125:Dogsitters

November 8

“Thank you so much,” Charlie offered her appreciation into Lilah’s hair during their embrace.  “I know it’s an inconvenience, but I feel better about leaving her here than just about any place.”

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” Lilah assured with a comforting smile as she tipped her head toward the kitchen as a wordless means of asking Charlie to follow.  

She and Jon had just arrived at the Edison Bongiovi home to drop off Nana because Dorothea had flatly refused to walk a dog in Manhattan unless there was absolutely no other alternative.  The woman could hardly be faulted, especially with the cooler weather coming on, so Charlie harbored no ill will over it.  Tony and Lilah’s kids were more excited about dog sitting than Jake and Romeo could ever be, anyway. 

Both Lucas and M.J. were currently alternating between squealing, bouncing and chasing Nana, and had been since the instant the leash came off.  Amidst the chaos, Tony and Jon were setting up the canine condo in the corner of the family room, although the more accurate statement would be that Jon was watching Tony do it and telling him how Nana liked her cushion.

Charlie rolled her lips in and bit them to keep from grinning at the mechanically helpless man she’d fallen in love with.  Give him an eight-million dial soundboard and he was good, but a simple dog kennel was not in his area of expertise.  She’d had to “help” him with the disassembly so they could get it here.

Approaching the stove, where a pot of something simmered, Jon’s sister-in-law picked up a wooden spoon and stirred while speaking over her shoulder. 

“Jon told us all about Dickweed bein’ a dickweed, but I’ll refrain from dwellin’ on the negative and just say and we’re more’n happy to keep Nana while you’re gone.  Tony’s jumped on the puppy bandwagon along with the kids, so this will be a good opportunity to remind him why we’re not quite ready for a dog – or for him to prove me wrong.  Either way, it’s a welcome experience.”

Leaning against the island and crossing both her arms and ankles, Charlie drawled, “Oh good.  So I’m really doing you a favor, then.  That makes me feel much better.”

The wooden spoon tapped against the edge of the pot as Lilah flashed her a grin.  “As it was intended to.  You excited ‘bout your trip, despite what’s promptin’ the timin’?”

Her stomach had been tied in anticipatory knots since the moment the decision was made last night.  This was a big deal to Charlie, more so than she’d let anyone believe.  Even her brothers, who knew a little bit about her Disney fixation, had no clue how excited she truly was. 

Last night, her orgasm-induced afterglow had lasted about five minutes before Charlie had reached for her phone to Google Disney World.  There were so many available options for ride, attractions and entertainment – and she didn’t want to miss a thing.  

One website led to another until, at two this morning, Jon had rolled over and groggily ordered her to put the fucking phone away.  Turning off the light, she’d reluctantly set it aside and curled around his back to try and recall everything she’d read in the previous hours.  She was awake again by six to do the same thing, but she still had no idea what to do once they got to Disney.

“I’m unbelievably excited,” she told Lilah wistfully.  “But it’s stressful deciding what to do.  There’s soooo much, and we’ll only be there a few days.  If this is my only chance to go, I need to make the most of it.”

“Oh, honey.”  The other woman’s hair swung over her shoulder as she bent to check the contents of the oven.  “There’s no point in thinkin’ this is your only chance.  If Jon doesn’t take you back again, you’re always welcome to tag along with us.  Matt and Desiree go every couple years, too, so somebody in the family will make sure you get your fix.”

Matt.

Dare she ask for Lilah’s opinion of Matt’s attitude – and what to do about it?  She was truly tempated, even though Jon would be annoyed that she’d chosen Lilah.  Then again, he’d likely be annoyed with the topic in the first place.  Chances were very good that he’d tell her she was being ridiculous. 

Maybe she’d just feel Lilah out and, depending on what she said, ask Jon.  Both childish and masculine laughter filled the air behind Charlie as she heard Nana scurrying through, followed by heavy toddler feet as she deliberated.

“Can I ask you something?”

Bowls and plates were removed from the cabinets, ending in a deep clatter of stoneware as it all came to rest on the island.  Lilah propped her hands on the edge and smiled openly at Charlie. 

“Always.”

Now that the door was opened, she felt a little self-conscious about asking, but backing out wasn’t an option.  Pride lifted Charlie’s chin, and she just put it out there.  “You know Matt better than I do.  Is his change of attitude toward me going to be a permanent thing?”

Aqua eyes narrowed darkly as Lilah’s lips puckered into a disapproving frown.  “Hell if I know.  He’s supposed to be over it by now.  Has somethin’ happened that I don’t know about?”

“No, but what you do mean ‘he’s supposed to be over it by now’?”  Charlie’s eyes were the ones now narrowing with that question.  Evidently, his issues with her weren’t being kept secret from anyone but her.  Maybe she should just face the big man down and be done with it.

Lilah’s head swayed back and forth as she expressively lifted her eyes to the ceiling and back before dropping her voice.  “I love that boy, but sometimes he’s more stubborn than smart.  He got it in his head at some point along the road that your and Jon’s relationship was awful lopsided, but said at your comin’ out party that he was over it.  Did he say somethin’ to you?”

Lopsided.  Well, she couldn’t blame the man for that thought, since it was one she struggled with almost daily. 

“Because Jon told him the things you do for him might not be seen by anyone else, but that they were there and he needed to get over it.”

Of course Jon would defend her to his family.  He’d made the decision to enter a relationship with her, so naturally he would defend that decision.  But in the dark at night or when he was good and truly irritated with her…  What did he think then? 

Charlie needed to step up, and while cooking lessons were a good start, it wasn’t enough.  But how did one fix the lopsidedness that came with returning a life?

“Matt’s right,” she told Lilah softly.  “I love Jon, but in this relationship, he’s the giver.  The only thing I’ve given him is a screwing over in his divorce.”

“Oh, honey.  Now that’s not true.”

She held up a hand to ward off the other woman’s kind platitudes.  “I’ve been thinking about it for a while now and it is what it is.  Help me figure out a way to make it less true.  Like on this Disney trip.  What would he enjoy?”

Lilah’s eyes went wide and shoulders hunched up to her ears.  “I have no idea what he’d wanna do there.  I know he likes to people watch, and he’s a little bit of a thrill seeker, so I guess roller coasters?  But he also likes his quiet time, soaking in the world instead of its people.  That’s all I’ve got.”

“Mm.”

Quiet time.  He wasn’t exactly the spa type, although he might appreciate a good massage.  She was going to have to check with someone when they got to Disney and see what they suggested that might fit that bill. 

“Do you know how fucking long it’s been since I’ve been on a horse?”  Jon laughed, stepping up beside Charlie and dropping an arm over her shoulders.  “Think Young Guns.”

“Are you complainin’ about me wantin’ the kids to have ridin’ lessons again?”  Lilah’s question was harsh but there was nothing but sheer affection as she looked up into the face of the husband passing by on his way to the refrigerator. 

“Damn straight.  They live in New Jersey, not Kentucky.  There will be no rodeos or roundups in Newark.  Gonna have to trust me on this.”

Flipping her middle finger at the man who had just drawn two Coronas from behind the stainless steel door, Lilah huffed, “I may have moved to Jersey, but that doesn’t mean I want my babies completely citified.  It’s ridin’ lessons or we live a year in Lexington, a year here and back and forth until they're at least fifteen.  Your choice.”

“You know, riding lessons aren’t that bad an idea,” Jon offered as his brother smacked Lilah on the rump hard enough to make her squeak.  “Well-rounded kids and all that.  Lemme know how that works out.  I may even hop back up on ole Trigger one more time and take the boys.  I kinda liked it, as I recall.”

“Ha!” the sassy Southerner gloated to her husband and stuck out her tongue.  “If Jon is agreein’ with me, it’s the idea of the century.  Decision made, my darlin’ Jersey.”

Charlie laughed at the comfortably married couple and turned to look up at Jon.  “Horses, huh?”

“Now don’t get me wrong.  I don’t wanna own ‘em or anything, but it might be fun to go for a ride sometime.”  He tossed his chin toward the stove.  “What’s cookin’?”

Lilah whirled around with a muttered swear, snatching up the wooden spoon and dunking it into the pot to stir vigorously.  “It was almost burnt tar, but thanks to you, it’s chili.  Cornbread’s about done, too, if you wanna stay and eat with us.”

Taking the arm around Charlie’s shoulders and using it to hook her neck, Jon tugged her close for a kiss on the temple.  “What do you want to do?”

It was late afternoon, and it was an hour’s drive back to the city.  There were still a ton of things to do if she had any hope of getting out of here on vacation tomorrow, but…  She really did enjoy the time spent with this set of Bongiovis. 

“I still have to pack.”

“Is that a legitimate reason to leave or an excuse?”

Charlie smiled at the question murmured directly into her ear, because she interpreted it to mean that he’d back her up if it was just an excuse.  They really were partners, and the contentment that seeped through her blood was priceless. 

“Just a statement.”

“Then don’t worry about packing.  I’ll have it taken care of.”

She drew back to peruse the confident features of the man whose fingers pressed reassuringly into her shoulder.  “You going to pack for me?”

“No, but I can make sure you have everything you need down there,” he informed her with the lift of a brow.  “I have an assistant.  All I need is your sizes and she’ll create Disney magic.”

Laughing, she returned that lifted brow and asked drolly, “You think this is Pretty Woman or something?”

“You’re not a whore.” The blunt statement was offered with a snort of derision before he turned his attention to Lilah, “We’ll stay.  Thanks.”

Flashing a fading smile in Lilah’s direction, Charlie nodded her agreement.  “I’d like that very much.  Thank you for the invitation.  As for you… You’re not buying me a vacation wardrobe.  You do too much as it is.”

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I please.”

His lazy arrogance could be a turn-on in the right setting, but on the wake of her conversation with Lilah, it was anything but.  “Guess again.  You’ve already spent too much on me in the last week.”

“I saw the bracelet,” their hostess observed as though there weren’t undertones of a brewing argument swirling around them.  She was simply busying herself by getting out glasses and cutlery for six while Tony ducked back into the refrigerator for something else.  “It’s very pretty.  I might ask to try it on after we eat, if you don’t mind.”

“It doesn’t come off.”  Denim blue eyes locked into Charlie’s with the steely decree that was both an answer to his sister-in-law’s question and a pointed reminder – as though it was necessary. 

Charlie had the picture of the bracelet and their arms from the night he’d put it on, and every time her phone flicked to life, there was a visual reminder of the love he wouldn’t allow her to shed without permission.  Every once in a while, the depiction of being someone’s hostage would cause a brief bout of anxiety – maybe one time out of fifty.  The rest of the time, it was a quick fix of erotica that was the cover photo to their love story.

Because he sounded so territorial and surly in his answer, however, Charlie stepped in to soften it.  “What Jon means is that it has to be put on and removed with a special screwdriver that’s in his safe.”

Lilah didn’t miss a beat in turning off the stovetop and grabbing a dishtowel to tug at the oven door, but the look she darted at them was filled with glee.  “Well, that’s ‘bout as close as you can get to a weddin’ ring without a weddin’ ring, I reckon.  Congratulations on the commitment.”

“Love slave.  Cool,” was Tony’s contribution as he put hot sauce and sour cream on the island.  “Fuzzy handcuffs are cheaper, though.  Did we ever get a new pair after you broke the last ones, Bluegrass?”

The over door slammed shut and a heavy cast-iron skillet clattered against the burners of the gas stove when Lilah dropped it like a brick to whirl and glare at her husband.

“If you feel the need to share that kinda stuff with your brother, I’d prefer not to be in the room when you do, honey.  So hush and get me a plate for this.”  Rolling her eyes in Charlie’s direction, she pointedly changed the subject.  “Speakin’ of food and family, I guess we’ll have Thanksgivin’ here again this year.  About one o’clock, just so both of you know.”

Stepping away from Jon, Charlie grabbed the cutlery and plates, taking them to the end of the kitchen to put on the table.  “We haven’t even talked about Thanksgiving yet.  Jon may not want me here.”

He pointed the neck of his Corona bottle at her, closing one eye and squinting the other to say, “You’re pissing me off today, Counselor.  Don’t be a dumbass.”

It was Charlie’s turn to do the eye thing and she rolled them to Lilah, who obligingly rolled hers right back.  “Thank you for the lovely invitation.  I’d be happy to join you and your family for Thanksgiving, sweetheart, but you’re going to have to spend part of the day in Brooklyn, too.”

It was only a fleeting shadow, but she saw the displeasure on his face.  “Can’t we have everybody out to the Jersey house and just do it once?  It’s big enough for both families.  I mean, I know you don’t cook, but I can hire somebody for that.”

Cooking again.  If Charlie could prepare the meal – any of it – this would be a reasonable solution to spending the day with both families. 

Her family could ferry themselves out to Jersey and relax for the day.  Daddy and the boys would love watching the football games on Jon’s huge television, and they’d said they liked Jon’s brothers.  Izzie and Lilah already knew each other, and the other women would have no trouble warming up to Lilah and Des.  God knew her sons got along fine with Jon’s kids.

It was just that cooking thing that bugged the hell out of Charlie, but if he didn’t want to split up his day, the only other option would be to have a “his” and “hers” Thanksgivings, and that wasn’t appealing either.

“Jesse wants a crack at the deep fryer this year,” Tony reminded.  “You promised him last time.”

“Right.”  Jon’s triumphant eyes found hers as she finished folding napkins.  “See?  Turkey’s taken care of.”

“And the way we always did it in my family was to have everybody bring a side dish,” Lilah encouraged the idea.  “Only mashed potatoes and turkey have to be fixed on site.  The rest of us could bring in desserts, vegetables, appetizers and all that.  I think it sounds like fun.”

It did sound fun and ideal, but would her parents have a fit over schlepping out to Jersey?  Would her mother feel slighted by not cooking the meal in her kitchen for all of them?

“I see the wheels in your mind working, Counselor.  If you’re worrying about your family coming all the way out and going back again, there are three guest bedrooms and a three-bedroom guesthouse.  Anyone that wants to can stay the night before, after or both.”

Turning to prop fists on her hips, Charlie saw that she was outnumbered and that was okay.  If Jon wanted something as simple as staying put in his own house for the holiday, that was something she could give him. 

“Can we wait until later in the day to eat?  Some of my clan like to go to the parade.”

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” Lilah assured, flipping out the cornbread onto a plate and picking up a knife to slice it into pie-like wedges.  “They all fuss at eatin’ so early, anyway, but since it’s my house, I wanted the mess cleaned up before midnight.  Dinnertime is host’s choice.”

Jon strolled over to plunk his beer bottle on the table and hooked one hand over the back of a chair as Tony yelled for the kids to leave Nana alone and come eat.  “Perfect.  Decision made.”

“Ah, ah, ah.”  Charlie put her hand in front of the lips that were coming in to claim hers.  “I have one more demand before I agree to this railroading.  I want to invite Millie.”

Eyes that had gone stonily suspicious at the word “demand”, instantly fell soft and Jon cuffed her wrist atop the bracelet to pull the blockading hand away from his mouth.  “As I said already, ‘decision made’.”

He didn’t have to think about it, he didn’t have to consider it, and he didn’t hesitate, providing one more shining example of why she loved this man.  Her heart swelled with gratitude and determination.

She might not be able to cook Thanksgiving dinner, but her Christmas gift to Jon would be cooking that meal for their families – all by herself.

124:Grown-Ups

Jon bent his leg and brought it up on the couch as he turned sideways to put the terrace at his back.  Dinner was over, Nana was taken hostage to bunk with the boys, and wine flowed for grown-ups in the upstairs living room. There was some quiet music playing on the sound system and, peeking at Chiara's profile as she contemplatively gazed out at the city lights, he thought her the personification of serenity.

Or maybe he was projecting his feelings onto her. 

Things had gone well for their first meal with his boys, in his esteemed opinion.  Her presence at the Hamptons house this summer stole away any potential awkwardness, leaving the two youngest Bongiovis comfortable with the counselor, and she gave the appearance of being equally comfortable with them.  Over arroz con pollo, chicken mole and old-fashioned tacos, the talk had flowed easily about everything from Jake’s football team to Romeo’s book report and onto dogs – because they wanted one.  Jon told them that they’d better enjoy Nana’s visits because that’s all they were going to get. 

That constituted a good night in his world, but good could always been improved upon. 

Laying an arm along the back of the sofa, he grazed the very tips of his fingers across her exposed nape, and the lazy murmur of pleasure made him smile as wine slid agreeably down his throat.

“How you doin’, baby?”

Casting a sideways glance at him, she smiled briefly before lifting her own glass to sip.  One socked foot swayed at the bottom of her crossed leg as she hummed and laid a palm on his knee.  “I’m good.  Even though your method of getting me here was questionable, I’m glad I came over.”

“Yeah?  You were in the mood for Mexican?”

“No.”

He knew the answer before he’d posed the facetious question, but when she only sipped her wine instead of clarifying, Jon became legitimately curious.  “Then why?”

“There’s no deep, meaningful reason.”  Diminutive fingers pressed into denim when she squeezed his knee.  “I just like being with you.”

Jon curved his entire hand around the back of her neck with a gentle grasp that silently returned the sentiment.  “You feel safe here?”

The delicate column of muscle in his grip contorted when she turned to meet his eyes.  “I have a gun.  I feel safe pretty much anywhere.”

This was another of those moments when he disliked the very trait that he admired and was attracted to – her independence.  She would be fine with or without him, and while ninety-nine days out of a hundred, Jon found that to be the perfect scenario, there was once in a while where he liked the old-fashioned definition of a relationship.  The one where a man protected and provided for his woman, and the woman took care of her man’s heart and house. 

It didn’t happen often, but tonight there was a small corner of his psyche that was longing for that traditionalism. 

That’s because you’re in the process of doing something that may be a very stupid thing – for the sole reason of protecting her. 

While a large part of that thought was true, there was also another, more selfish, facet to what he was in the process of doing.  Jon wasn’t a good sharer, even if it was in name only, and having a married girlfriend frustrated him in concept alone.  Dealing with Owen’s bullshit on top of it only compounded his irritation.

Cramming that irritation back down into its hidey hole behind his left kidney, Jon leisurely inquired, “You have a permit to carry concealed?”

“No.”

The rigid line of her jaw stole both her tranquil profile and telegraphed that she knew where he was going next.  He was just as predictable as she was smart, evidently.

“Then you’re not safe all the time.”

“I was afraid you were going to start,” she intoned blandly, gaze slipping past him and out the terrace door.  “It’s nothing other than an empty threat to make him feel like he has control over something when he’s lost all control.  I’m being cautious, but the reality is that the treat is fictitious.”

“You don’t know that, Chiara.”

Dispassionate cocoa irises slid back to snag his.  “Let’s skip the debate and get to where you’re taking this.”

Jon skated a thumb up the column of her neck, sweeping it beneath the diamond and pearl adorned earlobe to the hairline behind her ear.   Originally, there hadn’t been an agenda for tonight beyond seeing and being naked with her - the peace of mind that came with visual confirmation that all was right in the world.

Now that part of his mind was eased, leaving the rest with time to stir up other shit – and there was no bigger piece of shit than Owen.  So here Jon was, on the verge of being the heavy in her life again, but he couldn’t frigging help it.  Seeing what was best and encouraging it – strongly – was just who he was and what he did.  If she wasn’t used to it yet, she’d better start getting that way.  It wasn’t likely to go away.

“Is there any way at all that you can finish up with work before Friday?  He knows that’s where you are nine or ten hours a day, which makes you a sitting duck for whatever kind of delusional mischief he can manage.”

Her hand glided from his knee when she bent forward to put her empty wineglass on the table, and she remained perched on the edge of the cushion to speak over her shoulder.  “There’s building security and all that, you realize?”

“Which might be useful if you knew who the fuck you were looking for.”

Rolling lithely onto the balls of her feet to stand, she smoothed both palms down the sides of her jeans and stepped over his feet to migrate toward the terrace doors.  The lights outside had been drawing her attention intermittently since they’d been sitting here, and now she was succumbing to their physical lure.

Jon had the same problem.  Those damn windows drew him like a magnet whenever he was in here – particularly if he had something on his mind, as Chiara so obviously did. 

“So you want me to just not go back?  And do what?  Sit here in your similarly secure building all day and wait for nothing to happen?"

A deeply frustrated breath flared his nostrils as it came in, and Jon scooted his wineglass onto the table beside hers before rising.  He wasn’t frustrated with her, particularly, because there was no sign of belligerence in his girlfriend.  She was simply asking questions in what might be a deceptively passive voice.

Approaching the figure who had both arms folded at her waist as she looked at either the skyline or her own reflection, Jon settled a hand on each of her shoulders and squeezed. 

“It makes me feel like I have some control, Chiara.”

Her countering words bounced off the glass and back at him, “But your control is over me, not the situation, and leaves me lacking the very same thing you’re trying to find.” 

There was no screaming.  No yelling.  Those he could’ve dealt with by digging in his heels and blustering through until she bent to his will simply to shut him up. 

This though…  Her quiet, profoundly truthful observation made him feel a little bit like an idiot.  It didn’t change how much he hated the thought of her being a sitting duck in a very well-known pond, but Jon now didn’t feel quite so brilliant about his proposed solution.

Letting defeated hands drift from her shoulders, Jon laid his arms atop the ones she had wrapped around her waist.  He angled his head to dust a kiss over the side of her exposed neck before softly murmuring, “You’re right.”

Two simple words were all that were required to soften the rigidity of her torso, and he planted bare feet wide to accept the weight as she reclined into his chest.  “We may have just had a grown-up moment, there, you know.  I almost didn’t recognize us without the yelling.”

“Scary, huh?”

“Only because I wonder if it means we’re losing our spark.”  The light jest was offered as her head lolled back to rest against his shoulder.  “I understand your need for control because it’s so much like my own.  That’s why I know how hard it is for you to accept that there’s very little here for us to control, and I’m also aware of how chafing that is.  Trust me when I say that I’m not any happier with this than you are.  There’s just nothing to be done.”

Not entirely true, he thought to himself.  There may be nothing that she would consider doing, but she wasn’t quite the same ruthless motherfucker from Jersey that had fought the world for everything he had. 

The more correct statement was “there’s nothing to be done now.” 

Except… Maybe…

“Our similarities are useful when we’re not butting heads,” he offered as subdued thanks for her understanding.  “I just had another idea about that control, though – that benefits both of us.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” The lazy inquiry was offered without change of position.  Her lax body still leaned heavily against him without tension, and he took that as a positive sign.

Jon snugged his arms tighter, bending to touch coaxing lips to the base of her neck.  “We could get out of the city altogether.  Both of us.”

“You mean go stay in Jersey?”

“No.”  He didn’t mean that at all.  “If you’ll finish up everything at the office on Monday morning….  We could steam up the windows in Cinderella’s castle on Monday night.”

Now she went tense, he thought with a smile.  There was only an instant before she pushed out of his grasp and whirled with question marks dancing in her eyes.  “Seriously?”

“I’d probably have to pull some strings – and sing at somebody’s birthday party down the road – but, yeah.  I think I can make it happen.”

She wanted to.  The desire radiated from her in waves, but she was holding it back with the force of a SWAT team controlling a riot scene. 

“What about Nana?  I can’t imagine there’s a pet policy in the castle and leavnig her with my family isn't doable.  Owen knows where all of them live.”

Since Nana was the one who had been directly/indirectly threatened, he could understand the counselor’s concern.  That wasn’t something he’d thought about before making the offer, but off the top of his head…

“The boys love her.  She can stay at Dorothea’s with them.” 

Maybe.  If his ex-wife didn’t tell him to kiss her ass.  She wasn’t a huge dog fan, especially considering the limitations of pets in Manhattan.

Clearly, Chiara was having similar thoughts because one of her eyebrows was sitting ridiculously high in her forehead.  “Really?  Dorothea?  You think that’s going to fly?”

“It might.  And if not…”  He grinned as he realized who loved that damn dog even more than his kids did.  “Tony will keep her, because I’ll ask him to do it in front of his kids and wife.”

123: Balance

November 7

“You’re spending the night with me.”

Critically eyeing her work on the governor’s portrait, Charlie absently reminded, “You’ve got the boys.”

“Who know you and have known for over two months that we’re dating.  They’re eleven and thirteen.  They get the concept of a relationship.”

She tucked the phone against her shoulder she could reach for the cloth to wipe her paintbrush.  The portrait wasn’t finished but there was significant progress being made – and it was pretty good, if she did say so herself.  The shading wasn’t quite right and there was something about his eyes that was proving to be trickier than anticipated, but she was getting closer to a finished product.

“You don’t have them that often, Jon, and it’s only one more night.  I’m fine at Luke’s.”

She brought art supplies over to her brother’s apartment on Thursday night and had been happily painting all day today while Luke was out visiting job sites and playing basketball.  She got up periodically to let Nana out into the little back yard but little else had prompted her to leave her makeshift studio in the living room.  She was so engrossed that it was a surprise to look at her watch and find it was five o’clock.

Since Jesse’s football game in Pittsburgh was at noon, she could only assume it was over and that Jon was either back in New York or on his way.   This was the first she’d heard from him since last night’s call, beyond a couple of text messages. 

“No.” 

With Nana making figure eights around her ankles, Charlie had to let the dog out for another potty break.  Furry feet padded along beside her through the ground-floor apartment toward the back door, while she tried to figure out what Jon was objecting to, but by the time Nana zoomed outside, she still had no idea. 

“No, what?”

“No, you’re not staying at Luke’s.  I want you with me.”

And she wanted to be with him.  That was a given on any day of the week.  What she didn’t want was to be the source of Jake and Romeo’s locker room talk.  Boys that age talked to other boys, and she shuddered to think of what they said when a woman took up residence in their father’s bed. 

“I don’t like being Dad’s sleepover girlfriend.” 

“Too damn bad, since that’s the only option we have for the time being – or that you ever plan on offering me, for that matter.”  He curbed his petulant tone with a soft huff and swapped it for something that more closely resembled a political platform.  “There are too many times when we won’t be in the same city, Chiara.  When we are, I've decided we'll goddamn-well be in the same house.”

Standing at the back door, with an arm folded across her waist, Charlie rotated her stiff neck while keeping an eye on the dog. 

This was nothing more than his overreaction to Owens thug-like shenanigans.  Jon's concern was appropriately noted and appreciated because she found them endearing, but he needed a bit of a reality check. 

“Funny how that policy is just now being instilled.  It certainly hasn’t applied in the last several weeks, when we did what we needed to do based on the circumstances.”

“That’s exactly what’s happening now,” he fired back without missing a beat.  “Circumstances are such that I want you with me.”

Was this really worth quarreling over?  All the points he made were valid ones, and since she’d rather be in his bed than any other, why did it matter what pre-teens said?  Jon had good boys and would explain his relationship with Charlie in a way that made it perfectly acceptable.  In her experience, he could spin a situation in any direction he wanted it to go.  this should be a piece of cake for him.

Opening the door so that Nana could prance back inside and give an all-over body shake, she smiled at both the dog and into the phone.  “You think you could ask me instead of trying to order me around?”

“Maybe.”

Charlie’s eyes lifted in a silent plea to God for help even as she swallowed a giggle.  “Why don’t you try?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”  He was trying to be all macho, but there was too much amusement in his voice for her to buy it.  “The panties parked in Tribeca miss you.  Wanna come visit ‘em?”

This time, the laugh was too big to be swallowed.  She loved this stubborn, righteous man, even when he was being a pain in the ass. 

“Try again,” she coached.

As she leaned a hip against the kitchen counter, there was an emphatic breath of resignation before Jon’s voice dipped into intimacy.  “I want to kiss you and hold you close enough to feel your heartbeat.  I want the heat of your body warming mine.  I want to wake up and hear you breathing next to me.  Will you give me that tonight, Chiara?”

There wasn’t a doubt in Charlie’s mind that he was saying it for the sake of sarcasm, but her heart didn’t get the memo.  It lurched to a halt before blood began coursing painfully through it at twice the usual rate.  The thumping of life-infused muscle against her breast bone along with his romantic sentiment brought other parts of her anatomy to life, too, and she crossed one foot over the other on the linoleum floor to squeeze her thighs together.

This relationship was going to be dangerous for Charlie if he knew just how easy it was to make her dance like a puppet on a string.

“Glad to see that acting career is serving you well.”  The dry remark sparked his laughter, which she spoke over to say, “Even though you grossly overplayed it, you did ask, so I’ll be over later.”

“Hey.” Merriment still resonated in the quiet request for attention.  “There’s an underlying truth there, you know.”

There probably was, but his choice of words was clearly “selective timing” on his part.  If he hadn’t been trying to coax her into something he wanted, Jon would’ve remained truer to his self-proclaimed crude roots.  The sweet talk would’ve been presented as something far more vulgar, colored with four letter words and bawdy names for body parts. 

But… Phrasing it to his advantage didn’t change the fact that he’d complied with her wishes, so Charlie opted to accept the nicer version without further remark.

“Yeah, I know.  Next time, just ask, okay?”

“Next time, I shouldn’t have to,” he countered quietly before resuming a more natural speaking voice.  “You can bring Nana, too.  They delivered some food and one of those cage things for her today.  It’s in the upstairs living room.”

Those plain-spoken words struck her as more romantic than the ones Jon used to lure her to Tribeca. Completely unaffected, they held no motive beyond making sure that her dog was with her – and safe.

What had she done to deserve him? 

Nothing.  You’ve done absolutely nothing.

The peace brought on by realizing that she was what he wanted lasted just long enough to finish dinner with Izzie the other evening.  In the wee hours of that night, with her gun close at hand and her mind troubled with thoughts of psychopathic Owen, Charlie found that she was still displeased about the relationship imbalance with Jon. 

She hadn’t come up with any brilliant solutions to solve that problem, but she would.  Eventually.

In the meantime, she would graciously accept what he offered.  “Thank you.  Nana will be happy.”

“So will the boys,” he responded to her quiet comment, completely unaware of her thoughts.  “What time can I expect you?”

“Uh…”  She consulted her watch again, finding that it was ten past five.  When he left, Luke had offered no estimate on when he might be back, so there was no point in waiting for his reappearance.  “I need half an hour to shower and change clothes plus however long the taxi takes.  About seven, I guess.”

That wasn’t quite good enough to suit her impatient boyfriend, however.  “A car will be there in forty-five minutes.  Since none of us cook, I’ll get Mexican from the place at the end of the block.  We’ll eat when you get here.  See you soon, Counselor.”

He was gone with that, and Charlie could do nothing beyond shake her head and say to the dead phone, “See you soon, Bossy.”

Twenty minutes later, she was fresh from the shower and wearing light makeup with her jeans and sweater.  She was also dodging a bouncing dog through the apartment, because Nana had gone nuts the minute Charlie picked up the leash.  Her pup was no fool, knowing precisely what that bright pink lanyard meant – they were going bye-bye.

They weren’t going bye-bye yet, though, so little Miss needed to cool her jets.

Putting the leash on top of the overnight bag that held her cosmetics and another change of clothes, she tucked a strand of hair that had come loose from her messy bun and admonished the dog, “Calm down, silly girl.  The car won’t be here for another twenty minutes.”

Assuming a seat on one end of the sofa, Charlie patted the center cushion, inviting Nana to hop up and sit with her.  The dog didn’t waste any time in snuggling against her mistress's thigh, and Charlie mindlessly patted the silky coat with one hand while using the other to tap through the contact list on her phone.

“Now sit right there like a good girl while I call Uncle Dom.”

The shower might not have been long and leisurely, but it had afforded her the opportunity to replay a bit of the domineering phone call from her boyfriend – and think about Ozzie and Harriet.  The two had come together in something of a brainstorm, in Charlie’s opinion.  At the very least, it was something. 

“Yo, Charlie.  What’s up?  Everything okay?”  Dominick practically barked the anxious questions. 

Owen’s latest and greatest threats from within jail had put her entire family on edge, and unexpected calls from her were immediately suspect for something wrong instead of something right.

“This is not an emergency,” she droned in a fashion similar to the warnings that flashed across the television.  “This is not even a test.  I just wanted to talk to you for a minute.”

“Okay.  Cool.  Lemme step out back.”  There was the rattle of dinnerware and orders being placed, letting Charlie know that Dom was working at Juliana’s tonight.  When the metallic clang of a door came and was followed by traffic noise instead of the kitchen soundtrack, he spoke again.  “So talk.”

Now came the awkward part.  The part where he was going to laugh, ridicule and mock – and remember.

Suck it up.  Jon’s made untold sacrifices for you.  You can put up with some ribbing from your brother.

“I actually need a favor more than to just talk.”  Nana’s brought her chin to rest on top of Charlie's leg, peering up with what seemed to be encouragement.  “Will you teach me to cook?”

There was a millisecond of dead air space that seemed like a lifetime of deafness before Dom came back with, “I’m sorry.  What did you just say?”

“You heard me."  She spoke with bravado in spite of the merciless heckling that she knew aws on deck. The last time she’d tried to learn to cook wasn’t ideal, to say the least. 

“Okay, first of all…”  The thread – more like a rope, actually – of amusement coloring his words didn’t offer Charlie hope of being let off the heckling hook.  “You told Ma thirty years ago that you were never going to be the stereotypical Italian woman, tied to a stove.  The one time she made you cook Sunday dinner, the noodles that you didn’t set on fire were rubber, the sauce was scorched, and you used an unholy amount of oregano in the meatballs – like half a cup.  It was inedible.”

That’s because her mother made her, and the boys tormented her from start to finish.  The noodles were intentional retribution for that, but the sauce and oregano were not.  She was flustered and spent more time arguing with her brothers than listening to her mother’s instructions. 

In subsequent years, basic culinary skills had become a small part of her repertoire.  There was no hidden talent than had been unearthed, but she managed not to embarrass herself.  Noodles were not a problem, nor were microwaved dishes and salads.  She could do those as well as anyone, despite the memories that her brother was stirring.

“I was there.  There’s no need for the play-by-play.”

“Fine, then.  We’ll move onto second of all… Why in the hell have you decided to cook at your age?  I thought that’s why you had me teach the boys how to do it?  And you always said you loved take-out.”

Love was a strong word, but she didn’t mind take-out. The cliché about homemade being superior to restaurant food was true, and any fool would choose it if given the option. Besides, it wasn't her preference that was the primary consideration.  

“Times change.  Circumstances change.”  Charlie’s explanation held admirable neutrality.  “I won’t be tied to a desk for ten hours a day, so I thought I’d broaden my horizons a little.”

“Hm.  Does this have anything to do with Jon?”

Damn her brother and his cop training.  Or maybe it was just that he knew her a little too well after forty-five years.  Regardless, she wasn’t admitting to squat.

“Jon?  No.  I’ve decided I like aprons with tomato sauce stains.  That’s all.”

Dom’s hearty belly laugh prompted Charlie to smile.  There was no way in hell he was buying that story, but what remained to be seen was whether he’d accept it or not.

“You’re so full of shit, it’s easy to see why your eyes are brown, little sister.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she denied his mirthful allegations that she wasn’t being truthful.  “And I don’t really care.  All I want to know is if you’ll teach me a few things.  Yes or no?”

Intermittent laughter was still trickled over the line, and she thought he may have even sniffed.  Surely it wasn’t funny enough to produce tears?  She was a woman.  Women cooked.  It was not that comical.

“Yeah, yeah,” he finally chortled.  “When do you want to do this?”

Giving Nana a pat of satisfaction, she puckered her lips down at the little dog and winked.  Charlie was now on a forward path toward relationship balance.

122: Just Do It

November 6

Jon stood at the terrace door in the upstairs living room, peering through the glass without really seeing anything past the end of his nose.  He was stuck in a repetitive pattern of deliberation for much of the last several days, and it was coming to the point where he needed to make a move or stop thinking about it.

Should he make the call?  Could he afford to take the risk?  What was the worst possible scenario?  Was soothing his impatience worth the cost?   Could he survive it? 

So many damn questions and not nearly enough answers to allow him to make a final decision.  He needed to talk to somebody who wasn’t living the situation to offer an objective opinion, and oddly enough, he thought that might be the same person he’d call to pull the trigger, as it were. 

If there was anyone who would understand, it would be Tico.  As much as Jon tried not to think about it, his friend had slept with the counselor – more than once – so he understood that there was something more to her.  Something that could convince a man to do things outside the norm. 

White gold was cool to the touch as Jon laid a palm over the center of his chest, covering his necklace charms along with a good portion of the black shirt he would wear to the Knicks game in a couple hours. 

Jake and Romeo had eaten and were playing video games until it was time to head over to the Garden, which would be about another half-hour or so.  Their electronic shit bugged him after about ten minutes, which is what had driven him upstairs to relative quiet – until his thoughts had become deafening. 

Considering how busy Jon’s days and nights had been lately, he should take this window of opportunity and solitude to just fucking do it and get it off his mind.

Unfolding arms that were as antsy as the feet that couldn’t stand still more than a minute or two, he pulled the phone from his pocket and paced over to perch on the edge of one of the couches while the call went through. 

“Jonny,” the familiar deep rumble greeted.  Who knew that thirty years ago, a man who he’d been afraid to even speak to would end up being one of his closest friends?  “What’s up?”

“Teek.  You have a minute, man?”

“Yeah, sure.  You okay?  You sound torqued.”

“I am.  A little.”

“Fucking record company again?”

With both eyes rolling back in his head, Jon bounced back to his feet while getting pissed all over again on that topic.  Those fuckers were last night’s business, and they still wouldn’t bend enough to give him what he wanted. 

He hadn’t spoken to anyone at the record company since tossing the last paper-bag-wrapped album on somebody’s desk in July and impolitely telling them where to stick the goddamn thing.  Then, out of the blue, they’d asked for a dinner meeting last night. 

Curious as to what they wanted, while secretly hoping that they were prepared to meet him somewhere in the middle on a new contract, he agreed.  It was his first and only record label, and he wanted to stay, but Jesus!  He wasn’t signing the last half of his life away the same way he had the first.  No way.  They’d compromise or he’d find someone else who would.

“Partly, but not the reason for the call.”  The next five minutes were spent briefly outlining Chiara’s situation with Owen, from Jones Beach in 1995 to his prolonged stranglehold on her life that even jail hadn’t loosened. 

“Christ Almighty,” his friend breathed at the end.  “That’s some story, and I hate it because I remember her as being a good kid.  That she ended up in something like this is a bitch.”

“It’s a fucking twisted psychological thriller, and I’m tired of seeing her live it,” Jon agreed.  “That piece of fuck shouldn’t get another two, three years of her life.  He’s gotten enough and she deserves to be free of this shit.”

“Free to be with you?” the other man asked shrewdly.  There were pluses and minuses to practically living with a guy for so long.  Sometimes he knew you as well as you knew him. 

“Free to be free,” Jon contested.  “She’s with me, either way.”

“Okay.  So why are you calling me?”

It was do or die time.  Did he speak the words aloud that he’d only allowed himself to think up to this point?  Or did he puss out and let the whole thing ride to its natural conclusion?

You’ve never been a chicken-shit.  You told her you fix problems, not run from them – or stand by and let them happen.

Taking a sharp corner around the end of one of the sofas, he dropped his ass lightly to the arm of it, finding enough balls to spit it out.  “You used to know some… resourceful people back in the day.  People that would do anything for a buck.”

“Yeah.  And?  Where you goin’ with this, Jonny?” 

He was going back and forth, now pacing a hole in the floor of his living room.   He was going just a little bit crazy.  He was going to the edge of a chasm that he wasn’t quite sure about jumping into, but he had to know what was waiting at the bottom if he did.

“I’m askin’ if you still know those guys, and if they’d still do anything – or make anything happen – for a buck.  If so, I’d like someone to meet Owen and talk – or not.”

There was a prolonged pause before the next question came. “I thought you said the guy was in jail?”

“He is, but stranger things have happened in jail.  You know it and I know it.” 

He hoped.  The Godfather could wreak his vengeance inside a state pen, while remaining pristinely removed from it.  Without a doubt.  However, maybe Jon was taking poetic license with a fictional character and transferring that ideal onto simple thugs. 

The guys that Tico knew might be lucky to find their own asses with both hands, a map and a flashlight.

A slowly released breath seeped from south Florida and all the way up the East Coast into Jon’s ear before his friend slowly ventured, “I might know one or two people.  In Miami.  But I have no idea what’s available, how, how much.  None of that.”

“But you can find out.  Right?”  Jon sounded far more confident than he felt, but sometimes you had to bullshit your way through a place you didn’t want to be in order to get to the place you wanted to be.

“I probably can, but…  Jon, are you sure you really wanna do this?  I mean, really sure?  Because this is a pretty big fuckin’ deal.  Why don’t you think about it for a while, man?  Maybe things will work out without any… encouragement.”

It was a big deal.  He got that, which is why it had taken him this long to decide to call his friend in the first place.  He’d also promised himself that he’d listen to Tico’s point of view and take it into consideration.

The drummer had been the voice of reason on more than one occasion when tempers were flaring backstage.  It could be his deep voice that enhanced the air of wisdom he carried, but everybody always stopped to listen to the Hitman.

Hitman.  Hit man.  How fuckin’ ironic is that?

“My mind is pretty well made up.”  Jon pawed one hand over his nape when coming back to the spot at the terrace doors, not seeing any more through the glass than he had the first time around.  “But I’ll give it some more consideration.”

“Good.  If she’s with you either way, there’s no reason to let your impatience push you into a bad decision.”

Not fully believing that it was impatience fueling this decision, he simply made a noncommittal grunt.  He was on the verge of asking about things in Florida, when an incoming call interrupted. 

Pulling the phone away from his face, he found that it was Chiara, prompting him to say, “I’ve got another call, but thanks Teek.  I’ll let you know soon.”

“Sure, man.  Take care.” 

Jon turned away from the terrace to again sit on the couch as he swiped the phone screen.  Maybe this time he’d actually stay sitting. 

“Hey, baby.”

“How’s my favorite crocodile?”

With Jake’s game and that damn record company dinner last night, he’d been in a funk and hadn’t called her.  He also hadn’t talked to her today beyond a quick couple of texts, and the lightness in her voice made him lighter along with her.  The worry about Owen being a pain in the ass slid away, allowing mouth to turn effortlessly up at the corners and his ass to finally sit without the compulsive need to pop up again. 

“Smiling.  How was your day?”  Crossing his legs, he leaned his head back on the cushions to survey the recessed lighting in the ceiling. 

“My day was okay.  Do you have a few minutes to talk before the game?”

“Yeah.  The boys are playing video games and we won’t leave for a little while yet.  Something up?”

The sigh of reluctance was quiet, but he heard it right before a dog issued a single, sharp ‘yip’ and a male voice called out, “Hey!  Tell Jon I love him!”

He assumed the dog was Nana as the counselor told the man to shut his trap.  The other logical assumption was that one of the Del Vecchios was visiting the brownstone, but Jon wasn’t able to decipher which one.

“Who was that?”

“Luke.”  The single name was brimming with exasperation.  “He’s been like a giddy teenager since he had drinks with the publicist you hooked him up with.  Apparently, you chose well.”

Grinning into the phone, Jon scratched his chest with satisfaction.  Lucy wasn’t his publicist, but he’d worked with her a time or two for other reasons.  Last time he saw her, she’d been complaining about not being able to find a decent guy to date since her divorce. 

“Glad to hear they hit it off.  She’s good people, so remind him to treat her right even if it doesn’t work out.”

“I will,” Chiara promised as her brother bellowed out a question about food.  There was a scuffling that indicated her hand over the phone before he heard a muffled, “I’m on the phone!  Fix whatever you want and I’ll eat it!”

“You have food in your kitchen to fix?” Jon teased.  The cabinets were habitually bare, due to her inability and lack of desire to cook.  Coffee and protein bars were the only thing he’d found on a regular basis. 

“His kitchen; not mine,” was her rueful admission.  “Nana and I are staying with him for a couple of days.”

A frisson of unrest had Jon uncrossing his legs and sitting upright.  “Why?”

“Because Owen called and threatened me the other evening.”

The other evening.

Which meant at least two days ago, and this was the first Jon was hearing about it.  If news of the incident itself didn’t piss him off, that did.

So much for sitting still. 

Bouncing to his feet, Jon backtracked to the terrace doors, shoving a hand through his hair while voraciously swearing under his breath.  It was a toss-up as to whether he wanted to yell at her first or find out about Owen first, but priorities dictated his terse, “Tell me what he said.”

“I don’t think it’s a big deal,” she was quick to reassure, but he wasn’t reassured.  Her downplay in lieu of offering facts only cranked up the dial on his testiness.

“Why don’t you fucking tell me, so I can share that opinion?” 

With a sigh that told of her biting back her own testiness, the counselor relayed the brief conversation.  Cloaked in innuendo and subtleties that would never stand up in court, the piece of fuck had essentially threated to have her dog killed and predicted more dire tragedy if she didn’t “come to her senses and stop playing games”. 

“Owen doesn’t know anyone that could carry out threats like that,” came the chaser while Jon’s blood simmered like pasta sauce that had been sitting on the stove all day.  “I’m sure he’s bluffing, but…  Well, it’s better to err on the side of caution.”

Thank God she’d done something that wasn’t stupid. 

Several items tumbled over and over in Jon’s mind, fighting for supremacy.  Why hadn’t she called him as soon as it happened?  Or the next day?  Or the next?  Why wasn’t she erring on the side of caution by staying with him?  They weren’t dating casually – they were in a motherfucking monogamous relationship.   He should be the one she turned to for this shit.

The only upside he could see to the whole goddamn thing was that she was the one telling him, even if it was two days late.  A couple months ago, he would’ve found out about it from one of her brothers.  That was the only thing that kept him from screaming obscenities into the phone – or hanging up on her.

While he was still trying to decide which direction to go, she plunged ahead with more inane reassurances.  “Vince has talked to the administration and Owen won’t be making any more calls from prison.  There’s really nothing to worry about.”

Another word from her and he was going to lose control of the obscenities that were multiplying like rabbits behind his curbed tongue.  She hadn’t even bothered to think about Owen convincing someone else to do his dirty work, which was way too easy for Jon to visualize in light of the fucker’s resourcefulness thus far. 

“Let me talk to Luke.”

“Why?”

The belligerence in that single word had him grinding his molars.  “Because I can’t fucking talk to you without saying something I’ll regret later.”

“Then don’t talk.”  Her snapped advice didn’t do a thing to alleviate his rising temper.  “I called because I missed you, wanted to hear your voice, and needed to bring you up to speed.  All that’s been accomplished, so have fun at the games today and tomorrow.  I love you.”

His mouth was open to shoot back when the line went dead, leaving him gripping the phone with enough force to potentially crack the screen. 

She frustrated the hell out of him sometimes!  The independence that made her so attractive also came back to bite him in the ass on a regular basis.  In this situation, she hadn’t done anything that he wouldn’t have prescribed himself, but the fact that he was so far behind the curve in finding out chapped his ass.

This wasn’t a problem with plumbing.  It wasn’t car trouble, scheduling issues, or any of a million other everyday things that he’d be fine knowing she handled on her own and hearing about later.  This had the potential to be life threating, and her life meant too much to him to…

“I can’t think about it,” he muttered under his breath while flipping the phone over and pulling up text messaging.  “Take care of business first.”

[5:53 PM]JON: I’m REALLY sure.  Make something happen.  Anything. 

With that one fired out to Tico, he leaned his ass against the arm of the couch for a couple of deep breaths before composing the next one.  He went through several drafts, and when it got to be the length of a frigging email, Jon backspaced over the whole thing. 

He could lecture Chiara later.  They could work out details of where her ass would be sleeping later.  He could explain his goddamn wounded pride later. 

Right now, with uncertainty hanging in the air on so many levels, what was important could be summarized with just a few characters.

[5:57 PM]JON: I love you.  I need you to be safe.

[5:59 PM]CHIARA: I am.  <3

Maybe she was, but he was still calling Luke…  just to be sure.

121: Guarantee

November 5

Charlie swallowed a yawn as she climbed the stairs at Grand Central, surprised to spot a red beret waiting at the top rather than on the street. 

“Hello, Charlie Girl,” Millie greeted cheerfully with one hand perched on the handle of her cart as she nodded toward the two cups of coffee and pastry bag.  “I knew Jon wouldn’t forget to tell you, but I thought I’d watch the masses file through to be on the safe side.”

The older woman’s bruises were healing, but still evident enough that they gave Charlie reason to pause and wrinkle her nose with empathized pain.  She was worried that there was something worse going on that Millie was confessing to, it was beyond her control.  Stubbornness was a trait that she recognized well, and Millie had perfected it before Charlie had even known the meaning of the word.

“He did tell me,” she confirmed with a pleasant smile, letting it go and passing over the paper cup before dropping the bagels on top of the cart.  Since Jon had mentioned Millie’s enjoyment of a croissant when they had breakfast together, Charlie included one of those in the bag today.  “He also told me that you helped him choose a beautiful piece of jewelry.  Thank you for that.”

Subdued eyes lit with the sizzle of a Fourth of July sparkler, bringing an extra lift to the creases at the corners of her mouth.  “You liked it then.  I’m glad.”

“I love it, and the story behind it was so intriguing.”

Charlie didn’t like that her show of interest was enough to douse the sparklers and put a strain on Millie’s smile. “I’ve always thought so.  Can we sit and talk for a moment longer than usual?  Do you have time?”

“My schedule is becoming more and more flexible." What were they going to do if she was late?  Fire her?  She was only going to be there a week longer, anyway.  “Let’s hop the escalator to the dining concourse.  Sound okay?”

“Perfect.”

A few minutes later they were seated on the outside row of tables, immersed in the drone of people talking either to food stand workers, other commuters or their phones.  Watching Millie settle herself in one of the chairs, Charlie tucked her briefcase between her feet and popped the lid from her coffee to enjoy the aroma while composing a way to ask what prompted today’s meeting.

“It’s unusual for you to ask me to visit,” she ultimately dangled out there, assuming that the carrot would be taken.

“Yes, I know, and I hope it wasn’t an inconvenience, but…”  Pushing the paper cup aside, she regally folded her hands on the table and declared, “I’m invoking my God-given right as an old woman to be nosy.”

It was a struggle not to laugh at her refined belligerence, and after a moment, Charlie gave up trying and let her soft giggle slip free.  “We’ve been visiting for almost a year now, Millie.  I have to say that I’m curious to know what’s inflamed your nosiness after all this time.”

“Blame Jon.  He invited me into your life by letting me point out that bracelet you're wearing,” came the equally amused response.

“Well, then.  I’ll have to flog him with wet pasta next time I see him.” 

Which wouldn’t be until at least Sunday.  At about eight last night, after she got home from dinner with Izzie, the text came saying he and the guys were working late and that he was staying in Jersey.  That was right before she’d received the phone call that she wasn’t thinking about today – the one that had kept her up most of the night painting with the nine-millimeter next to the easel.

Then tonight was Jake’s football game, tomorrow night was the Knicks with both younger boys who would then stay over at Jon’s so that they could all go to Jesse’s game in Pittsburgh on Saturday.  Sunday brunch with Stephanie would be followed by more studio work and, depending on how things went there, Charlie and Jon would pick a bed to cohabitate in for the night. 

She had been completely truthful when telling Izzie that Jon was always busy and, while he invited her to join him in any those events, Charlie declined.  With legal work still consuming her days, nights were the only free time to paint.  The governor’s portrait was due by the end of the month and there were two new projects awaiting her attention, so the stars just weren’t aligning for she and Jon this week.

Although, after last night, she was tempted to force them into alignment. 

“A good noodle flogging never hurt a man,” Millie agreed now, drawing Charlie from her thoughts.  “Tell me about your schedule dear.  You mentioned that it’s becoming more flexible?”

“Yes.  I’m making a career change, that will take me out of the nine-to-five rut.”

“Oh.  How nice for you.”

There was an undertone of disappointment that prompted Charlie to pledge, “Now we’ll be able to go have a nice lunch every week instead of coffee on the run.”

Wispy brows pushed toward the brim of her beret.  “So you’ll be coming into Manhattan still from…  Where is it you live?”

“Brooklyn Heights.”

Those two words created a distance wider than the two feet of table space, and Charlie didn’t understand why.  “You have something against Brooklyn?”

“No, dear.  I just think you’re silly to make that trip if you don’t have to.  What is your new career, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Maybe the “unnecessary” commute was silly to some people, but Charlie couldn’t simply just walk away from the older woman.  Yes, Milliewas fiercely independent and seemed to do fine on her own, but she was still aging and would continue to do so while remaining on the streets without dependable shelter.  In the absence of finding her a permanent place to stay, these welfare-check visits were the only thing that allowed Charlie to sleep at night. 

It still remained to be seen whether she’d be able to sleep the first night the temperature dipped below freezing.

She needed to talk to Jon about this.  Millie seemed smitten with him, so perhaps he could convince her to make a change.  Charlie would even be willing to have her live in the brownstone either part-time or full-time.  

Something.

Anything.

“Art,” she answered to the question at hand, while planning a call to her influential boyfriend between here and the office.  “Now that my boys are grown and my life… is changing, I’m accepting newfound encouragement and support to pursue my dreams.”

Distant eyes warmed again as fondness claimed the nuances of Millie’s expression.  “I will presume that comes from the other member of Team Monogamy and skip to asking what medium your art is?”

“Paint, mostly, but also drawing.  And your presumption is correct,” she confirmed with a grin.  “Which is something else I wanted to ask.  Since you were kind enough to help him choose a bracelet, I hoped you might do the same for me.”

“Ah, dear girl…”  Her frail chuckle was raspy from decades of use.  “A man needs help shopping, but women were born to shop.  I’m sure you’d be much better able to choose something for a man of his stature than I.”

Leaning forward, Charlie sought to convey her sincerity by clasping Millie’s hand inside hers.  “Whether that’s true or not, your opinion would still be valued – and your company appreciated.”

It was precisely the right thing to say, as Independence Day resurged with a fresh sparkler display in the eyes that had seen countless holidays .  “That's very kind of you.  Perhaps I will – if you’ll indulge my curiosity.”

“Of course.”  With a gentle squeeze, Charlie’s hand slid free so that retreat and rest her back against the plastic chair that looked just like those around it.  “What is it you’re curious about?”

“Your husband.” 

The abruptly succinct answer startled her, making her just as abrupt in saying, “I didn’t realize you knew I was married.” 

“I… overheard a phone conversation that Jon had on Monday and asked some pointed questions that were none of my business.”  When realizing that Charlie was tensing, the older woman flapped impatient fingers in her direction.  “There’s no point in getting your knickers in a bunch and doubling the amount of wet noodles to flog him with.  You and I both know men don’t stand a chance against an inquisitive woman.”

Of all people, Millie wasn’t going to judge, and for that matter, Jon would never say anything inappropriate.  He was the embodiment of tact, discretion and diplomacy – except when they were arguing.  Letting her shoulders rest more naturally so that the muscles weren’t bunched, Charlie admitted, “We are a persistent gender.”

“Indeed.  Now, I believe he mentioned ‘blackmail’ and ‘extortion’.  I wasn’t comfortable pushing the bounds of my nosiness about those with him, so that’s why I asked to see you.  And if you feel it’s none of my business, then that will be the end of it.  But I really am quite… interested, intrigued, concerned.  Any and all of the above.”

Was it going to make any difference of a harmless little homeless woman knew?  Charlie was more concerned about the media butting into the life of a celebrity’s new love interest.  So far, all had been quiet on that front, but she was holding her breath in anticipation of the moment when someone would unearth that little tidbit and exploit it. 

As for Owen…  Well, she didn’t give a tinker’s damn who knew what a louse he was.

“I’m convinced that the man I married has become psychopathic.  He’s spent twenty years letting me earn a living for our family while holding me emotionally hostage.”  With that brief introduction, she offered Millie the Reader’s Digest version of “Life with Owen”.  Her conclusion was, “And he was prepared to commit me to some facility, making everyone believe I was the one who needed mental help.”

In accordance with Jon’s request, she was still seeing her therapist, but she didn’t need mental help, by any stretch of the imagination.

“Nobody would believe that load of horse puckey,” Millie guffawed rudely while scooting her now-empty cup back and forth between fidgety hands on the table’s surface.  “And what is this about your desire for swift justice?  Is there an underlying reason beyond your desire to be rid of his heinous ass to more formally claim a very nice ass?”

There was, in fact, and it had happened just yesterday evening.  The timing was such that she hadn’t told anyone yet, but the incident was definitely one more reason Charlie would like to see Owen rotting in a locked room without a key.

“Actually…” she confessed hesitantly with a smile at the "ass" comment.  “My husband called last night, threatening to have someone take my dog for a ‘very long walk’ if I don’t drop the charges.  According to him, the longer I wait ‘the more tragic things will become’.  He spoke in nothing but vague terms and innuendo considering that all his calls are recorded, but he got his point across and managed equally infuriate and terrorize me.  Swift justice, swift vengeance…  Either would do.” 

Owen Foster didn’t have ties with criminals who could carry out his threats, and Charlie knew it.  He’d led such a fantastical life for so many years, that he was simply no longer playing with a full deck.  That call was him grasping at one more desperate straw to recover his life. 

He may as well call it a lost cause, because she sure as hell wasn’t going to give it back to him – nor allow him to infringe upon hers and Nana would outlive him.  Charlie would see to it, personally, which was why Vivi was taking the dog to the groomer and back to her house today.

Millie, however, didn’t know that Owen was full of shit and watched with stoic concern as her companion took a final swallow of coffee.  Putting the empty cup on the table, Charlie kicked herself for venting and making this poor woman worry.  Living on the streets was worry enough of its own.

“Oh, and convicted felons aren’t entitled to divorce settlements,” she added with a gleeful wink meant to lighten the air.  “The longer it takes to convict him, the more years I’ll have to remained tethered to his ‘heinous ass’, because I’m not giving him half of everything.  I’ve been praying for a miracle all week, but so far, nothing.”

The sunlight streamed in the windows, projecting a glint that gave Millie’s aged eyes the appearance of being hard, even as she gently theorized, “Miracles are all around us, dear.  Your miracle is in that charming beau of yours and how he’s swooped in like a Jersey knight to rescue the princess trapped in the tower.  I used to know men like that.  They were rough on the outside but also something akin to Robin Hood under all their bravado – especially when it came to women, children and animals.  They always fascinated me for that reason.”

That sounded a lot like the man who had stood at Charlie’s back for support while she confessed her sins to the Del Vecchio clan.  The man who took them on when she no longer had the energy.  Who made them understand and worked with them to devise a plan that had gotten her this far. 

“Jon likes to think himself rude and crude, but he’s actually pretty Robin Hoody himself.  He has a soft spot for anyone in need, and I’ve been blessed to receive so much of his help.  I just worry that he’ll tire of this drama before it’s over.”

Sitting forward to rake Charlie’s empty cup in and stack it in her own, Millie radiated an aura of serene confidence.  “No, he won’t.  He’ll be right there holding your hand at the end.  I guarantee it.”