Until I Saw Your Smile (9 page)

“No, you're right,” Matthew said. “Ten blocks is
much
too far to walk. We'll take a cab then?”
Even though you two need to walk off those caramelized bananas so your dresses won't explode during the show.

They took a cab to West 43
^rd
where Matthew used most of his cash and had only a two-dollar tip for the driver. “I am so sorry,” he whispered to the driver.

“I understand completely,” the driver said. “That right there is a real dame. I'd save my money for her, too. But why's the other one along for the ride?”

“I wish I knew,” Matthew whispered.

At the box office, Matthew received
four
tickets.
I'll bet Debbie was supposed to have a date. I can see why she didn't, but Michael had to know about this “arrangement.”

Matthew allowed Debbie to enter their row first, followed closely by Victoria. Before Matthew could sit next to his alleged “date,” Victoria set both of their Fendi B Bags on the second seat, leaving Matthew alone on the aisle.

By the fourth song (“Say It with Gin”), Matthew focused on Victoria's legs and didn't see a single hair on them.
Not one. That can't be possible. Does she wax? I can't see her physically doing anything. She probably has her leg hairs removed individually at $100 an amazing and iconic pluck.

“Love for Sale,” the show's only truly “iconic” song, sent Matthew into a deep depression.
You said it, sister. That's all this date is.
He looked at Victoria and Debbie singing along with the prostitute on stage.

During the intermission, Victoria and Debbie three-way-called Freddie to tell Freddie how “amazing” and “iconic” and “wonderful” the show was. While Matthew wanted to tell Freddie the truth and was glad the women had discovered a new word (“wonderful”), he kept his silence, unhappy that his buzz was quickly wearing off.

During the second act, the utterly forgettable “Sing Sing for Sing Sing” made Victoria's toes tap along all the way to the last song: “Take Me Back to Manhattan.”

After the show, they took a cab to Azure, Victoria and Debbie's building on East 91st
^t
Street and First Avenue, a tower held together by thousands of windows. Victoria introduced Matthew to the doorman, who looked like a lost airline pilot, and the concierge, who looked like a lost Charlie Chaplin. When Debbie drifted to the elevator without so much as a “thanks,” Matthew wanted to scream.

But he didn't. He was in Azure, home of million-dollar one-bedroom apartments, in a well-lit lobby with a still well-lit date.

Victoria seemed to be looking toward the elevator, too, as if she missed her friend already.

“Quite a lobby,” Matthew said absently.

“Isn't it?” Victoria said. “Weil Studio did all the glass artwork on the walls. Isn't it amazing?”

No.
“It's nice.”

“And we're standing on tundra gray marble.” Victoria pointed at the floor for good measure.

Victoria pointed at the wall. “That's American walnut wood paneling.”

“Where do
you
live, Matthew?” Victoria asked.

Hey, she's trying to engage me in conversation. I feel so privileged.
“Williamsburg.”

“Virginia? Oh, I love the South.”

I can't believe I wanted to touch this out-of-touch woman.
“Williamsburg, Brooklyn. On Havemeyer Street.”

“Oh,” Victoria said.

“I hear Williamsburg is becoming more and more iconic,” Victoria said.

“What are your common charges?” Victoria asked.

“I don't have any common charges,” Matthew said.
I only have something called “rent.”

“
Our
common charges are over two
thousand
dollars a month,” Victoria said, smiling broadly.

“Wow, that's . . . something,” Matthew said. “What floor do you live on, Victoria?”

Victoria widened her eyes. “We're on the
thirtieth
floor.”

That must mean something mind-boggling and expensive.
“Great views?”

“They are
amazing,
” Victoria said.

My fault. I set her up to fail with that question.
“Are you going to ask me up to see these amazing views?”
I spent on mint on you, so I deserve to see a million-dollar view, okay?

“Oh, Matthew,” Victoria said, smiling. “This is
only
our first date.”

And our last.
“Of course. You're right.”

“I have enjoyed our time together,” Victoria said.

If I were to add it all up, we spent no more than, well, the length of this conversation actually together.
“I had a nice time, too.”

Victoria smiled. “I am so glad Michael gave you my number. I don't have many men interested in going out with me.”

Victoria blinked at him.

Oh. I think I'm supposed to compliment her now.
“I don't see why, Victoria. You are truly amazing. I'm glad Michael gave me your number, too.”

Victoria looked at the tundra gray marble. “Well . . .”

“Quite an iconic building,” Matthew said.

“Oh, it is,” Victoria said. “Completely iconic.”

She either ignores or cannot hear sarcasm.
“I had an
amazing
time, Victoria.”
She had to hear the sarcasm that time.
That
was sarcasm basted in sarcasm and drowned with sarcastic Chablis and caramelized, sarcastic bananas.

“Oh, so did I, Matthew,” Victoria said. “I had a truly amazing evening.”

Matthew took a brisk step forward and kissed her cheek.
Ow. What kind of armor does she have on her face? I thought her cheeks were soft. I nearly bounced off. My lips are bruised.

Victoria immediately checked herself in a compact mirror snatched out of her B Bag.

Victoria snapped the compact shut. “I have to go help Debbie with Boops and Boopsie. They are
so
much like children. They are
such
a handful. I am
sure
they missed me.”

“Oh, most definitely,” Matthew said. “Pomeranians are iconic.”

“Yes.” Victoria smiled, all fifty of her teeth visible. “Yes, they
are.
I am
so
glad I have finally met a man who realizes that.” She stepped close and kissed Matthew on the lips.

“You really are an amazing man, Matthew,” Victoria said.

I need to get out of this amazing, iconic place right now before I start looking for Pomeranians to stomp. My lips need an icepack
. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Victoria.”

“Oh, I will,” Victoria said. “Bye, Matthew. Give my regards to Michael, and feel free to call on me
anytime.
”

Free? There isn't anything free about you, woman. Even kissing you has a price.
“Sure.”

As Matthew walked slowly down First Avenue toward the Williamsburg Bridge, he loosened his tie and his thoughts.
Do I want to call
on
her again? A phone call to her I can afford. Would I ever want to take her out again? No. That would be a ginormous mistake. Victoria asked me only two questions all night: one about my appearance, not my substance, and one about where I lived. I'm glad she didn't ask me what kind of lawyer I was or grill me any more about my “space” on Havemeyer.

He sighed.

He eventually turned off First Avenue onto Delancey Street and crossed the pedestrian walkway of the Williamsburg Bridge, twenty minutes later settling into his easy chair and burping Chablis.

He watched a few snow flurries fly by his window at three
AM
.

He felt under his cushion and found an old pen, a remote to a TV he no longer owned, a cell phone with no battery, and a quarter. He dug under every cushion, rifled through every drawer, checked every pocket, and moved his bed to the side, eventually amassing a small fortune in change.

He even took the pennies from penny loafers he hadn't worn in years

He also found Joy's matching leopard-striped bra.

After counting out the change on the kitchen table, he decided he had enough for one large cup of Angela's house blend with a nickel tip to spare.

After a short nap, he showered, shaved, and put on jeans, Nikes, and a hoody.

Chapter 7

T
he sun shielded by bulbous dark clouds, Matthew walked to Angela's place.

He noticed that the sidewalk across the street from Angela's place had gotten a face-lift, several potholes had been filled in the street near the curb, and brand-new parking meters stood in front of La Estrella
.
Angela's sidewalk, however, was still hilly, splitting, and treacherous.

When he entered, he saw Angela behind the counter and smiled. “Good morning, Angela.”

“Good morning, Matthew,” she said. “Happy Kite Flying Day.”

Matthew squinted. “But it's winter.”

“Hey,” Angela said with a shrug. “I don't make the holidays. I only announce them.” She smiled. “I haven't seen you in a week.”

“Yeah. It's been a long week, too.”

“The adventurous life you lead.” She wiped her hands on a towel. “What can I get you?”

Matthew emptied his pockets and made a stack of change on the counter. “What can I get with this?”

Angela laughed.

Her laugh has music in it. I like it.
“What do I get? I get a laugh and a smile. It was worth the search of my apartment. I think some of these coins are valuable. Look at all the wheat cents and Liberty dimes. That quarter might be pure silver.”

Angela scooped them up, separating them into the register. “He pays me with change.”

“Sorry,” Matthew said. “I had the most expensive date of my life last night.”

Angela sighed. “How expensive?”

“If I were frugal, which I'm learning to be too slowly for my own good,” Matthew said, “I could use what I spent on one meal last night to buy groceries for the next six months.”

“That's expensive.” She plucked a large cup from a stack of cups. “Were the police involved?”

“Not this time,” Matthew said. “That might have made the evening more amazing and iconic.”

Angela blinked. “Amazing and iconic.”

“Her favorite two words.”

Angela poured him a cup of house blend and handed it to him. “She sounds young.”

Matthew took a sip.
Yes. This is so good.
“I actually think she was older than me. I counted at least three layers of makeup on her face.”
Like rings on a tree.

“Does this mean you won't be going out with her again?” Angela asked.

Now there's a direct question.
“Let's just say I won't be paying for her
not
to talk to me again.”

She pointed at the middle booth. “Your booth is free.”

My booth? I like the sound of that.
“Will you join me?” Matthew asked.

“I'm not too busy at the moment.”

Matthew slid into one side of the booth, Angela into the other.

“Where was she from?” Angela asked.

“Manhattan,” Matthew said. “Upper East Side. She lives in Azure. Her building has a name of its very own.”

Angela shook her head slightly. “But you chose her, right?”

“Michael, a friend of mine, who really isn't much of a friend of mine anymore, set us up,” Matthew said. “He set
me
up. He told me she'd be perfect for me.”

“Nobody and nothing are perfect,” Angela said.

“I agree.” He looked through the front window. “That side of the street almost looks perfect, though. The city is really sucking up to La Estrella
.
”

Angela frowned and sighed. “I know. I've been complaining for years about the sidewalks and the street in front of this place. For a nice multiyear tax break, they get everything pretty. Such a waste of a nice space. It could be a great place for a club or a theater or even a bookstore.”

“Anything but a coffee shop, huh?” Matthew said.

Angela nodded. “Right. My luck.” A buzzer sounded. “Care for some raspberry pastries?”

“I barely had enough for the coffee,” Matthew said.

Angela stood. “On the house. I'm trying a new recipe, and you can tell me if they're any good.”

“Okay.”

He watched Angela sweep gracefully into the back, returning with a large metal tray. After sliding most of the pastries on the tray onto another tray in the display case, she put several pastries on a plate and brought it to Matthew's booth, setting the plate in front of him.

“It'll cost you a story,” she said.

“A story is all I can afford to give you.” He took a bite. “This is good.”

“How good?” Angela asked.

Matthew savored the flavors. “On a scale of one to ten . . . a nine-point-nine.”

“Not a ten?” Angela asked.

“I'd feel better if I were paying you for it,” Matthew said.

“Don't worry about it.” She slid into the booth. “Tell me about your date with the woman who wouldn't speak to you.”

“You can't really be interested in my dysfunctional love life,” Matthew said.

“Tell me.”

She must be interested.
“Her name is Victoria Inez Preston.”

“V-I-P,” Angela said. “So far so bad.”

“And it gets worse. I sat at Le Bernardin for forty-five minutes awaiting her arrival.” He took another bite.
Delicious.

“How trifling,” Angela said. “She had to make a grand entrance, huh?”

“And that, dear Angela, is what it was,” Matthew said. “Lots of men got whiplash watching her and her
friend
come in.”

Angela blinked rapidly. “She brought a friend.”

“Her oldest and dearest friend, Debbie, her shorter, stockier twin.”

Angela closed her mouth tightly. She sighed. “She brought an ugly friend with her on her date.”

“Well, she wasn't
that
ugly.”
She had pretty . . . knuckles.

“Compared to your date?” Angela asked.

“Okay, she was . . . large.” Matthew smiled. “She wore shoes far too small for her feet.”

Angela shook her head. “Victoria brought her along to make
herself
feel prettier.”

“I don't know why,” Matthew said. “Victoria is well-made.”

“Well-made?” Angela rolled her eyes. “You mean she's a babe, a hottie, a real honey.”

Matthew stared at his pastry. “She was fine. Yes.”

Angela sighed. “Then what happened?”

“I ate food I couldn't identify and that didn't like me later while they ate me into bankruptcy,” Matthew said. “They talked on the phone with Freddie. He sounded gay, but I can never tell. They flirted with any man who would look at them, and they texted each other while they were sitting inches apart.”

“How old were these women?” Angela asked.

“Maybe mid- to late-thirties.” He squinted. “I don't think the rich ever grow up, mainly because they don't have to.”

“How did your evening end?” Angela asked.

Matthew tapped the table with fingers. “
This
is the end of my evening. I walked down First Avenue and across the bridge . . . to see you.”

“Uh huh.”

“Okay, I went home to shave and shower first,” Matthew said. “And to find some change.”

“Right.”

“Really. I can always count on you, and you don't break my bank account.” He finished the first pastry. “And you make me addictive sweets to eat. These are bangin'.”

Angela laughed. “Bangin'?”

“Angela's Bangin' Pastries,” Matthew said. “It has a nice ring to it.”

Angela shook her head and slipped out of the booth as the door opened and a customer headed straight for the counter. “I think your luck with women is about to change.”

“How do you know?” Matthew asked.

“Your luck can only get better, right?”

Matthew tore the next pastry in two, the steam rising in front of him. “I will pay you back for these.”

Angela stared at him. “Oh, Matthew,
darling,
that would be so
amazing.
”

“And iconic?”

Angela shook her head. “Just amazing.”

Later at his apartment, Matthew checked his Web site.
A client? No way. And on a Saturday? My luck might be changing after all.

The Haitian Free Pentecostal Church in the Bronx wanted his help getting nonprofit status as quickly as possible. The process, though tedious, was easy to do and involved a stack of 501c forms. He called the number in the e-mail query.

“Haitian Free, this is Mary. How may I help you this blessed day?”

Soft, sexy voice.
“Hi, Mary, This is Matthew McConnell. Your church contacted me through my Web site—”

“The Cheap Brooklyn Lawyer site, right?”

I never should have chosen that name.
“I wasn't sure if anyone would be there on a Saturday.”

“There's always something going on here,” Mary said.

“Well, I find that I have a free afternoon today,” Matthew said, “and I could come up to walk Pastor Jean through the forms.”

“Oh, he'll be tired from service,” Mary said, “but you can explain the forms to me. I'm the church secretary and treasurer.”

“Splendid. Mary, what's the best route to get there from Williamsburg? It's been a while since I've been to the Bronx. I assume I take the J train then the 4 and then . . .”

“The 2,” she said. “We're a block north of the station.”

“See you in about an hour then.”

“I'll be waiting.”

Matthew arrived ninety minutes later at the church, a low-slung storefront that covered half a city block, just as a Saturday service was ending. He walked through a throng into the reception area.

A short, buxom woman stepped up to him. “Are you Matthew?”

Matthew looked down at the woman, her clothes colorful and concealing very little of her dark skin. “Are you Mary?”

Mary nodded. “I'm Mary Primm.”

Mary was not what Matthew expected a church secretary to look like. Mary had wavy hair streaked with pink and yellow to match the dress she was almost wearing, a smooth face, dark red lips, and a booty that cried, “Stare at me!”

“Let's go to the office,” she said.

Matthew followed Mary's swaying form to a tiny office barely big enough for a desk and two chairs. He took her through the stack of incorporation forms slowly, explaining each one while trying not to stare at her cleavage.

After two hours, he collected one hundred dollars.

“Why so little?” Mary asked.

“I always pray for repeat business,” Matthew said.

“We will definitely keep you in mind,” Mary said.

And I will keep your compact, sexy body in mind, too.
“Have Pastor Jean sign, well, everywhere, and mail everything where it needs to go along with the appropriate fees.”

“So many hoops to jump through,” Mary said.

Matthew stood. “You're keeping money from the government. They want to make it as hard as possible for you to do so.”

Mary put the stack of forms into a file folder. “Matthew, what church do you attend?”

“I occasionally go to Our Lady of Consolation.”
Let's see, twice a year at most.

“You're Catholic then?”

“Yes,” Matthew said. “I went to Most Holy Trinity in Williamsburg.”

Mary nodded. “I went to Archbishop Molloy. I used to be Catholic.”

“Once a Catholic, always a Catholic” isn't true anymore?
“Oh?”

“Now I'm a Christian,” Mary said. “The Lord has been very good to me.”

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Mary asked.

Sleeping.
“It depends.”

“You could come to service,” Mary said.

Look how her eyes light up. Such dark eyes.
“I've had an exhausting few days, Mary.”
None of it work-related, of course.

“What about Wednesday night?” she asked.

I'm being asked out
in
a church. This is new.
“I don't think I have anything planned.”

“Meet me here at four-thirty,” Mary said, “and we'll go get something to eat.”

The money she just paid me will pay for the date. Angela was right. My luck is changing.
“Okay. And then?”

Mary smiled. “And then . . . we'll see what happens.”

As Matthew rode the trains back to Williamsburg, he pondered a Wednesday date.
Why two days
before
Valentine's Day? Why not Valentine's Day itself? Maybe she's testing me out first
.

He closed his eyes and saw Mary wearing a Catholic school uniform, her shapely legs literally smoking out of a tight skirt, her shirt buttons straining.
I wonder if Mary was a typical Catholic school girl. The ones I remember were some wild things. As soon as they left school, out came the smokes, the makeup, the cursing, and the strut. They may have been cowering as they went into confession, but they were grinning when they came out.