Love/Forty Read online

  “Oh, Mercedes,” Faith remarked, “what a wonderful choice.”

  They gave directions as to where to place the other painting and while Al kept busy measuring and hanging the wild horses on the wall that separated the living room and dining area, she and Faith agreed an oriental runner on the hardwood floor in the foyer would be great. She promised to look for a long bench to place under the painting.

  When Al finished, Mercedes said, “The horses go well with the leather sofas, a little bit of the old west.”

  “They’re perfect. I want to see the Spanish painting, too, while I’m here,” Faith said, heading toward the bedroom to view the huge painting hanging above the bed.

  Mercedes filled their glasses with ice and put out a couple of bottles of water, sodas, and a pitcher of iced tea to choose for lunch.

  “You did a great job with the bookcases, Al. I’m going to unpack my books this afternoon and fill the shelves, along with some knickknacks I’ve been collecting.”

  Faith joined them and said, “The artwork turns the condo into a home. Great job, Mercedes.”

  “Thanks. I’m very excited about them and happy to have a place of my own.”

  After lunch, Mercedes wrote Al a check for hanging the paintings and included the remainder of money she owed him for the bookcases and paint.

  Al went back downstairs, taking the leftover pizza for the other men. She and Faith hugged and promised to talk later, “Maybe dinner?” and then hurried back to work.

  Ten minutes later, Mercedes’ buzzer rang again. “Hi,” Al shouted, “a florist delivered some flowers for you. I’ll set them in the elevator and send them up.”

  Mercedes grabbed the large box of flowers from the elevator and hurried back to open them. Inside the box was a huge bouquet of purple and white lilacs, and immediately she knew they were from Dante, even though there was no note. She checked and double-checked, and felt a tad disappointed. She was certain they were from him because she remembered telling him how much she loved lilacs and peonies, the ones that smelled sweet.

  She climbed on her footstool and reached in the cabinet over her refrigerator for a large crystal pitcher. She added the little packet of plant food and arranged the lilacs.

  She placed the vase in the middle of her coffee table and took a deep breath as the fragrance began to fill the room. Smiling, she turned on a Puccini disc, dragged the books and knickknacks out of the hall closet, and began to arrange them.

  When everything was finished and the empty boxes disposed of, Mercedes walked through the condo admiring her home. She placed a book of Tony Bennett’s artwork and a picture book about Rodeos on her coffee table, along with a leather pear that when you removed the top, had a candle inside, and when lit smelled sweet like the fruit.

  She brought up the box marked kitchen appliances from her storage room and carefully arranged the stainless Cuisinart, Kitchen Aid mixer and blender and placed an olive oil jar and decorative pasta holder near the stove to give her kitchen the look she wanted. Giada had nothing on her, she thought, grinning.

  After she showered again, she dressed casually in a pair of yellow Capri pants and a bright orange and white horizontal striped knit top, grabbed a matching orange linen blazer, and a purse to match her heels, and hurried outside to catch a cab to meet Faith for dinner, hoping a night out would help keep Dante off her mind. She hated to admit that she still felt disappointed he didn’t bother to send a note with the flowers. Maybe he really was only interested in her as a friend and the sister of his new agent.

  She and Faith decided on a popular café that was long, narrow, and noisy, but a lot of their friends hung out there and the food was satisfying. This was her first night on the town and if any of her friends or acquaintances had seen her photo in the tabloids, they were sensitive enough not to say anything, which led her to believe that she had great friends, or greater friends who didn’t bother to read those rags.

  Even Faith was kind enough not to bring up the subject of Dante Edwards and by the time she headed home, she had convinced herself that she had overreacted. One’s imagination was sometimes worse than reality.

  By the time she arrived home, she felt exhausted and yawned, convinced she’d sleep like a baby. Tomorrow she’d be back in her old routine, especially now that the condo was nearly completely decorated. Going out to purchase end tables and lamps for the living room and a chaise and night tables and lamps for her bedroom would keep her busy and her mind occupied.

  The minute she put her key in the lock, her phone rang. She hated that the interruption always startled her and thought she’d get used to that happening but she hardly ever got calls on her landline and the unexpected sound always caught her unaware. She couldn’t wait for the other tenants to move into their condos, and then the building wouldn’t be eerily quiet and she wouldn’t jump at every noise she heard. She hurriedly closed and bolted the door and rushed to pick up the receiver.

  “Hello!”

  “Ah, you have safely arrived back in New York. How are you, Mercedes?”

  That rich tenor over the phone sent shivers down her spine and caught her breath. She closed her eyes and allowed the feeling to flow through her body.

  “I’m fine, Dante. How are you?”

  “Well, thanks. I’ve been calling you for several hours and thought perhaps you had gone on another trip when you didn’t answer your cell phone. I finally decided to try you at home.”

  “I was at dinner with a friend and the restaurant and bar were very noisy. Guess I didn’t hear my phone ring.”

  “I’m glad I caught you.”

  “Isn’t it rather early in the morning in Italy?”

  “Yes. I’m about to go practice and warm up a little. I have a match at nine fifteen, this morning.”

  “A tough match?”

  “No, and I feel bad on the first day when I draw someone who isn’t ranked above a hundred, but that’s how you start off in this sport.”

  “I remember. Did you send me flowers today?”

  “Good, they did arrive. I wondered what might have happened to them if you were out of town. Were you pleased?”

  “They are lovely. Thank you.”

  “How did you know they were from me? I didn’t include a card.”

  Mercedes began to relax and curled up on her sofa. “Lucky guess, especially because you’re the only one I told recently that I loved lilacs. Why didn’t you include a note?”

  “If you lived in someplace like Iowa, I would have. But, New York City? I was afraid a delivery person might alert the press if they recognized my name.”

  “That was thoughtful. Thank you. Guess what?”

  “Let’s see! You’re coming to the French Open?”

  This time she laughed. “No,” she sighed.

  “Can’t say I’m not disappointed, but I don’t have any more guesses.”

  “The paintings arrived today and I had the carpenter hang them.”

  “And, are you pleased?”

  “Yes. They are beautiful, and the bookcases were finished when I arrived home and I filled them with books and knickknacks.”

  “I look forward to seeing your new place in September.”

  “You remembered?”

  This time he chuckled. “You’re not getting off that easy. You don’t have to do the interview, but I’m going to collect on the dinner.”

  Mercedes paused a moment and couldn’t help smiling. “I’ll take a photo of the paintings and send them to you on your cell phone.”

  “That’s a great idea. Can’t wait to see them. Well, my coach is waving to me at the door. I enjoyed our chat and am glad I caught you home.”

  She barely got the word out to say goodbye, and wondered if he was playing a game with her. If he had called and talked for hours, she’d know. Simply sending her flowers and calling to say hello had her wishing, as she sat in the sudden silence with the rest of the evening stretching long before her, that she could still hear the deep timbre o
f his words, the charming accent, the European courteousness, and…the quick link of attraction.

  To help pass time, she took photos of the paintings he helped her select, and of the painting in her bedroom and sent them to him as an attachment.

  He was merely an attraction. At least that’s what she thought the strange new feelings were. She was accustomed to being the good listener, getting people to open up enough to share their lives and innermost thoughts. But she learned that for all the world-focus on himself, he had her same ability. On their first meeting, for heaven’s sake, she shared things that even she and Faith hadn’t discussed in detail. She blushed and wished she could take them back.

  A romance carried out on a global stage was not what she wanted. Yet, every time she thought of him, she felt herself inexorably drawn to him. And, frankly, she was scared. She didn’t want to have her heart broken and entering into a relationship with Dante Edwards could only bring heartbreak.

  Chapter Seven

  The following morning, Mercedes awoke before dawn and lay in bed stretching her body. She didn’t want to get up, but those bothersome little hunger pains got the better of her.

  She paddled her way toward the kitchen and jumped again when her phone rang. Hurrying, certain there was a family emergency, she answered half out of breath. “Hello.”

  “Good morning. I wanted to let you know I won yesterday and am headed toward the semi-finals.”

  “Dante?”

  “Yes, I didn’t wake you, did I?”

  “No, but you sure scared the hell out of me. I thought maybe something had happened to one of my parents.”

  “I’m sorry. Are you usually an early riser? Or, do you like to sleep in late?”

  She heard the smile in his voice and knew he missed her. She smiled back. “What time is it in Italy?”

  “Almost eleven.”

  “Great, that means it’s almost six o’clock in the morning, here.”

  “I apologize profusely.”

  “Oh, I’m positive you’re profusely sorry.” Then she laughed. “Anyway, I’m glad you won your match. Congratulations! However, I already knew that last night. They may not have this service in Europe, but here, we refer to it as sports news,” she joked.

  “Then you aren’t upset I called.”

  “No.”

  He made a noise in his throat, somewhere between an ahem and a cough, and then said, “The next time your phone rings at odd hours, you’ll know I’m calling and there’s no family emergency.”

  Mercedes sat down on the sofa, folding her legs in a lotus position and relaxed the tightened muscles in her torso.

  “Mind if I ask you a question?”

  “I guess not, since I plan to ask you a lot of questions when I do my interview,” she said, half afraid he was about to ask her to come to France and she wasn’t prepared to give him a legitimate reason why she couldn’t, even though whatever excuse she gave would be a lie. She swallowed hard, “Ask!”

  “This is perfect. Suppose we hadn’t already met and I called you to interview me for a feature article, for say, Sports Illustrated. What’s the first question you’d ask without having had time to prepare?”

  “That’s a loaded question. But, here’s one. What is life like, being not only a world famous tennis player, but an international celebrity as well?”

  He laughed with enthusiasm. “What makes you think I’m an international celebrity? I’m no more famous than any of the other top players.”

  “Yes you are. You’re not only considered handsome, you’re single. You’re the son of a well-known American diplomat and a successful businesswoman, a rather wealthy and attractive couple. I’ve seen photos that are numbered in magazines; Town and Country, for instance, and periodicals with them and other celebrities where you have to read the names of the people attending the charity fundraiser or gala in small print on the bottom of the page, matching the photo with the number.”

  “That’s probably true, although I don’t understand the reason behind not placing the names under the photos.”

  “Exactly. And, I’ve seen similar pictures of you in magazines and also watched you being interviewed on television at events like the Cannes Film Festival, dressed in your tuxedo complete with bowtie, escorting a famous model or rising starlet on your arm, smiling while the flashlights go off, cameras click, and microphones are stuck in front of your face. For me, that tags you an international celebrity, whether you want to admit it or not.” She omitted her thought that she believed he was born to wear a tux. “What’s that like?”

  “Seems like you know a lot more about me than I imagined. You mentioned that I was considered handsome. I’m not simply handsome, but only considered handsome? Does that mean you don’t think I am?”

  “Your ego is showing, Dante, and you’re not permitted to edit while I’m conducting my interview. I write for most of those magazines. Being a sportswriter, I’d be slacking on the job if I didn’t know who you were. Plus I can’t recall seeing many of the other top players in a tuxedo at any film festival appearing GQ attractive, surrounded by a bevy of beautiful chicks. You’re up there with the Hollywood elite.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.”

  Mercedes unfolded her legs and sat up, ready for rebuttal. “On the contrary, Dante. Personally, I think that kind of intrusion in your private life would be exactly that, an intrusion. And, you’ve asked me more questions than I asked you. Is this how our formal interview is going to go?”

  “No, I promise. And to answer you regarding my public life, one gets used to that lifestyle, I guess. Most of the time, and there are exceptions,” he added, “I smile, say a few words and move on and ignore what they write. I usually don’t read those articles.”

  “Do you plan to ignore what I write?”

  “Not a chance. I’ll read every word. The publicity photos and articles that are written help my career. They attract sponsors and the money I make keeps me in the style to which I’ve become accustomed,” he said, teasing.

  “Very funny. I originally asked you an open-ended question about your life. But now that you’ve skirted the issue and not really answered me, I’ll have to figure out how to get you to go into detail about what your life is really like, since you obviously don’t think of yourself as an international personality.”

  “Terrific! I look forward to our next session, hoping you won’t mind if I call you again.”

  “Maybe I should write the questions and FAX them to you.”

  “That wouldn’t be any fun. Don’t you like me to call you?”

  If he only knew, she thought. She puffed up her cheeks then exhaled all the air before she answered. “Of course I do, the conversations will give me a private insight into the real Dante Edwards for all the world to read and enjoy.”

  “Now I know you’re teasing. Your brother told me to ask you about a press conference remark you made after you became junior champion…apparently your answer became headline news in the world of sports.”

  Mercedes snickered and shook her head. “Tell Max I’ll get even for this next time we’re together.”

  “Don’t you want to tell me what happened?”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore; I’m no longer a teenager. A reporter asked me what advice would I give other young tennis players who aspired to achieve what I had.”

  “What’s unusual about that?” Dante asked.

  “The attention fell on the answer, not the question. I said I believed the most important thing about tennis was to win the second set.”

  “Why the second set?”

  “That’s what that reporter asked.”

  “And?”

  “I told him that I thought the second set was the most important one to win because if you lose the first set, and you don’t win the second, the game is over; but if you win the second set, you have the advantage of winning the third set and the match. Same goes if you win the first set, but lose the second. Od
ds are not in your favor to win the third set, but if you win the first set you need to strive to win the second set in order to win the match. I stand by my words.”

  There was a slight silent pause, and she quickly added, “Would you rather win the best out of five by taking the first three sets, or wear yourself out trying to regain the lead and are forced to play five sets in a major tournament?”

  “Makes perfect sense to me,” he answered. “Some players take a couple of sets to get their game on in the best out of five championships. I don’t think playing five game matches to reach the finals is good on your body, instead only causes you to lose the finals.”

  “Sure, now that my brother told you how it was accepted around the world on every sports channel and talk show, mostly as comic relief.”

  “How do you feel about the incident now?”

  “I was fifteen at the time and perhaps if I had been older and more mature I would have given a more profound answer. However, I believed that at the time and strived toward winning that second set and I believe that’s how I became the junior champion. I stand by my original answer.”

  “I think you gave a great answer that brings a smile to one’s face and gives them something to think about…”

  “Thank you, that’s very kind, although I have a feeling that you will chuckle the minute we’re through talking.”

  “Well, maybe about the, ‘more profound,’ statement, but I’ll call soon, and you can think about what you’re going to ask me next. How’s that?”

  “Funny. How’s this? Good luck tomorrow. I hope you win the semifinals. I’ll try to look on the Tennis Channel and see if they’re covering the event.”

  “Great. I’d like that and when I win the French Open, I’ll wink at the camera during the interview at the end and you’ll know that’s for you.”

  “You probably say that to all the women. Goodbye, Dante.”

  “Talk to you soon…”

  Chapter Eight