells good,’’ he said. He remembered his manners long enough to put a slice on Hildy’s plate; then he grabbed one as if he were starving and took a big bite. Bliss shone from his face. He devoured the entire slice, then grabbed another. He raved between bites. ‘‘This pizza is amazing. The flavors are intense; the cheese is fantastic. I’ve never eaten a pie that was even remotely this good. You weren’t kidding about it being the best outside of Italy.’’ He reached for his third piece.