Hearts Unfold (67 page)

While John packed the boxes in
the trunk of the car, Emily tried to insist she would pay Stani back, even if
in installments.
 
“It's not right for you
to spend money on me like that.”

He turned to face her in the
seat, his gaze uncharacteristically stern.
 
“Emily, I'm only going to tell you this once.
 
Money is no object when it comes to making
you happy.
 
If a few hundred dollars is
all it takes to please you, or if you needed half-a-million, I would consider
it money well spent.
 
I make a ridiculous
amount of money, and I want to do some good with it.
 
But if I didn't use a little of it to make
the woman I love smile, I would be sadly remiss.
 
Do I make myself clear?”

“It was almost a thousand
dollars, Stani, but yes, you make yourself perfectly clear.”
 
She looked up with the tiniest gleam in her
eye, her arms going around his neck.
 
“How can I show my gratitude?
 
Will you accept my undying love, my eternal devotion, as partial payment
at least?”

When John got behind the
wheel, he glanced in the rear view mirror.
 
“Where to?”
 
His answer was a
vague wave of Stani's hand.
 
“Oh, for the
love of Pete.
 
Don't you two ever come up
for air?

They had been to the museums
and the Statue of Liberty, ridden the Staten Island ferry, and walked down Wall
Street.
 
She had visited St. Patrick's
Cathedral and Trinity Church, Washington Square and Columbus Circle, been to
the opera, and seen a Broadway musical.
 
They'd watched the skaters at Rockefeller Center and the street vendors
in Times Square.
 
At every turn it seemed
they were photographed.
 
Stani remarked
that it must be a slow week; every other person of note must be out of town or
holed up with the flu.

Emily quickly realized that no
matter where they went, Stani met someone he knew.
 
In restaurants, someone invariably came by
their table to say hello.
 
In the
theaters, he was greeted by people from all walks of life, arts patrons and
fellow musicians, Broadway personalities, and even an usher who had been a
classmate at the Manhattan high school.
 
As they were leaving the hotel one afternoon, a man just emerging from a
cab had called out to Stani, rushing over to clap him on the shoulder.
 
Tall and spare, with a shock of graying hair
falling over his eyes, Emily thought he seemed immediately familiar.
 
She watched him closely as he talked to
Stani, apparently thanking him for some favor he had done.
 
When he turned to her with an appraising
smile, a cigarette dangling from his lips, her heart began to pound.
 
“You must be the amazing Emily.”
 
He looked back at Stani with a grin.
 
“You didn't do her justice, Stani.”
 
Tossing his cigarette to the pavement, he
turned toward the hotel entrance.
 
Over
his shoulder, he called back “See you in Berlin!”

Eyes twinkling, Stani steered
her toward the waiting car.

“Stani, was that. . . that
was
. . .He knows my name?”
 
She looked back at the disappearing figure of
the most celebrated conductor in the city.

“Bernard Silverman?
 
Yes.
 
I
made my debut with Bernie; I've known him since I was just a kid.
 
Of course I told him about you.
 
Now get in the car, love.
 
You're positively gawking.”

Chapter Fifty-four

By Thursday morning, Emily had
almost forgotten how intensely she’d resisted the idea of coming to New
York.
 
To her amazement, she liked the
city, the crowds, the lights and even the noise.
 
There was so much to see and do; so many
different shops and restaurants to sample.
 
The food alone was an adventure.
 
Stani had made a point of taking her to every possible kind of
restaurant, and she’d found something to like about every one of them.
 
She’d wondered at times if he hadn’t planned to
keep her so busy in order to ease her anxiety—and probably his as well—over the
dinner on Thursday night.

All day, as they visited the
Public Library and the Empire State Building, she had to force herself to
focus.
 
No matter how foolish she told
herself it was to worry, her thoughts insisted on drifting to the dreaded
moment when she would finally have to look Milo Scheider in the eye.
 
Was it possible, she wondered, that she had,
over the years, blown the letter out of proportion?
 
But even now the tone and the intent of his
carefully phrased message seemed disdainful and intimidating.
 
He had made the assumption that she would try
to cash in on Stani’s celebrity, and implied there would be consequences if she
went against his advice.
 
It was hard to
imagine that he wouldn’t be suspicious of her relationship with Stani now, after
going to such lengths to ensure her silence then.

Now, as she dressed, she
reminded her reflection in the mirror that Jack had called her a girl who could
take on anything with a smile.
 
James
McConnell had called her “brave” and said that no matter what, she’d never been
one to back down.
 
But her eyes, staring
back at her, resembled most closely a frightened deer, and her hands insisted
on shaking as she tried to pin up her hair.
 
Her stomach had for hours been twisting itself into a quivering
knot.
 
She wondered if this might be one
time in her life when her appetite would be quelled by sheer terror.

Stani must have sensed her
rising anxiety when they returned to the hotel.
 
He had delivered a very sweet pep talk, much of which she felt was also
directed toward his own concerns.
 
Milo,
he told her, would never be openly rude.
 
The worst she could expect was that he might ignore her.
 
But she would still be painfully conscious of
their history, she insisted.
 
No matter
what happened, she felt certain sitting across a dinner table from Milo Scheider
would at best be awkward and unpleasant.

She’d saved for the occasion
the black pantsuit that Martha Jean had insisted she bring with her.
 
It was too sophisticated she’d argued, but
maybe that was the impression she needed to give tonight, if she could pull it
off.
 
If Milo noticed her at all, she
wanted to at least
appear
confident.
 
Of course, if Stani thought it wouldn't do,
she'd change into something simpler.
 
The
severe lines of the tunic, with its long straight sleeves and high cowl neck,
were deceptively conservative, but the back of the neckline draped almost to her
waist, exposing the curve of her bare back.
 
As she gave herself one last glance in the mirror, she hovered between
feeling uncommonly elegant and ridiculously out of character.

But the look on Stani’s face
when she opened the door assured her of his unequivocal approval.

“Stunning, absolutely
stunning.”
 
He studied her with a tilt of
his head and a gleam in his eyes.

“Do you really like it?
 
Martha Jean said it was the most 'New York'
thing she'd ever had in the shop.
 
You're
sure it's not too. . .open?”
 
She turned
slowly for his appraisal, feeling herself blush beneath his admiring scrutiny.

“Oh, it's far too open.
 
You have no idea how wonderful you look.
 
No danger of anyone recognizing me tonight.
 
They'll all be looking at you.”
 
Pulling her into his arms, he examined her
more closely.
 
“You're wearing eye
shadow, Emily.
 
Have you been totally
corrupted so quickly?”

“I'm not a complete hick, at
least not all of the time.”
 
She held up
a manicured hand in defense, hoping he wouldn’t see that it trembled slightly.

“Nail varnish too?
 
My word, what's become of my simple little
farm girl?”
 
Grasping the hand, he kissed
the tips of her fingers.

“You don’t approve?”

He grinned, holding her
tighter.
 
“I approve
whole-heartedly.
 
I love my farm girl in
blue jeans, and my beautiful angel of mercy in white, but this version of you,
darling girl, takes my breath away.
 
I
wasn’t prepared for this level of sophistication.”

She felt herself relax, a
little of the earlier tension evaporating beneath his gaze.
 
“Martha Jean was right.
 
If I'm going to hang around you, I'm going to
have to step up my style.
 
You look nice,
too.
 
What's the meaning of this?
 
A white shirt?
 
And that little figure in your tie is definitely
gold.”

“My concession to the
uniqueness of the event.
 
Not exactly
flamboyant, I know; but I wanted to make the statement that this is the new
Stani Moss, the one who intends to be his own man.”
 
With a sigh of his own, he released her, and
picked up her wrap, a deep red cape trimmed in black curly lamb.
 
“Another of Martha Jean's suggestions?
 
Remind me to write her a nice, long thank you
note.”

At the door, she hesitated,
drawing him around to look into his eyes.
 
“You’re sure about this?
 
What if he
disapproves of me?
 
Oh, Stani, the last
thing I want is to create more tension for you.”
 
Her eyes stung with tears and he instantly
gathered her close again.
 

“Emily, tonight is not about
winning Milo’s approval.
 
All I want is
for you to meet my family, such as they are.
 
I’ve met the people closest to you and I’ve learned more about you by
doing so.
 
You should have the same
opportunity.
 
Right or wrong, they are
responsible in large part for who I am.
 
Can’t you please try to forget what happened in the past and start fresh
tonight?”

The sweet sincerity of his
plea effectively swept aside her fears.
 
With a smile and a toss of her head, she said with only slightly more
conviction than she felt, “Of course I can.
 
For you, Stani, I can be brave.”
 

With a grateful smile, he
kissed her carefully on the cheek.
 
“That’s my girl.
 
Now let’s
go!
 
John’s waiting downstairs.
 
Aren’t you starving?”

Milo had seemed only mildly
surprised when Stani told him the identity of the friend he’d invited to New York.
 
He hadn’t even questioned how the friendship
came about.
 
Perhaps, if the truth were
known, Milo was finding everything Stani did these days a bit surprising.
 
This was just one more in a series of
unaccountable choices, and in the interest of maintaining the tenuous balance
between them he considered it wise not to press the issue.
 
Stani had been relieved that the conversation
had gone no farther than a cordial invitation to dine and Milo’s lukewarm
acceptance.

He had included John for moral
support and to round out the number at dinner, Peg Shannon.
 
Peg was part of his very small inner circle,
he explained to Emily; and with Peg at the table, Milo was sure to be on his
best behavior.
 
When he had told Peg about
his trips to Virginia, she had seemed genuinely pleased for him, and he’d
marveled at what an extraordinary woman Peg was.
 
He was grateful that their relationship had
returned to an easy friendship, almost as if nothing more involved had ever
existed.
 
Peg was an ally he couldn’t
afford to lose.
 
And he felt confident he
could rely on her discretion with regard to their past.
 

The location had been chosen with
care, an elegant restaurant he knew to be a favorite of Milo's, a place he
regularly entertained important visitors.
 
He was well known by the management and would be recognized by other
frequent diners.
 
Stani had been there
with Milo many times himself and spent a number of late nights at the bar as
well.
 
The manager had been pleased to
accommodate him, as he asked specifically for a certain seating order, and
discussed the speed of service he would prefer for this special evening.
 
If he could control these elements, perhaps
they could get through this dinner without Emily's experiencing too much
discomfort.