Love Story (6 page)

She started to walk to the counter. He grabbed her around the waist. Yanking her back to him, he put his cheek close to hers. “I loved what we did together.”

“Me, too.” One thing Elizabeita had learned in her years as adult was to enjoy life to the fullest and not contemplate the future too much. She wasn’t going to worry that making love with Nick Caseman had been a mistake.

He finished the toast and coffee, then stood. “I’m off. I’ll be back to work around eleven.”

“I’m going to take a shower and be in by nine.”

“Don’t forget to lose
the blue streaks.” “That’s right. I won’t.”

He kissed her again at the door and left.

Elizabeita forced herself to think about her upcoming day as she got ready for work and took the subway to the museum. She didn’t let herself dwell on Nick, and being in bed with him. She was in her office, at her desk by nine thirty when Ellen walked in. “Hi, Elizabeita. I’ve been assigned to help you
with the Dali/Picasso setup.”

“You’ll be a big asset. And I wish your exhibit had made the budgetary cut.”

Ellen’s expression darkened. “Me, too. Where will we start?”

“I’m ready to meet with the team who’s going to work on it. We have six weeks to decide on a color for the room, the shape of the display platforms and where we’ll hang each painting. Then, of course, arrange for the
hanging.” She held up an art book. “This is from the Dali Museum in Florida. We might follow suit with what they did, if it’ll fit our space.”

Ellen frowned. “The touring company isn’t installing it?”

Often, a traveling exhibit had its own installers. This time, because of the quick switch from Chicago, the Met was responsible. “No. It’s up to us.”

“What can I do?”

“Come with me.”

On their way to Gallery 12, Ellen asked, “Who’s going to help with this?”

“Nick Caseman, Jay Landon and Marianne Cramer.”

Her eyes lit. “Nick’s pretty easy on the eyes, don’t you think?”

“Really? I haven’t noticed.” Which was a bold lie.

“Then you need glasses, girl.”

Sofia walked into the Met from the Eighty-Second Street entrance and felt like she always did when she came to this famous museum—awed. And happy. Of course, she was happy a lot these days. Because of one Maxwell Walker. She had no idea a man could make her life so wonderful. After she went through security, she crossed to the information desk.

One of the volunteers
said, “May I help you?”

“I’m here to see Elizabeita Ludzecky. I forgot my phone, though, so I can’t call her. I’m her sister.”

Another woman said, “Of course you are. You all have that gorgeous hair, too.”

“Thank you.” Max loved it.

“Your sister’s a sweetheart.”

Huh. Not what she usually heard.

Another volunteer added, “She brings coffee to us every Tuesday when we volunteer
at this desk.”

“That
is
sweet.”

Sofia waited until Elizabeita came out. Immediately, she knew something was different about her sister. She seemed less on edge. More settled. And Lizzie never seemed settled.

“Hey, sis. Ready for lunch?”

“I’m starving. See you later, Ethel,” Elizabeita called out as she linked her arm with her sister’s and put her hand over Sofia’s.

“I’ll bet
not every employee knows the volunteers’ names, let alone brings them coffee.”

Elizabeita shrugged. “I stop anyway. Besides, I hate when other people treat them like furniture.”

“Me, too.”

They went across the street to a diner called Jinxes. Sofia had come here with Elizabeita before, so she knew they served a salad with goat cheese that was gluten-free. She ordered it with iced tea,
and her sister chose the triple-decker BLT.

“So,” Sofia said, studying Elizabeita. “You know how I can sense things sometimes about the people I care about.”

“You told me that.” She sipped her Coke.

“Your aura’s different today.”

“Don’t go all woo-woo on me.”

“Joking won’t distract me. And besides, you said you have
Matka’s
gift.”

“Or curse.” She rolled her eyes. “Fine.
I had some unbelievable recreational sex last night.”

“Seriously? With who?”

“Just a guy I like.”

“Where did you meet him?”

“I’d prefer not to analyze this to death.”

There was something about the way she said the words, hesitantly, as if she was vulnerable, that made Sofia let it go. “So long as you’re safe.”

“Yes, big sister. Now tell me about you.”

Practically giddy,
Sofia sighed. “I’m full of joy, Lizzie, though I still can’t believe I’m completely besotted by a guy like Max.”

“I think he’s cool, now.”

She cocked her head. “Yeah, I know. How come?”

“I don’t know. He’s convinced me of his worth.”

“Super, because…” She held out her hand. On it was a beautiful white-gold ring with an emerald-cut diamond in the center, surrounded by waves of sparkling
smaller stones.

“Oh, my gosh, Sof. Did you get married, too?”

“Not yet. This is an engagement ring. There’s a matching band. For later.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“He had it made. He and his mom, whom I adore, by the way, designed it.”

“I’m so happy for you.”

“Me, too.” She shook her head. “And because we’re so different, it makes us getting along more special.”

“I can imagine.”

They chatted more about her relationship with Max, then Elizabeita asked, “How’s the teaching going?”

“I love it. I have to be out there by one thirty for the last class.”

Their food arrived. Before Sofia took a bite, she said, “You know, sweetie, you can tell me anything and I won’t share it with the others.”

“Like you and Ana did.”

“Uh-huh. Some of the
girls confide in each other and not the rest of us.”

“I will. If I ever have anything to share.”

“You’re a lying little devil, Elizabeita Ludzecky.”

She grinned over at her sister. “I’ve been called worse.”

Still happy from Sofia’s news and, more so, her absolute joy, Elizabeita headed back to the Met. She remembered going to Max, overwrought, begging him to try
to overcome his worry about her sister’s cancer. She’d been vague about how she dealt with her own anxiety, though.

Looking both ways, she stepped off the curb, reminding her of last night, making her shiver in the bright September sunlight. She entered the museum the same way she’d left.

From behind the desk, Ethel said, “Your boyfriend’s here.”

Nick was back? Wait a minute. Why would
Ethel be telling her that? She wouldn’t. “Mr. Kitowski?”

“Yeah. We put him in his wheelchair, and he zipped right to the elevator to the Contemporary Art division.”

“Thanks for letting me know.”

Elizabeita smiled as she thought about the old man who came to the museum every single week. It had become custom for her to visit with him for a bit. Unbeknownst to anyone, he’d been a professor
of classical art in Manhattan. He said he needed more education on the modern squiggles and blotches of color that comprised most contemporary paintings. She agreed to be his guide of sorts.

He was sitting in front of Cezanne’s work. When he saw her, he said,
“Jak si
ę masz, kochanie.”
He always inquired about her health.

After answering she asked,
“Dzie
ń dobry?”

He responded he was
well.

She nodded to the painting. “What do you think of Mrs. Cezanne?”

“Prosz
ę!
I’d go running for the hills if I was married to her.”

“I’m sure she was lovely.”

“You would never know it from his depiction of her,” he said, and she realized he was teasing.

She pointed to another painting. “Come on, Mr. K. You have to love
Mont Sainte Victoire
.”

“Why, my dear? He painted
several of them. Can they each be unique?”

“You know he painted that mountain at different times of day and at different points of the year.”

“I do.”

For fifteen minutes, she wheeled him around the room, discussed a few more artists then she heard from the doorway, “Excuse me, Ms. Ludzecky. We’re ready to work on the new exhibit.”

Though his voice was controlled, the husky timbre
of Nick’s words curled inside her, settled in and begged to be nurtured.

He hadn’t been prepared to see her. All morning long, he’d tried to convince himself of things: that she was a part of the job to him; that last night shouldn’t have happened because she could be in danger and he needed to protect her. And because of the fact that this whole emailer thing kept getting
messier and messier. A new message had turned up on Delores Martin’s phone, and it was edgier than the others.

So he thought he’d convinced himself that they’d had a one-night stand.
Recreational sex
, she’d called it. Nothing more.

Then she turned and gave him a full, sexy, enticing smile that made his body clench. “I’ll be right there, Mr. Caseman.”

He started out of the room, slowly
though. She bade the man she’d been talking to good-bye and caught up to him. “Hey.”

Glancing down at her, he had to smile. “Hey.”

Gone was the blue in her hair. She’d tied the mounds of it back in a braid that came over one shoulder. She wore very little makeup. But she didn’t need any. Except its absence made her seem younger, making him feel more like he’d robbed the proverbial cradle.

“You know that guy?”

“He comes in every Tuesday morning. I’ve made a point of being friendly. He’s trying to learn about modern art and its place in society.”

“It has a place in society? Who knew?”

She elbowed him.

“Ouch, that hurts.”

Does that hurt, Lizzie? You’re sure?

They reached Gallery 12, which would house the exhibit of Dali/Picasso. As soon as they entered,
he said, “The kiddies are here.”

“Hi, Ellen. Jay and Marianne.”

The four of them worked through the afternoon. It took a while to decide the color of the walls, and finally they picked a slate blue and a beige. She’d apparently asked one of the interns to make up posters on thick boards that were the exact size of the work they’d be featuring. He’d also pasted a copy of a painting on each
one. “Nice job, Jay,” she said with approval in her eyes.

He beamed at her. Of course. He was a lot closer to her age than Nick. He wondered if she’d have
recreational sex
with him. The idea made Nick’s hand fist.

You’re not that old, physically, Nick.

If he recalled correctly, she’d made the comment while she was exploring his backside.

Taut muscles here. Calves are toned. Feet
are a little ugly…

He even liked her sense of humor.

At five, she said, “Time to quit. Marianne and Jay, I know you’re past your required time. You did a great job. Ellen, thanks for the suggestions on repositioning.”

Casually, she turned to him. “Nick, can you stay back a minute? I want to ask you about something else.”

Shrugging, he pretended nonchalance. He’d wanted a minute
alone with her all day.

When the others left, she said, “Today was productive, don’t you think?”

“It was.”

Her eyes filled with mischief. “And thanks for last night.”

No coyness here. He found he liked it. “You’re welcome.”

“Want a repeat tonight?”

“I can’t. I’ve got to go home and see my daughter.”

“We haven’t talked about her. It was a shock.”

“I guess.”

“So I won’t see you till tomorrow?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you care that you won’t?”

He scanned the area. No one was here. No working cameras in the room yet. So he slung his arm around her waist and kissed her.

“What was that for?” she asked breathlessly when he stepped back.

“That’s to tell you I’d like to see you tonight, even though I can’t. Just remember, Lizzie, this is casual
between us.”

“Of course it is. You keep saying so.”

Zip City was bigger than the arena where she’d tightrope walked, but not as big as Speedway to Heaven, were she’d driven her very first race car. Ten lines, three stories high, spanned the large interior. Frosted glassed for the windows let in light. And below was safety netting, which she’d prefer to go without, but
it was required, along with the advanced braking system. Riders would be propelled at thirty miles per hour through the full length of the warehouse-sized space.

After she paid her money, she went to get suited up. The helper said, “Hey there, you’re back.”

“Yep. You have a few more lines.”

“We do. We’re expanding.”

Over clothes she usually wore to yoga, she stepped into the bottom
harness and secured the belts. A chest harness was next. Then the hard helmet. A bit of overkill for her tastes, but there weren’t many indoor zip lining places in the city.

She stood on the top platform, taking in the depth and breadth of the place. It got her jazzed up. Then she held the line and let go. She zipped over and down for a few feet, twisted a few times, then swung around until
her body was perpendicular to the floor. Woo-hoo! This was the best. She slept soundly that night. She always did after she scared the shit out of herself. The adrenaline spikes drained her.

The next morning, Elizabeita bopped into the museum, schmoozed with security people for a few minutes, then made her way back to the offices. The corridor was dimly lit as the lights hadn’t been turned
on. She glanced at her watch. It was only 7:30 a.m. She flipped on the switch to the hallway and walked down it.

Inside her office, she put her things away, then called up her email. There was the unknown address again. A creepy feeling made her shiver. She clicked into the message and read,
Blasphemers will be punished
.
Who will be first? You?

This was worse than the last few. Worse,
she believed, than anyone else had gotten. Unless they received the same missive today. Deep in thought, she jumped when there was a knock on the open door