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.