The Awakening of Nina Fontaine Read online

  “I know a great place in the neighborhood.” He hesitated. “Are you a vegetarian?”

  “I’m afraid not.” It seemed like everybody and their mother — literally — was a vegetarian or vegan. Nina wondered if this would be the deal breaker, the thing that would finally make Liam McAlister realize she wasn’t some hip Brooklynite but a middle-aged woman who consumed steak without a second thought.

  “Thank god.” He pulled out his phone and handed it to her. It was already on a new contact screen. “Give me your number and I’ll text for directions to your place.”

  She typed in her information and handed him back his phone.

  “See you tonight…” he looked down at the information she’d just typed into his phone, “Nina Fontaine.”

  She watched him head for the door and step out onto the pavement. He lingered in the window, his eyes on the photographs on display, before continuing out of view.

  Her heart was hammering in her chest as she returned to the photos she’d been sorting.

  What are you doing, Nina?

  11

  She was still thinking about him when she let herself into the lobby of her building after work. She’d spent the afternoon working her way through the organizational tasks Edmonia had left for her while replaying her conversation with Liam.

  She couldn’t help wondering what he was thinking. Did he think she was a cougar? If so, he was going to be sorely disappointed. She wasn’t exactly inexperienced, but after so many years married to Peter, she had all the sexual prowess of a kitten.

  On the other hand, dinner didn’t necessarily mean a date. It was possible he just wanted to be friends, a possibility she finally accepted as the most likely scenario, if only to keep from making herself crazy.

  “Fontaine!”

  Nina turned around to see Salvatore, the building’s superintendent, staring at her from the door of his ground floor apartment.

  “Hi, Sal.”

  “Don’t ‘hi, Sal’ me,” he said. “Just tell me this isn’t going to be a habit.”

  She turned around to make sure she’d shut the front door behind her. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “It’s not against the rules,” he said, “but I”m not always gonna be around to take delivery like your personal valet, you know what I mean?”

  The last five words ran together.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t order any packages.”

  “Tell that to the three giant boxes sitting in my living room, doll.”

  She moved toward him. “There must be some kind of mistake.”

  “Mistake or not, you want to get them out of my living room before Mister Twinkle pisses on them.”

  Mister Twinkle was Sal’s terrier, a tiny thing with a gray beard and a bark that could curdle milk.

  She followed Sal into his apartment and tried to make nice with the dog while he yipped at Nina’s heels.

  Sal’s apartment was laid out the same as Nina’s, but that was where the resemblance ended. Where Nina’s place was still spare, more like a hotel than a home, Sal’s was packed full of old furniture, books stacked on every surface. Piles of newspapers stood next to the sofa, and yellowing doilies sat under the fringed table lamps flanking the couch.

  The place smelled like burnt coffee, bacon, and something astringent that might have been vinegar.

  “Mister Twinkle! Hush, now!” Sal half-heartedly scolded the dog as he moved around behind the couch.

  He lifted a giant box over the back and set it on the sofa cushions. “This is one.”

  Nina shook her head. “There must be some kind of mistake. I didn’t order this.”

  “Well, there’s two more where this one came from.”

  He lifted two more boxes onto the couch where they joined the first one, three cardboard soldiers standing at least four feet tall and three feet wide.

  Nina stepped around a wing chair that was too big for the room, then worked her way around a glass coffee table piled high with old magazines.

  Now that the boxes were right in front of her, she realized they weren’t standard shipping boxes. One was black with white lettering.

  Dolce and Gabbana.

  What the…?

  She leaned into the second box, glossy red, the initials CH emblazoned on the front.

  The third box was a pearly taupe, the words Jason Wu printed on the front in a shimmery pale pink.

  “I don’t understand…”

  “This might help,” Sal said.

  She turned toward him to see that he was holding out a stark white envelope. She took it and immediately knew who it was from, the weight and velvety texture of the paper all-too familiar.

  She opened the flap on the envelope, and this time instead of her ID, a folded piece of paper waited inside.

  She pulled it out and unfolded it.

  Your choice. See you Saturday.

  JM

  212-555-8698

  Now she understood. She didn’t know what to do with it, but she understood.

  She turned to Sal. “Is there any way you can help me get these upstairs?”

  12

  “Well, I guess we won’t be going shopping tomorrow,” Nina said.

  “You’ll still need shoes,” Karen’s voice came from the phone, propped up on Nina’s coffee table, her image shifting on FaceTime as she moved papers around on her desk. “And lingerie.”

  Nina picked up the phone. “Why on earth would I need to buy lingerie?”

  “Do I need to spell it out for you?” Despite the fact that they were nearing the end of her workday, Karen’s face was perfectly made up, her lipstick a pinkish-nude that she insisted was more youthful than the strong lip colors women their age had a tendency to wear.

  “I think so,” Nina said, “because I know you’re not insinuating I’m going to sleep with Jack Morgan on our first date.”

  Karen picked her phone up and her image shifted again as she leaned back in her chair. Behind her, framed cutouts of the New York Times Bestseller lists featuring her clients came into view before disappearing as she got settled, the phone refocusing on her face.

  “Why not?” Karen asked. “It’s not 1950 and you’re not some blushing virgin saving it for her future husband.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with someone I don’t even know.”

  Karen sighed. “That’s up to you, but I highly suggest some nice underwear at the very least. You never know.”

  “Sometimes you do know,” Nina said. “And this is one of those times.”

  Karen waved away the comment. “Whatever you say. The real question is: which dress are you going to wear?”

  Nina tucked her legs up under her on the couch. “I have no idea.”

  The three dresses were completely different, and while offering her a choice was a thoughtful nod to Nina’s personal style and preference, it wasn’t exactly helpful. Unless she counted slacks and blouses, yoga pants and T-shirts, she hadn’t had a style in at least ten years.

  “You should try them on,” Karen said. “That might help.”

  “That’s true. It’s possible they won’t all fit,” Nina said.

  Karen barked out a short laugh. “Don’t count on it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Karen’s expression grew earnest. “Listen, I want you to enjoy this experience. It’s incredible, but it’s also Jack Morgan’s M.O. He makes money and he beds women, all kinds of women. Enjoy it, just — ”

  “Don’t think it means I’m special,” Nina finished for her.

  “Neen, you are special. You don’t need Jack Morgan to tell you that. I mean, I’ve lived in this city for twenty years and I’ve never had a date with him.” Karen was being demure. She’d had dates — relationships even — with plenty of powerful men. “I’m just saying: he knows what he’s doing. If he sent you three dresses, they’re all going to fit.”

  “Shit.”

  “Want me to come over tonight and h
elp?” Karen asked. “I’m supposed to meet up with an author who’s in town, but I can cancel.”

  Nina checked the time on her phone and realized it was after six. She had less than an hour to get ready for dinner with Liam McAlister.

  “It’s okay. I actually have a dinner thing,” Nina said.

  Karen’s eyebrows shot up. “A dinner thing? You mean a date?”

  Nina laughed. “Not a date. It’s a friend thing, with that guy from the after-party, Liam McAlister.”

  Karen grinned. “So let me get this straight, you’re going to the Amfar Gala on Saturday with Jack Morgan and to dinner tonight with Liam McAlister? Jesus, Nina. You should be giving me advice.”

  Nina smiled and shook her head. “It’s not like that.” She said it even though she wasn’t entirely sure it was true. “He’s a friend of my new boss. He came into the gallery today and we got to talking about photography. He’s just being nice. I think he lives around here.”

  “Hmmm… Liam is nice, but this isn’t exactly his brand of charity,” Karen said. “Besides, I saw the way he was looking at you Saturday night.”

  “You’re losing your mind,” Nina said, holding her phone out as she got up from the couch. “But unless I can wear one of these dresses to a restaurant in Brooklyn, I need to get off the phone and find something else.”

  “Keep it casual, but still pulled together,” Karen advised. “And no slacks.”

  “What’s wrong with my slacks?” Nina asked as she entered her bedroom.

  “Nothing — if you’re attending a business meeting.”

  “Ouch.”

  “I’m trying to help,” Karen said. “You’re gorgeous, and that doesn’t change with what you wear, but dinner in Brooklyn with a hot younger guy calls for jeans and a sexy top, and hopefully some cute shoes. Since you don’t do heels, wear those boots, the ones with the buckles.”

  “I don’t even know if I still have those.” There were still two boxes of clothes left unpacked in the corner of her new bedroom, a nod to the fact that she didn’t have any more available closet space anyway. “I’ll look.”

  “Wear some jewelry too,” Karen suggested. “A couple thin chains would be good.”

  “Do you want to come over and dress me like a Barbie?” Nina asked.

  “I would if you’d let me, sweetie.”

  Nina laughed. “I don’t doubt it.”

  “Text me later and let me know how it goes,” Karen said.

  “I will. And I’ll definitely need your help with these dresses.”

  “I’ll come tomorrow and you can try them on before we shop for shoes.”

  “You’re sure you have time?” Nina asked.

  “I have time,” Karen said. “I’m looking forward to it. I’ll call Julia and tell her to forget the dresses. We can take pictures of the one you choose and she can help us find shoes when we get to Bergdorf’s.”

  “What would I do without you?” Nina was only half kidding.

  “You’d attend all your dates in slacks and a blouse, and you’d still get all the best men because you’re perfect.” There was a knock from Karen’s office and she looked up from the phone and spoke to someone in the room before turning her attention back to Nina. “I have to go, but I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her grin was salacious. “Have fun tonight.”

  Nina shook her head. “Bye.”

  She hung up the phone and looked at her closet, then fell back on her bed with a sigh. She suddenly had the feeling that she was in the deep end of the pool — and that she didn’t know how to swim nearly as well as she thought she did.

  13

  Two hours later she was looking at the restaurant menu, trying to decide what to order. It was a welcome distraction from Liam — from the fact that he seemed to get more beautiful each time she saw him, that he’d dressed for their date (she had the distinct feeling that that’s what it was) in crisp gray jeans, a midnight blue button-down, and suede shoes in place of his boots.

  She’d gone down to meet him when he’d buzzed her apartment and had caught the scent of soap and shampoo and an earthy cologne that made her think of wide open spaces and blue sky and places she’d never been.

  The dynamic between them was easy, and she felt right at home in black jeans, a silky ivory blouse, and the boots she’d managed to unearth from one of the unpacked boxes in her bedroom.

  They’d taken the subway to La Superior, a red and white concrete box tagged with graffiti. The interior was cozy, illuminated by warm lighting and populated by tables placed close together. A partial menu was on display behind the counter at one end of the room, and a few Brooklynites sat on the fifties-style stools, ostensibly waiting for their takeout orders.

  “What’s good?” Nina asked.

  The menu was only one page, but where the Mexican restaurants she’d frequented in the suburbs featured Americanized favorites like tacos and enchiladas, La Superior offered beef tongue and turkey with black bean paste.

  Liam smiled at her from across the table. “Everything.”

  “That doesn’t help,” she said.

  “The Panuchos de Cochinita is terrific. The enchiladas too, if that’s your thing.”

  She laughed. “Is that a challenge?”

  He shrugged, affecting an innocent expression. “Your food, your decision.”

  She set down the menu. “I think I’ll try the Panuchos de Cochinita.”

  He nodded. “Good to know."

  She leaned back in her chair and drank from a bottle of beer Liam had suggested. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re the kind of woman who likes a dare,” he said. “That information might come in handy, that’s all I’m saying.”

  She smiled. “I think you might be dangerous, Liam McAlister.”

  His eyes met hers. “I was thinking the same thing about you.”

  The waiter came to her rescue by stopping at the table to take their order. Liam ordered something she couldn’t pronounce in an accent that made it sound like he maybe spoke fluent Spanish without making him seem pretentious.

  The waiter collected their menus and Liam took a drink of his own beer.

  “I hope this is okay,” he said.

  “It’s perfect.” She hesitated. “I’m a little relieved actually.”

  “Relieved?”

  “When you said you knew a great place, I was expecting something like that Ethiopian restaurant near the gallery,” she said. “Either that or one of those places in Brooklyn that look humble but are actually fancy.”

  “You don’t like Ethiopian?”

  She considered lying, then thought better of it. She wasn’t going to lie about who she was, not even for the gorgeous man across the table.

  “I’ve never tried it,” she said. “I’m sure it makes me sound boring, but up until the last few weeks, I was in the suburbs, the land of pizza joints and chain restaurants.”

  “I have a feeling nothing about you is boring, Nina.”

  She laughed. “I‘m sorry to burst your bubble, but you’re wrong.”

  “What brings you to the city?” he asked.

  “Divorce, midlife crisis.” She laughed, then took a deep breath, a little startled by her own honesty. “I don’t know actually.”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “You don’t know?”

  He didn’t believe her. He was being polite, but he was pressing her to answer questions she’d so far avoided, and she wondered how someone she’d just met could have that kind of insight about her.

  She folded the napkin in her lap, then opened it again while she considered the answer.

  “There are things they don’t tell you,” she said.

  “Like what?”

  She was almost uncomfortable from the focus with which he studied her, the intensity of his question.

  Like he really wanted to know. Like he couldn’t wait for the answer.

  How long had it been since a man had really wanted to know something about her? Since a man had waite
d for her to answer a question while looking at her face instead of flipping through the mail or checking his phone?

  “Like… it’s hard.” She shook her head, immediately recognizing it for the cop-out it was. “Once the dust settles from the wedding, you start… building.”

  “Building?”

  She nodded. “You have to build the facade — the house, the furniture, the couples dinners on the weekend. It’s expected. It’s what you do. And when you’re done with that, when everything’s perfect and you’ve waited the recommended two years to enjoy being newlyweds, you start trying to have kids.”

  She paused and took a drink of water.

  “Go on,” he said.

  “This doesn’t seem like great dinner conversation.” She’d almost said “first date” conversation, then caught herself in case she was wrong.

  “What’s great dinner conversation?” Liam asked. “The weather? The Mets or Yankees or whoever else sports people like to watch?”

  “Sports people?”

  He laughed. “It’s not my thing."

  “Mine either,” she said.

  “Good. Keep going.”

  “So you start trying to have kids, and that’s where the paths diverge.”

  “What paths?” he asked.

  “Some people have children. Others don’t. And if you don’t… well, you’re kind of stranded.”

  She looked up as the waiter returned, his hands full of appetizers Liam had ordered. She hoped the relief wasn’t evident on her face, that maybe now they could get sidetracked by the food.

  “Try this,” Liam said, pointing to one of the plates loaded with something that looked like mini-tacos, but with fluffier shells.

  She reached for one and lifted it to her mouth as Liam did the same. The flavor exploded on her tongue — sausage and potato and chili powder and cayenne and something she could have sworn was cinnamon.

  “Hmm…” she said, touching the corner of her mouth where she felt like something might be dripping. “Delicious.”

  “Right?” He unselfconsciously stuffed the rest of the food in his hand into his mouth, then wiped his hand on his napkin. “They serve them off little carts in Mexico City, but these are almost as good.”