By the time he got to the exit there was no sign of Joan – she’d gone off on her own, just like she’d said she would.
Antonio bypassed the elevators and took the stairs two at a time, spotting her immediately as he came out onto the street.
“Hey, wait up,” he said as he hurried to catch up with her.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said with a bored tone. “I thought you’d found something better to do with your time.”
“And I thought you weren’t serious. I mean, I’m surprised your mother didn’t try to tackle you.”
“Yeah right, that would be the day. Annabell Edwards doesn’t do things that ruin her clothes.”
They both laughed and then walked in silence for a while, Joan taking the lead even though she didn’t have a clue where she was. He liked her even more for her fearlessness and sense of adventure. He couldn’t stop thinking about all the things he liked about her.
“Shit,” she said as they came to the end of the first block. “I forgot to leave a note.”
Antonio smiled at the unpredictable young woman, watching as she dug through her purse, pulled out a pen and paper and ordered him to turn around.
His breath hitched when he felt her hand on his back, securing the paper as she scribbled a note.
“Would you mind terribly going back and putting this note under my makeup bag, on the dressing table?”
“What’s it say?”
“Just that I’m taking the afternoon off to tour the city and that I’ll be back before dark. The usual.”
Antonio lifted an eyebrow. “The usual?”
“Yes, it’s not going to surprise her.”
“Then why the note?”
“Oh, that’s so she doesn’t worry that I was kidnapped or something.”
“That’s very considerate of you.”
She put her hands on her hips. “I’m glad you think so. The question is, will you do it, or not?”
“Sure, I’ll do it, but only if you promise to still be here when I get back.”
“I promise,” she said.
Antonio sprinted back to the studio and laid down the note, under the makeup bag as directed. Annabelle Edwards was walking around, asking if anyone had seen her daughter. She looked worried, and Antonio wondered if he was doing the right thing, but he didn’t want to mess up his chance to spend time with Joan so he bolted back to the exit before she could ask him.
“Young man? Excuse me, young man?” came her voice from behind him, but Antonio pretended not to hear. He hurried to the steps again.
When he got to the street level he ran back to the street corner where he’d left Joan, but, she wasn’t there anymore.
His heart sank.
“Damn it,” he muttered. He leaned against the light post and scanned up the two streets at the intersection, trying to spot signs of her, but he couldn’t see her anywhere. He’d missed her.
Shaking off his disappointment, Antonio was just getting out his cell phone to make sure he had the address for the after party when he heard a voice behind him.
“Hey, what took you so long?”
Joan Edwards was standing there, holding two iced coffees in glass bottles.
His heart swelled as he noticed the corner store. She’d just stepped inside to get drinks; she hadn’t left him. He accepted his drink and fell into step beside her as she started walking down the street.
She started to talk, and he listened.
She talked about her mother; her mother’s rules, her dictates, her attitudes and her behaviors. She talked about her mother, period.
Finally, after almost a half-hour of Joan’s non-stop tirade regarding the many, many faults of her mother, Antonio decided to interject.
“Don’t you think you’re a little hard on her? Maybe she’s just trying to look out for your best interest?” he suggested.
Joan burst out with a sardonic laugh. “Oh sure, that’s probably what it looks like to an outside observer. It looks she’s overprotective for my sake – but, that’s a lie. The truth is she loves the attention. All that grandstanding isn’t about me, it’s how she keeps the attention on herself.”
“Oh, okay,” Antonio said, “Can we talk about something else? Is there anywhere, in particular, you want to go?”
“Yes. I’m done talking about my mother,” Joan said, giving him an appraising look. “As far as where we go – this is your city, surprise me.”
So, he did. He took her to his old neighborhood, keeping a close watch for trouble as they got out of the cab.
“This is where I come from,” he said, proudly.
“You grew up here?” Joan asked, clearly surprised to see that Antonio was from such humble beginnings.
He nodded. He was proud of himself, his life, and the immigrant mother who’d birthed him in this country.
He was a bastard, raised poor, but look at him now. Antonio Ferraro had nothing to be ashamed of. Ever. She watched his face and her cynical expression softened. She nodded slightly, as if giving him her approval.
Even though he wasn’t ashamed of his humble beginnings he’d never mentioned it to any of his dates. For some reason, Joan made him want to reveal his soul to her. The fact that she didn’t hate him for coming from a place where you had to watch your back made him admire her even more.
Encouraged, he took her on a quick tour of his old neighborhood, showing her the government housing apartment block from the safety of another cab, then stopping at the corner restaurant that specialized in Polish food.
“My mother used to work here as a cook,” he said.
“You’re Polish?”
“No. Why would you think that?”
Joan dropped the subject. Of course, working in a Polish restaurant didn’t mean the person was of Polish descent.
“Does your mother still live in the same apartment?”
Antonio stiffened. He didn’t like to talk about what happened.
“No, she died last year,” he finally said.
“I’m sorry,” Joan said, picking up on his discomfort, but she couldn’t help herself, she had to keep talking to him. “You were close, weren’t you?”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
They were quiet for a while and, as they sat in the back of the cab, Joan reached over and took his hand.
It was only the second time they’d touched. Antonio felt his heart race.
He wasn’t sure he could keep his hands off her. Maybe this was a bad idea.
“I think I should take you back to your hotel,” he said.
“Why?” she asked, lower lip jutting out in a delectable pout. “It won’t be dark for a few more hours.”
Antonio told the driver in Italian to take them back to the city.
Joan crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Fine, whatever.”
They sat in silence as the driver got onto the highway. Joan was looking out the window, watching as they left the urban wasteland and headed towards the prosperous parts of the city.
As they drove past the soccer stadium Antonio broke the silence between them.
“That’s where I play. Do you watch soccer?”
“No,” she said, honestly.
It was the first thing about her that he didn’t like.
“Oh,” he said.
“But, you like it?” she asked. “Why?”
Antonio’s chest swelled. Enthusiasm bubbled out of him, he couldn’t help himself. He turned and smiled at Joan, who was looking at him with those big, golden brown eyes. “Soccer is the greatest game in the world. If you’ve never followed it, you should. I’ve always loved soccer, even before I was a superstar.”
She bounced her head from shoulder to shoulder, putting a finger in her mouth, as she gazed at him, with innocent eyes. “You’re a superstar? Are you sure? I don’t think I got that memo.”
He’d wanted to kiss her then, so bad, but he was afraid to it – he knew it would be a mistake.
Instead, he asked the questio
n that had been on his mind from the moment he laid eyes on her back at the studio.
“How old are you, Joan Edwards?” He couldn’t stand not knowing.
“Not old enough.” A look passed between them and Antonio felt himself blushing. It was like she could see into his soul. He looked away, determined to call this ‘date’ short and get her home before he did something that he’d regret. It was obvious from the way her eyes darkened that she was thinking along the same lines.
“Driver, can you step on it?” he asked in English, then repeated in Italian to make his point.
“Smart move, Romeo,” Joan said.
She was okay, probably relieved, and after that Antonio put aside his lust for her. He had no doubt that she was under age. That’s all he needed, the wrath of her crazy mother and the laws of the Italian state undermining his future.
Once the sex was off the table the tension between them had faded away and he started to enjoy Joan Edward’s company even more. She had opinions on everything from architecture to politics. She talked about how much she hated modeling now that she’d finally made it in the industry.
“Then, why don’t you quit?”
“Because my mother would kill me if I did. Frankly, I hate fashion. Oh, I’m sorry, you’re Italian. It’s probably sacrilege to say such a thing.”