“Girls, you said. Girls. And, gee, is that what you were saying? I thought you were confessing to multiple forni—”
“You know it’s what I was saying. And now I’m asking you to come to Italy with me.”
“And the answer is no.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t like being part of a harem. Besides, there’s this little matter of my being married, hmmm?”
“It wasn’t a harem. And anyway, I told you six times already, that’s over and done with.”
“How old are they?”
“Were.”
“Were, are, this isn’t an English class.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“So I can cry myself to sleep tonight,” she said, and suddenly began weeping.
“Honey, please,” he said, and reached across the table for her hands again. She pulled them away. “Sarah,” he said, “I love you.”
“Sure,” she said, and lowered her head, still crying, shaking her head, looking down at the checked tablecloth, shaking her head.
“I want you to come to Italy with me.”
“No.”
Shaking her head, sobbing.
“I want you to marry me.”
“No.”
Still shaking her head, still staring at the...
It registered.
She looked up and said, “What?”
“I want you to divorce your husband and marry me.”
She began shaking her head again.
“That’s what I want,” he said.
“No,” she said.
Shaking her head, her eyes glistening with tears.
“Yes,” he said.
“No, Andrew, please, you know I can’t...”
“I love you,” he said.
“Andrew...”
“I want you forever.”
“Andrew, you don’t know me at all.”
“I know you fine.”
“All you know is making love to me.”
“That too.”
“I’m six years older than you are!”
“Who’s counting?”
“I’m not one of your little girls.”
“I don’t have any little girls.”
“I do. I have a twelve-year-old daughter, Andrew, remember?”
“We’ll discuss that in Italy.”
“I can’t go to Italy with you.”
“Yes, you can,” he said. “Are you hungry? Shall I get some menus?”
“Do you realize this is the first time we’ve even been in public together? And you want me to go to Italy?”
“Wrong.”
“Wrong?”
“We had dinner in public in St. Bart’s. And we also had coffee and croissants in that little place on Second Avenue.”
“That was all before.”
“Yes. That was all before. Chocolate croissants. The day we had our first fight.”
“That wasn’t a fight,” she said. “I simply got up and left.”
“Because I kissed you.”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to kiss you now,” he said. “Don’t leave.”
He leaned over the table and kissed her the way he had that afternoon long ago, the taste of the chocolate on his lips, the weather raging outside.
“Are we finished fighting?” he asked.
“I think so.”
“Good, will you marry me?”
“I know you’re not serious,” she said. “We’d better eat.”
“How can I convince you?”
“Tell me all their names.”
“Why?”
“I told you. So I can cry myself to sleep.”
“Don’t start crying again. Please!”
“I’m not. I won’t. I want to know because... because then I can exorcise them.”
“Exercise them? How? Walk them around the block on a leash?”
“Exorcise,” she said. “Like you do with the devil.”
“Oh, exorcise,” he said, and grinned. “Now I get it. You mean purge them.”
“Don’t be such a wiseguy,” she said. “Yes, purge them. Get them out of my system.”
“The way I got them out of mine.”
“Sure,” she said skeptically.
“But I had you to help me,” he said.
“Their names, please.”
“You sound like a cop,” he said.
“Their names.”
In a rush, as if he were reciting one name and not half a dozen of them, he said, “Mary Jane, Oona, Alice, Angela, Blanca, Maggie, that’s it. Carlo!” he called. “Could we see some menus, please?”
“Sí, signor faviola, immediatamente!”
“What’s that he keeps saying?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Favola? Faviola? Something like that. What does it mean?”
“I have no idea.”
“I thought you understood Italian.”
“Just a little.”
“Where’d you learn it?”
“At Kent. Why’d you call me a wiseguy just then?”
“Because you were being so smart.”
“I thought it might have had something to do with the movie I was telling you about.”
“What movie?”
“That time.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Then forget it,” he said.
“So,” Carlo said, appearing at the table with the menus. “I will explain to you the specials tonight?”
“Please,” Andrew said.
She listened as Carlo reeled off the specials in Italian, immediately translating each one into English. She watched Andrew all the while. Watched him listening. What were those names again? How could she exorcise all those girls if she couldn’t even remember their names? And suddenly she realized they’d already been exorcised.
“So,” Carlo said, “I give you a few moments, signor faviola, signorina, please take your time.”
Bowing again, he backed away from the table like a ship leaving port.
“He just said it again,” Sarah said.
“Yes, I heard, him,” Andrew said. “What sounds good to you?”
It wasn’t until Billy dropped her off on Lex and Eighty-Third later that night that she realized she’d forgotten to read him her poem.
The detectives were telling Michael that even if they could get a court order for the surveillance of the newly discovered entrance on Mott Street, they couldn’t see any place they could do the job.
“Because what it is,” Regan was saying, “there’s this restaurant-supply place on the northeast corner there, opposite that blue door...”
“Mailbox says Carter-Goldsmith Investments,” Lowndes said.
“Check it,” Michael said. “Find out if it’s a corporation, a partnership, who the principals...”
“Already working it,” Regan said.
“Good.”
“The thing I’m saying,” he went on, hating it whenever anyone interrupted him, “is there’s windows upstairs facing that Mott Street entrance, but the restaurant-supply people own the whole building, and use the whole building, so there’s no place we can put in a camera, even if we did get a court order, which the court might find excessive, by the way, seeing we’ve already got one right around the corner.”
“It’s worth a try,” Michael said. “We don’t know who goes in that other entrance. It might be...”
“We figure the bimbos,” Lowndes said.
“If that’s all, it’s not worth the trouble. But if we’re getting people who for some reason or other don’t want to be seen going through the tailor shop...”
“Yeah, that’s possible,” Regan agreed dubiously.