Engaging Men (48 page)

Okay, okay—don’t get too excited, it’s only a pilot. And the part is smallish. I’m nervous about how I’ll do—surprise, surprise. But I’m excited to have a real chance to test my actor’s wings on the small screen—and I don’t mean by flapping them to tone the upper arms.

Speaking of upper arms, Colin‘s are still looking fabulous. I had lunch with him the other day, and I thought maybe the new Rise and Shine studio he was working out of had a spa, since he was positively glowing. But as it turned out, Colin was in love— with none other than Mark Resnick, network executive at Fox and the guy who had been behind the whole push to add Rise and Shine to the network’s programming. Apparently, Mark was equally smitten, as he and Colin were spending practically every weekend together. And not always alone—because Mark, who was divorced, shared custody of four-year-old Ryan with his ex-wife. It seemed Colin had gotten the kid he longed for— and the love he’d craved—all in one shot. Not to mention a cool Tribeca loft. Well, that was Mark’s. But they spent a lot of time there, playing Candyland with Ryan and, get this, teaching him how to skateboard (yes, it was that big a loft).

“You know, you could always donate sofa number three to charity,” Grace was saying now, lifting her head from where she

had rested it on the back seat and resuming the negotiation once more.

“Not sofa number three!”Justin and I said in unison. It was amazing how attached to that sofa I’d become. Besides, it was wide enough to hold both Justin and me in the horizontal— which you really can’t find in too many couches nowadays. I was thinking of having it reupholstered—a little surprise I had in store for Justin.

“We just need to get rid of a couple of the TVs we have,” I said. “And maybe the china closet.”

“Not the china closet!” Justin protested, eyes wide. “That was Aunt Eleanor’s!”

I sighed. Okay, so maybe not the china closet. “I guess we’re just gonna have to move to a bigger place. Maybe we can get more space in New Jersey.”

“Not New Jersey! ”Justin and Grace said together.

I laughed. God, I was only kidding.

I looked over at Grace, as she made an argument next for the removal of sofa #2. She was holding her ground pretty well against Justin, who could be formidable when it came to furniture preservation. I could tell Grace was having fun with it. She seemed happier. Maybe because she had finally decided, with the encouragement of her adoptive parents, that she was going to contact her biological mother. “After the holidays,” she told me today. “I mean, it might be a bit much to deal with during Christmas.”

In truth, I thought it would have been a wonderful Christmas gift for her birth mother to see what kind of beautiful, special person Grace had turned out to be. But I wasn’t going to push Grace. I was satisfied to know that she would do it when she was ready. Besides, my mother had already invited her to spend Christmas with us if Grace decided not to go to New Mexico. And you know my mother—it isn’t easy saying no to her.

As the conversation quieted again, I rested my head on Justin’s shoulder while the cab rolled over the bridge into Manhattan. I was tired. It had been a long day, after all. And I had eaten way too much, judging by the way my new dress (yes, from Bloomingdale’s—it’s not every day you become a godmother, after all)

was snugging against me. I also had a load of leftovers my mother had foisted on us as we left, now packed in my Lee and Laurie tote bag, which had been given to me as a going-away present by the Committee. Yes, they even threw me a little party in the office, which turned into—I found out later from Roberta—the office scandal. Apparently Michelle had been found in the supply closet with none other than Jerry Landry! The worst thing about it was that Frankie found out—Doreen couldn’t help but do Michelle in when Frankie called that night to find out when (and if) his wife was coming home. But as always happened with Michelle, she somehow managed to benefit from the whole ordeal. For one thing, Frankie made her quit Lee and Laurie. Which was probably the best thing for her, since she was only doing it to support a shopping habit that grew larger every hour she sat there, circling items in the catalog for purchase. But she hadn’t gotten off totally scot-free. According to my mother, who had run into Michelle’s mother at the supermarket, Michelle and Frankie were seeing a marriage counselor, who just so happened, of course, to be some sort of cousin of Michelle’s mom.

And speaking of Michelle’s infamous relatives, you’ll never guess who Justin and I went to see last week. My dear pal Rudy Michelangelo. No, no, no, silly—we weren’t getting the ring. There’s plenty of time for that. Besides, Justin and I have other things to pursue right now. We were shopping for little Carmella’s cross. Of course, Rudy adored Justin from the moment I came through the door with him. And when we left the shop, Rudy hugged me tight and whispered in my ear, “Now him—him, I’d give a good price.”

“Hey, it looks like we’re here already,” Justin said, blinking sleepily as the cab rolled up before our building. Grace was half-asleep, too, I saw, as I leaned across Justin to kiss her good-night while he forced some money into her hand to cover the fare. Of course Grace started to argue, but we got out and closed the door, waving at her through the glass as the cab pulled away from the curb.

Then Justin and I climbed the stairs, like the old married couple we had been from the start, I guess, our stomachs full, our minds filled with memories of the day—memories I’m sure

Justin had carefully cataloged for that screenplay he’s been working on like a madman ever since he came home from Chicago. I had already read the first draft and it was funny, warm, a little hard-edged (I mean, he was still a guy and this was a mob movie—you had to have a/etf people die brutally, at least in the first few frames). But there was a juicy little part in it that had Angie DiFranco written all over it. I told Justin I would see if I could fit it into my schedule. But I was pretty sure I would do it—no actress in her right mind would turn down a role this good. Justin was already querying investors—many of whom were glad to see that the man behind all that film-festival buzz years ago was back doing what he was best at again.

As was I. And once we entered the apartment, I kissed Justin, hoping to inspire him to that other thing he was oh sooo good at. I wasn’t disappointed.

As I drifted off to sleep, curled in Justin’s arms, I realized that I had gotten the life I wanted, though with a little more furniture than I’d bargained for.

But it didn’t matter. I was really living for the first time in my life. And I had never felt so pleasantly…engaged.

Don’t miss’s next novel, BOMBSHELL—

the story of Angie’s friend Grace Noonan— on sale May 2004 from Red Dress Ink