The Suite Life (10 page)

Alec was waiting in the Range Rover, which now had two shiny new bicycles, one yellow, the other strawberry red, strapped to a rack on the back. As soon as he saw me, he reached across to open my door. I was moving as fast as I could with a large pocketbook and the only suitcase I owned, a relic from my youth that had seen better days.

“Here, let me take that,” Alec said, grabbing the suitcase and tossing it onto the rear seat as if it were no heavier than an accent pillow. He gave me a peck on my cheek as I buckled up and put the Rover in gear.

“You look great, Sam,” he said as we pulled away from the curb.

“It's just jeans and a simple cotton shirt,” I sighed, “but thanks anyway.”

“They hug you like I'd like to do right now,” he said with a grin. “You'd make painter's overalls look hot.”

“Double thanks,” I said, but fretted still. “Are you sure the way I look will be okay with your parents?”

“They aren't judgmental, Sam,” Alec said, turning north onto Water Street.

“Aren't we taking the Drive?”

“If it's all right with you, I gotta make a couple of stops first.”

“Sure,” I said.
I can use all the time I have to get my head on right.
“So tell me,” I ventured, “what's with the bicycles?”

“The strawberry one is a birthday present for Gianna,” he said, “and the yellow one is yours. It's a family tradition to take a bike ride on Labor Day weekend and we couldn't have you running along behind us, now, could we?”

“Thanks, Alec; that was really thoughtful of you, and it sounds like fun,” I said, remembering how to ride a bike.

Five minutes later we were in the heart of Little Italy, where Alec stocked up on a variety of Italian cold cuts and pastries.
Just in case his parents don't have enough for us to eat?

I was nervous and looking forward to the weekend, desperate to make Alec proud and eager to be around a normal family for once in my life. I was glad I'd already met Gianna and Gary, so that I wouldn't feel like a total stranger, and I had to admit that not having to worry about food or money was starting to feel pretty good.

We headed north again and took the Queens-Midtown Tunnel to the Long Island Expressway. As we passed the rolling hills of Calvary Cemetery spread out to the right and left of the highway, I thought of Mom and Grandma buried in another cemetery not far from where we were.

Traffic opened up as we crossed from Queens into Nassau County, and Alec pressed his size-thirteen foot on the accelerator. The sixty miles or so to the end of the expressway flew by as Alec filled me in on the history of the beach house. His father, he said, had grown up the son of immigrants and worked his way through college as a waiter. Twenty years ago, right after he brokered his first major deal, he had bought the house, and Alec, true to form, swore he'd more than match both the deal and the real estate purchase someday soon. I have to admit that just knowing his background made me feel a kinship with Giovanni even before I'd met him.

We headed toward the North Fork of the island, and traffic slowed to thirty miles an hour as the highway went from three lanes to two. A few miles farther along it narrowed again to one lane and we slowed to a crawl, causing fast-moving Alec to grit his teeth and curse quietly under his breath. “Fucking tourists,” he spat out as he lowered the side windows and opened the sunroof.

“Maybe they own houses, too, you know,” I offered, hoping that thought, along with the fresh, salty air, would cool him off.

“Whatever,” he muttered. “A helicopter will solve the problem.”

What problem?

“It's so magical out here,” I said. “Why don't you just enjoy watching all the vineyards and farms rolling by?”

Alec yanked the wheel to the right and pulled up to a farm stand. “Thanks for reminding me,” he said, jumping out of the car with the motor still running. “Almost forgot the strawberries.”

I was happy to see a grin return to his face as he reappeared a moment later with a flat of fresh-picked berries he deposited in the rear seat.

“They'll probably be gone by Sunday, considering the vultures waiting for us,” he cracked as he nudged the Rover back into the line of traffic.

A couple of miles later we turned onto a narrow dirt road leading to Great Peconic Bay. We passed a few driveways, and although most of the houses were hidden behind tall trees and bushes, I caught a few glimpses of wood-shingled roofs and gray siding along the way.

Finally, Alec steered through a gentle curve and my breath caught in my throat as I saw the postcard-gorgeous white clapboard house, with a pair of double columns framing the entrance and the bay stretching for miles behind it. Alec drove
between the low stone columns abutting the entrance to a white seashell driveway, rolled past two Mercedes-Benzes and a BMW parked in front of a detached garage, and pulled up to the wide portico. He turned off the ignition, tapped the horn a couple of times in quick succession, and grabbed my hand.

“We're home, honey,” he said, smiling broadly.

From your mouth to God's ears.

A couple in their sixties, who I assumed were Alec's mom and dad, came through the door as if on cue. Dressed in a light blue golf shirt and pleated white shorts, Giovanni was over six feet tall with a wiry build and a full head of silvery hair. I could see immediately that Alec got not only his height but also his broad smile from his father. Filomena was large-boned but slim and trim, with light blond hair that fell just below her chin. Dressed in a cotton blouse and slacks in soft earth tones, she was the picture of relaxed elegance.

As Filomena smiled softly, her arms crossed over her chest, Giovanni ran down the two steps to give Alec a big bear hug and a kiss on the cheek. “So this is Samantha,” he said, turning to me, and grabbing my hand with both of his. “Pleasure to finally meet you.”

Giovanni led me by the hand to the porch. “Thanks so much for having me, Mr. and Mrs. DeMarco,” I said.

“We're delighted you're here, Samantha,” Filomena said. “There's plenty of room.”
Room
 . . .
I never asked Alec about the sleeping arrangements.
“And if you don't call us Gianni and Fil, we'll be getting off very much on the wrong foot.”

“Yes, ma'am,” I said softly.

“Gianna!” Alec bellowed, reaching for the strawberry-red bicycle on the roof of the Rover.

She bounded through the front door and said a fast hello as she brushed by me. “For me?” she exclaimed excitedly, seeing the bike. “Thanks, big brother, I totally love it!”

Alec unpacked the Rover as his parents escorted me into the house, which was as breathtaking on the inside as it was outside. The wide-planked wood floor and contemporary furniture were set off by a plush hand-woven area rug with a geometrical design in browns and beiges, and the walls were hung with colorful contemporary paintings. The ceiling was honeycombed with white wood beams and elaborate moldings. A sunroom filled with white wicker furniture was off to the right, and the bay was visible through French doors at the rear of the living room.

“The others are waiting out on the deck,” Filomena said, leading the way.

Monica was nursing her drink on a lounge chair as Franco marshaled their two young daughters on the lush green lawn below the deck. He was half Alec's size, but just as handsome, and she was much plainer than I'd expected the wife of a plastic surgeon to be.

Gary stood up as we came through the doors. “Nice to see you again, Samantha.” He smiled.

“That's right, you two have already met,” Filomena said, introducing me to Monica as Franco arrived on the deck with children in tow. “And this is Franco and their six-year-old twins.”

“Well, well,” Franco said, eyeing me up and down. “So this is the girl who's got the Wall Street lion's mind off business.”

I shook his hand politely and bent over to the young girls. “And what are your names?”

“I'm Melanie,” said the one who was clearly the spokesperson, as she pulled her sister close. “And this is Elizabeth.”

“How precious they are,” I said, giving Monica a hug.

“More than a handful.” She exhaled. “Feel free to take them anytime.”

Franco laughed. “We're working on a boy,” he said.
All Italian men have to have at least one.
“The more the merrier.”

“Easy for you to say,” Monica shot back. “You're never home.”

Giovanni came up behind me and rested a hand on my shoulder. “Can I get you some champagne, Samantha?”

“Yes, do that,” Filomena said. “And some pâté, too.”

“Thank you, Mr. De . . . Gianni,” I said.

“That's the spirit, Samantha,” Filomena said, smiling encouragingly. “Excuse me while I tend to dinner.” Champagne, caviar, and pâté . . . I certainly wasn't in Bensonhurst anymore.

I sat next to Gary on the love seat facing the bay, and everyone did their best to include me in the conversation and make me feel at home. Still, I was counting the seconds until Alec showed up, and consequently I finished my first glass of wine much faster than usual.

“Here, let me refill that for you,” Gary said, reaching for my flute.

“Alec tells me you're fond of Our Lady of Victory,” Giovanni ventured.

“Yes. It's my oasis in the city,” I replied.

“Did you know I lead the prayer group there every Monday evening?” he asked.

“No, I had no idea. Alec didn't tell me,” I said, “and I'm never there after seven.”

“Well, I'd love it if you joined us sometime.” Giovanni smiled warmly as Alec and Gianna emerged from the house side-by-side.

“I will,” I assured him.

“Will what?” Alec boomed.

“That's for me to know and you to find out,” I said with a chuckle.

“A feisty one, isn't she,” Franco said, smiling. “Looks like pillow talk tonight will include some interrogation, little brother.”

“She'll give it up long before that,” Alec said, grabbing the bottle of champagne as Filomena returned. “What are we having for dinner, Mom?” he asked her.

“Swordfish kabobs, Italian tomato salad, and corn on the cob,” Filomena said, taking a seat.

“I'll fire up the grill,” Giovanni offered, and got up.

Alec plopped next to me. “Comfy?”

“Totally,” I said.
Other than wondering about the sleeping arrangements.

“Make sure she stays that way,” Filomena said. “Such a nice girl. You better hang on to her.”

“Not like your usual floozies, Alec,” Franco cracked.

“Behave yourself, big bro, or I'll plant you in the yard next to the raspberry bush.”

“Boys, boys,” Filomena chided. “I won't have you scaring Samantha off before the weekend even gets started.”

“Aw, we're just playing, Mom . . . please relax,” Alec said.

“Speaking of playing,” Gary piped up, “who are the Yanks playing tonight?”

“C'mon, Gary,” Gianna scoffed. “It's Boston.”

“Oh, right. How could I forget?”

“I won't have you ignoring Samantha all night,” Filomena said to Alec, “holed up in the den glued to the TV.”

“I don't mind,” I said quietly.

“Well, I do,” Filomena said. “We've got enough sports widows around here.”

“What's that about widows?” Giovanni asked his wife as he rejoined the group.

“The ones those damn Yankees create.”

“Now, now, Fil,” Giovanni said, planting a kiss on his wife's head. “Don't talk like that about the team that was home to Joe DiMaggio.”

“Yeah, Mom,” Alec chimed in. “Or you'll have Joltin' Joe turning over in his grave.”

“The way you all carry on about that team will put me in an
early one,” Filomena cracked. “And I swear, one of you will probably bring a portable TV to my funeral.”

Franco tousled the twins' hair. “Careful, Mom. If you carry on like that you'll scare off the next generation of Yankee fans.”

“I'd burn those season tickets if I could.” She sighed.

Filomena squeezed her husband's hand. “Be a good host, dear, and refill their glasses.”

Giovanni winked at me. “Yes, dear.”

The easy banter and obvious affection all these people had for one another brought home to me again how much I yearned to be part of a warm and loving family.

After the next round of drinks, we all moved to the large round table at the end of the deck. The warm salt air fueled everyone's appetite, and the dinner Filomena had prepared was as delicious as any of the fancy meals Alec and I had enjoyed in the city. The wine flowed freely, and the conversation remained spirited as I got to know everyone, including Alec, much better. I loved seeing how he interacted with his family and how genuine their connection really was. I was seated next to Monica, who complained about raging hormones, even though she was only in her mid-thirties, and about the medical conferences that took Franco away from the family several times a year. She warned me about her husband, whispering that he was something of a flirt and that women seemed to melt in the presence of doctors, especially plastic surgeons.

I began to wonder if all of the calls he
had
to make during dinner were related to medical issues, but found myself liking him because he seemed to be totally lacking in the macho controlling gene that most Italian men had.

Giovanni didn't have the gene, either, and I was being more and more drawn to him as the kind father I'd never had.

I was actually relaxing and enjoying myself when Monica
leaned toward me as Filomena and Gianna cleared the dinner plates, and asked, “What's your favorite dessert?”

“I just love strawberries and fresh whipped cream,” I said, thinking of the flat Alec had bought on our way out.