Love/Forty Page 5

  “I’m certain of that. Maybe I’ll sit outside at one of the sidewalk cafes and make some phone calls. I need to speak to my staff and I can get some work done while you two browse.”

  Mercedes turned and raised her eyebrows at Dante, “Do you need a few minutes to think of an excuse not to join me, also?”

  “No. I’d love to accompany you.”

  She put a hand on her hip and grinned. “Oh, you’d love to accompany me?”

  “Yes. I enjoy art galleries and museums as well. Looking at contemporary Western art sounds interesting. And, if you tell me about your new place and describe the furnishings, I might be able to offer some suggestions. My mother is quite a decorator. She had a lot of experience moving around the world, and I learned some things from her.”

  “Really? You don’t mind?”

  “No, really,” he answered, grinning. “Why does that surprise you?”

  “I wasn’t surprised that you liked art, especially since you grew up in Italy. However, being surrounded by some of the world’s greatest masterpieces most of your life, I wouldn’t think you’d necessarily be enthusiastic helping me select paintings by basically unknown artists.”

  “Not everyone can afford to buy museum pieces, even rich tennis players. Come on,” he teased, guiding her by touching the small of her back, “let me convince you how much I look forward to this shopping trip.”

  “All right, you’re on, Mister Edwards.”

  Dante took her arm and was pleased she didn’t resist as the three of them ran across Scottsdale Road to the other side of the busy street.

  “Max!” Mercedes protested as her brother dropped into a chair at the first sidewalk bistro they came to, “We haven’t even gone into one gallery, yet.”

  Max got out his notebook and cell phone and waved them on their way. “You’re in good hands. I’ll wait for you right here,” he said, signaling to a waiter.

  Not wanting to give Mercedes time to pressure Max into changing his mind, Dante tugged on her arm, coaxed her in motion again and changed the subject, making a mental note to thank her brother for giving them this time alone. “I want to hear about your loft.”

  Dante smiled to himself as Mercedes gave Max a backward glance, before following him down the sidewalk. Nor was he unmindful when she eased from his hold on her and readjusted her bag.

  “Are you located in the heart of the city?”

  “No, only slightly off the beaten path, though” she said, pinching her index finger and thumb together. “An expensive and frightening adventure.”

  “But one you were ready to face and took on nonetheless.”

  She gave him a considering glance, and then dropped her gaze before again looking at the shops along the street.

  “I saved money for quite a few years because I wanted to have a place of my own and sufficient funds for my down payment. I needed to make my mortgage payments as affordable as possible for those times when I may not make as much money, now that I no longer have a nine-to-five job. I’d hate to be forced to sell my home after all the effort and money I’m investing.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  “Besides going out on my own and freelancing, I also took a big chance and asked for more money than I made when I worked for the newspaper. And, so far, everyone has met my offer.”

  He swept a steady glance at her and told her she made a good decision by not only demanding more money, but also freelancing because the newspaper industry might soon be a thing of the past.

  “With the economy in a bad state, I’ve developed a website and have submitted plans for a radio show that my agent, Max, of course, hopes will go syndicated and then I’ll be all right financially and won’t have to worry about whether or not the market slumps. We’re also negotiating with a cable network now and we’re confident since the sports industry is at least thriving.”

  “Do you enjoy what you do? You have articles in GQ, Vanity Fair, and Sports Illustrated, and I imagine pretty soon everyone will get the word that you’re not a man.”

  She gave a slight chuckle and nodded. “I don’t know how I will feel about that, but I love writing for the big magazines plus this work gives me wonderful opportunities to travel. And, I love going to Europe the most.

  “I’ve also been to Japan. I was apprehensive to accept that assignment at first. Tokyo is not only a large city, but is extremely over-crowded. I wasn’t sure I’d be brave enough to venture out of the hotel on my own, but I was treated like royalty when I was taken to interview a couple of their Olympic skaters and then for the remainder of my visit, they took me everywhere I wanted to go. They were my personal tour guides.”

  “Sounds like you had a great trip and were treated royally.” Changing the subject, he asked, “Do you like Italian art?”

  “Yes. I also enjoy French and Spanish as well as American artists. The Art Institute of Chicago has a wonderful collection of Whistler, Sargent, O’Keeffe, and Cassatt paintings I was not aware existed. They are some of my favorites.”

  “I’ve not been to that museum. I’ll try to remember to do that if I get back to Chicago. Do you have a favorite Italian artist?”

  “Modigliani,” she said without hesitation. “His Madam Pompadour is at the Art Institute.”

  “A little on the primitive side.”

  “Yes, and unfortunately he died young. What do you prefer?”

  “I lean more toward the French impressionists, but appreciate most fine artists.”

  “I like them also, especially Renoir and Monet.”

  “Now that I know you like colors that will help me assist you with your selections—tell me about your new home.”

  Mercedes turned sideways to face him while she spoke. “The condo I bought is a loft inside a century-old warehouse. Most of the interior walls are brick with large windows and fourteen-foot ceilings in the great room section. I have a wonderful view of the river in the front and skyline on the other side,” she said, with a sweep of her hand.

  He loved the way her eyes sparkled with gold flecks and how she grew more animated as she warmed to the subject. “Then you have plenty of room for large paintings?”

  “Yes. I’m having floor-to-ceiling bookcases built on one wall in the hallway for my library. The kitchen is a little bare right now,” she said, “but when I display my appliances and canisters, even that room will begin to look homey. I bought a large tray with tiles made to form a beautiful picture of a bowl of fruit, and hung that on one wall.”

  “Will you be finished furnishing the entire place soon?”

  She laughed. “I have a bed in the master bedroom, and two large sofas with persimmon velvet cushions and caramel colored leather facing each other in the living area, one coffee table, but no end tables and lamps or dining furniture yet. A small space in one corner of the great room serves as my workspace and I ordered a digital fireplace for extra warmth in the winter and a flat screen TV to go above the mantel.”

  “Sounds like you’ve been busy.”

  “I’ve enjoyed this project tremendously. Since the builder is still on the premises finishing the last of four lofts, the workers have been kind enough to install a few ceiling fans and hung the chandelier in the foyer for me, at a minimum charge. The rest of the loft has a lot of track lighting, and I am very frugal about turning them on—I don’t know how I will ever change one of those light bulbs.”

  “Don’t you like to climb ladders?”

  “No! But I believe there will eventually be a maintenance person available, once all the units are completed.”

  All of a sudden they stopped at the same time in front of The Nancy Butler Gallery that sat back a little farther from the sidewalk than the other buildings and they stared in awe at the painting in the window.

  They smiled at each other like Cheshire cats.

  Mercedes continued to admire the painting and then turned toward Dante, with the surprise expression still on her face. “What do you think?”

  “
This painting is spectacular. Shall we?” He opened the gallery door for her to hurry inside.

  Mercedes waited patiently while the owner carefully removed the painting from the window, and Dante roamed through the gallery. He joined her when the painting, a large square canvas oil painting of birch trees, was placed on an easel. The bark was white as fresh snow with gray markings on the trunks, and had multi-shades of gold and yellow leaves.

  “The painting reminds me of an Arizona sunset. Look how blue the sky is,” Mercedes commented.

  Dante put his arm around her shoulder and asked the woman to give them a couple of moments, while he led Mercedes toward the back of the store to show her another painting, highlighted on the wall by a spotlight, that had caught his eye. He pointed at the painting of three wild horses running across the desert and asked her if she wanted to consider that one also.

  “If you want to buy two paintings,” he whispered, “I’d like to suggest you bargain and make her an offer—I do believe she’s not only the owner of the gallery, but also the artist, Nancy Butler. I think you should take advantage of the situation.”

  She smiled. “This is excellent. The size of this rectangular canvas will be ideal to hang on a narrow brick wall in the living room. She has captured the purple mountains in the background magnificently.”

  “Wonderful. Are you ready to make a fair offer for the two canvasses or are you one of those who wants to stay here ’til dawn and bicker, then decide you want to look at some other galleries before making a decision?”

  Mercedes let out a snicker, made a face, and suppressed her laughter. “I’m ready to make an offer. Honest.”

  The woman admitted she was the artist. She told Mercedes she was pleased to sell the paintings to someone who genuinely appreciated her work. While they waited for the woman to total the costs for packaging and shipping, Dante asked Mercedes if she was satisfied or if she wanted to continue on the gallery walk.

  “No, I’d like to look at jewelry next.”

  Dante nodded approval and she said, “I was in Santa Fe a few months ago and purchased a life-size portrait of a beautiful Spanish flamenco dancer. Her dress is vibrant red and she is standing under a spotlight with a dark stage as the background.”

  “I hope to get a chance to view all your personal masterpieces once you’ve finished decorating. Perhaps when I come for dinner?”

  “The loft should be complete by the time we do the interview,” she said, pleased that he remembered his commitment.

  Chapter Four

  Dante ran late to meet Max and Mercedes for dinner that evening. After spending a leisurely, yet full day with them, he was faced with organizing his trip to head home to Florida and then fly off to Monaco, Barcelona, Madrid, and eventually Rome for the Internazionali D’Italia before traveling to Germany on the road to the French Open. Trying to memorize his itinerary had added another layer of stress to his already full schedule.

  As he showered, he ruminated on the enjoyable time he spent with Mercedes walking through Old Town looking at expensive jewelry, original paintings, and sculptures. They leisurely went in and out of souvenir shops, looking at everything from colorful beads and gems for making jewelry, to stores that sold only angel or cat collectibles without buying a thing. Easy camaraderie, companionable silences, stolen glances, and lots of laughter over their lunch.

  After they picked up Max, they drove through the main parts of the tourist section of Scottsdale, and ended up at the Kierlands, where they had dinner the previous night. They walked around and stopped to read all the restaurant menus, then each chose a favorite place for lunch.

  Mercedes took a notepad out of her purse and jotted down the three restaurants, P.F. Chang’s, Tommy Bahama’s, and Zinc. She folded the pieces of paper, tossed them around in her hands and Dante closed his eyes and selected the winner.

  He couldn’t believe that three grown-ups had stood in the middle of the shopping complex choosing a restaurant, like picking a winner for a raffle. They caught some of the shoppers’ attention and laughed heartily. He couldn’t remember having that much fun since he had been a young boy back in Italy, and he had a feeling the joy came from the company he kept.

  They dined in the atrium at a French Café, each ordered a gourmet salad and shared a basket of crusty bread and drank carbonated lemonade mixed with iced tea. The conversation remained equally lighthearted with no talk about tennis or about work the entire time. Instead, they shared silly and crazy things they had done as reckless teenagers.

  Before they parted, Max gave him directions where to meet them for dinner. He wanted to drive himself because he doubted he’d be able to stay out too late. Some of the other players and coaches planned on joining them and Max ended up making reservations for ten to meet at eight o’clock. Fortunately, they chose a restaurant close to his hotel.

  He put all the paperwork together that he would hand over to Max, and took his time making sure everything was in order after he had returned from getting copies made of his schedule. Relinquishing the mass of papers he had acquired, along with the files forwarded to him since his agent had become ill and decided to retire, would soon lift a huge responsibility from his shoulders. He had been on his own for several months now, and accumulated more than he wanted to handle.

  Having someone take care of the details and confirm his appointments and make hotel and plane reservations for him once again would leave him more time to concentrate on tennis, and perhaps Mercedes, if he were lucky. When he got back to Florida he’d make sure he’d stop by to see Max and bring his assistants, who would be responsible for all the grunt work, gifts.

  After he put what seemed to be a ream of paper in an accordion file, he chose an outfit for traveling and packed his suitcase. His flight left early in the morning and he wanted to be certain to arrive at the airport with enough time to get through security and have breakfast. He stopped at the desk on his way out and put in a 4:30 a.m. wake-up call.

  When he arrived at the Japanese restaurant, he had no trouble finding the tennis group. They were all noisily seated around a U-shaped bar with a grill in the center for the Japanese chef to prepare their meals. The room was crowded and lively and he wondered how they’d possibly be able to hear one another talk, but the aromas guaranteed a great meal.

  He smiled when he found that Max and Mercedes had saved him a place at the very end of the table. Dante handed the file he brought for Max to the hostess to keep behind the reservation desk, and then greeted everyone as he passed by on the way to his seat, reminding Max as he approached him not to forget the documents when he left.

  “I hope you expect me to be a little more responsible than that. I didn’t build my reputation on being forgetful.”

  Dante chuckled. “You’re right, I’m putting in a reminder because my life would be in a mess if my personal information was lost or stolen.”

  Max nodded. “I’ve got your back. You’ll feel more confident once we’ve established an itinerary and entered everything into the computer and we get to know one another better. I will fax your papers to my office staff tomorrow and everything should be entered in the computer by the end of the week.”

  Dante nodded, thanked him, and then stopped a moment before reaching Mercedes. The picture she presented with her lovely classic features framed by her long auburn hair that fell softly over her green silk jacket took his breath away. When she looked up from her menu and caught sight of him, she seemed flustered and quickly gathered her things and hopped down off the bar stool next to Max.

  As Dante moved toward her, his eyes quickly swept over her but nonetheless, took in every inch of her body from the espadrilles that laced up her shapely legs encased in slim ivory capris to the matching crocheted top that lovingly hugged her womanly curves. As she made room for him, he fervently hoped that she hadn’t planned to plunk her purse between them again and revert to keeping her distance, at least not tonight after they’d had such a good time together earlier. He gave her
a kiss on both cheeks, quite aware of her soft and fragrant skin against his lips.

  “Sorry, I’m late. I wanted to pack and be ready to leave early in the morning. You look wonderful, by the way,” he whispered to Mercedes. She blushed prettily, and he held her stool until she was seated, pleased to think he’d made enough headway with her that her purse wasn’t about to be thrown between them, but rather placed on the empty chair to her left.

  He was also glad that news of his deal with Max apparently hadn’t been released yet to the other coaches and agents at the table, or she might have been more guarded than probably would be true otherwise, to hear Max tell it, and might have jeopardized their last evening together in Arizona.

  He moved his stool away from the bar, and when he sat down his leg brushed against hers. The feeling that ran through his body caught his breath. He closed his eyes for a second and gave his head a slight shake to regain his composure. Fortunately, the waiter arrived with his menu to interrupt and help his recovery. He cleared his throat and ordered a bottle of sake, although the drink couldn’t compete with the punch seeing her had delivered.

  Leaning toward Mercedes, her special fragrance filling his nostrils and making him wonder if her bed linens smelled like that, too, he asked with all the European charm he could muster if she had ordered yet. She said no and they spent the next ten minutes together trying to decide what to have. They both chose a different entree and planned on sharing.

  After they ordered, Mercedes glanced about the room, and then asked if he wanted to join her to walk around to look at the huge saltwater aquariums built into the walls, like many of the other diners had done. Although he counted the invitation another small step in the right direction, he shook his head and said, “No, thanks.” He was already underwater and floating.