Ripped at the Seams (8 page)

“Good melodies in Kid Rock?” Vin asked. “I never thought about that.” He flopped down beside Sami on the couch and looked at her sketches. “You work too hard,” he remarked.

“Well, you heard Bruce. He wants to see my designs tomorrow. So I thought I'd work on a few new ones.”

“Oh yeah,
Bruce,
” Vin said slowly. “I wouldn't pin all my hopes on that one.”

Sami looked at him curiously. “You don't like him?”

Vin shook his head. “I just don't trust him.”

“You don't really know him,” Sami declared.

“Not him, necessarily,” Vin admitted. “But I know a lot of people like him. Big on flashin' cash and compliments.”

Sami shook her head. “You're wrong. He's a really nice guy. And he's incredibly supportive of my work. I mean, he might actually show some of my stuff to Ted Fromme. That's a huge deal.”

“Just watch out for him, okay?” Vin said quietly.

“Why? Do you have some sixth sense I don't know about?” Sami teased.

“Just street smarts, I guess.” He seemed to study her for a moment. “Look, I have an idea,” he said, changing the subject. “Since we both like classical music, why don't we go hear some? The Philharmonic is performing in Central Park later.”

“I'd love to,” Sami replied. “But I don't get paid until Friday, and I don't have any money to spend on tickets.”

“Don't worry about that,” Vin assured her. “The concert's free. It's out on the
Great Lawn. The acoustics stink, but it's a good program—Bernstein, Beethoven, and Mahler. And you'd have great company.”

Sami smiled. “You're on.”

“Great!” he exclaimed, his brown eyes lighting up with excitement. “I'll tell you what. I'll go get my picnic basket and a blanket to sit on. Then well head over to Balducci's, pick up a few sandwiches, some cannolis for dessert, and maybe a bottle of wine.”

“Some what?”

“Cannolis. They're a kind of Italian pastry. My grandmother used to make the most incredible ones, but the kind they sell at the bakery are pretty good. You have to try the ones that are stuffed with vanilla cream and chocolate chips.”

“Sounds good,” Sami agreed. “But, how much—”

Vin shook his head. “This one's on me,” he told her. “You can get the cannolis next time.”

“Well, in that case, you've got a deal.”

“You don't mind if we take the subway uptown, do you?” Vin asked her.

“No, why would I?”

Vin shrugged. “I don't know. I guess you must have taken a cab last night and …”

“Oh, that was different.”

Vin frowned slightly. “Yeah, I guess it was. Anyway, I'll go change and get the picnic basket and I'll be back in a flash.”

Sami began to giggle.

“What's so funny?” he asked.

“You are,” Sami explained. “I never thought you'd be the type of guy to get so excited about classical music—or to own a picnic basket, for that matter.”

“Oh, there are a lot of things you don't know about me, Sami,” Vin assured her with a mysterious look. “I'm just full of surprises.”

As Sami slipped into her black cotton capris and white terry tank top, she hummed a bit of Beethoven's Fifth to herself. There was none of the nervous excitement she'd felt the night before when she was getting ready for her date with Bruce. Instead, Sami felt calm and relaxed, the way she always did when Vin was around. He was her buddy. Someone to hang out
with, laugh with, and listen to classical music with. True, he could be a little overprotective at times, but that just made Sami like him more. He was kind of like her brother Al that way, always wanting to take care of her. Vin was sort of like a combination friend and big brother. Maybe that was why she felt so comfortable around him.

By the time Vin returned to Sami's apartment with his picnic basket, he was a changed man. He'd showered and shaved, and somehow managed to comb his unruly, curly brown hair into something resembling a hairstyle. “Ready to go?” he asked Sami when she answered his knock on the door.

“Sure,” Sami agreed.

“You don't need to check your hair, or grab a lip gloss or anything?”

Sami seemed confused. “Why would I want to do that?” she asked. “We're just going to the park. I don't need to get all made up, do I?”

Vin smiled. “No. I think you look great just the way you are. Do me a favor, Sami?”

“What?”

“Don't ever turn into a New York girl.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked him.

“I don't know,” Vin answered. “It's just that I think Elk Lake must be an incredible place.”

Vin had been right about the sound system in Central Park. Despite the massive speakers set up throughout the Great Lawn, the acoustics in Central Park weren't the greatest. And it didn't help that the people didn't exactly behave like they were in a concert hall. Many of the audience members spent a lot of time talking on cell phones, giving directions to late-arriving friends. Sami wished she had a quarter for every time she heard someone say, “I'm right near the ball field. Can you see me? I'm waving at you.” And as the evening went on and the bottles of wine emptied, many people in the audience grew giggly and restless. The few couples who'd made the brave attempt to bring babies to the concert found themselves scrambling to keep their offspring from crying.

Still, Sami wouldn't have traded the
evening for anything. It was so thrilling being in Central Park, together with hundreds of New Yorkers, as the New York Philharmonic played music on the huge stage at the edge of the Great Lawn.

Before she'd left for New York, Sami had heard all the horror stories about Central Park—her father had seen to that. He'd come home every night with some other urban myth he'd heard about the dangers that lurked in the park. Until this moment, Sami couldn't have imagined ever being in Central Park after sunset. Yet, sitting there on this evening, with Vin at her side, she didn't feel at all afraid. She knew he'd take care of her.

Just as he'd promised, Vin was full of surprises. He knew all kinds of interesting information about the composers of the music they were hearing, especially Leonard Bernstein. Bernstein was a sort of cultural hero in New York. Besides being a conductor of the Philharmonic Orchestra, he'd written several shows, including
West Side Story
.

When the concert ended, Vin and Sami joined the throngs of other New Yorkers
heading out of the park and spilling onto the streets of the Upper West Side.

“Do you have to rush home?” Vin asked her.

Sami shook her head. “Not especially. Why?”

“I wanted to take you to my favorite coffee place,” he replied. “I know you'll love it. And it isn't far from here at all.”

“Sounds good,” Sami agreed as she followed him down Central Park West and into a small restaurant on one of the side streets.

A chubby older woman with gray hair and just a slight mustache greeted them at the door. “Vincent!” she shouted, giving Vin a hug. “I haven't seen you in months.”

“Mrs. Biondi,” Vin replied, pecking the woman on the cheek. He stepped to the side and pulled Sami toward her. “I want you to meet my friend Sami. She just moved in across the hall.”

“Hello, Sami,” Mrs. Biondi greeted her. She turned back to Vin. “It's so nice to see you. You don't come here so often since your uncle Peter moved to Florida.”

“I promise to come more often now. And I'll bring Sami.”

“That's what I want to hear,” Mrs. Biondi told him. “You two kids want a nice quiet table in the garden?”

“Sounds perfect,” Vin replied.

Mrs. Biondi led Vin and Sami through the restaurant and out the back door. Sami was shocked as they entered the yard. It had been transformed from a small lot behind a restaurant into a secret garden, complete with grass, two trees, shimmering white garden furniture, and a beautiful stone fountain. “I'll bring you your favorite,” Mrs. Biondi told Vin. She turned to Sami. “And what would you like?”

“What's your favorite?” Sami asked Vin.

“Iced cappuccino with chocolate sorbet in it.”

“Mmm … I'll have one too,” Sami said. “But better make mine a decaf. I'll be up all night otherwise.”

As they waited for Mrs. Biondi to return with their drinks, Sami looked around at the other people in the garden. It was a funny thing about New York. People dressed differently depending on the neighborhood. Like in SoHo, everyone wore black. On the
Upper East Side, it was designer sportswear. And here, on the Upper West Side, the women all seemed to wear jeans and light T-shirts with varying styles of mules for shoes—sort of a casual chic look that cost way more than one would expect.

“So how do you like New York?” Vin interrupted her thoughts.

“I love it,” Sami replied honestly.

“But it must be different from Elk Lake.”

Sami giggled. “That's for sure. I can't even imagine what my friends at home would think of the people in our building. In Elk Lake, blue hair is for old ladies—not for Mohawks. Some of Rain's friends … I mean, they're really nice. But all those tattoos and earrings that people have …”

“No one has earrings in Elk Lake?” Vin asked her.

“Well, the
girls
do—in their ears. And usually just one per ear. But guys with earrings? Or pierced tongues and noses? I saw someone with a pierced
eyebrow
the other day, and—”

“You'd be surprised what people pierce in our neighborhood,” Vin teased.

Sami grimaced. “I guess I don't get it.”

Just then Mrs. Biondi came by with two tall frappé glasses, each filled with cold cappuccino. A huge scoop of chocolate Italian ice sat precariously on top of the coffee. “I gave you each an extra scoop of chocolate,” she said as she handed them straws and long-necked ice cream spoons. “Just like I used to do when you were a boy.”

“Thank you so much!” Vin squealed, looking and sounding remarkably like a kid as he dove into his chocolate ice.

As the woman walked away, Sami grinned at Vin. “This place is amazing. You must come here a lot.”

“Not as much as I used to. But it's always been one of my favorites. When I was a kid, my uncle would bring me here. He would tell me stories about how opera stars would come by for a late cup of tea after a performance at the Metropolitan Opera House. And how John Lennon and Yoko Ono would sit for hours at that table back there just gazing into each others eyes.” He pointed to a secluded table near the fountain.

“Oh, I wish I'd been there for that.” Sami sighed. “John Lennon was my father's idol. I was raised on the Beatles.”

“You like the Beatles?” Vin seemed surprised.

Sami nodded. “You know, someday their work will be considered classical music. I think it'll live on forever.”

Vin grinned. “In that case, I have another surprise for you.”

After they'd finished their iced cappuccino, Vin led Sami back toward the park. He stopped in front of a huge old building at the corner of Seventy-second Street and Central Park West. Sami was pretty sure she'd seen its pointed roof and gargoyles in a picture somewhere. As she stood in front of the giant gated courtyard in the center of the building, she had a sense of familiarity. And yet she couldn't quite place it.

“This is the Dakota,” Vin explained. “They filmed
Rosemary's Baby
here.”

Sami nodded.
Rosemary's Baby
was one of Al's favorite old horror movies. That's where she'd seen the building before.

“A lot of other celebrities have lived here too,” Vin continued. “Leonard Bernstein died here. And Lauren Bacall and that sports announcer John Madden still live here. But I guess the biggest thing that ever happened was that John Lennon was shot right there.” He pointed to the entranceway of the building, not far from the little booth where the Dakota security guard stood.

Sami looked at the ground, imagining John lying there bleeding to death while Yoko Ono frantically screamed for help. The thought was too much to bear. Tears suddenly began to stream from her eyes. It was impossible for her to control them, which was pretty embarrassing considering they weren't the only people standing outside the courtyard. Three tall, blond guys, all speaking German, had gathered there as well and were in the process of taking photos of one another standing in front of the building.

Much to Sami's relief, Vin didn't laugh at this sudden burst of emotion. He put his arm around her shoulder and held her close, wiping away a few tears of his own. “Gets me every time,” he admitted as they
stood there for a moment, just staring at the spot on the ground.

“Where have you two been?” Rain asked as Sami and Vin walked into the apartment at about eleven o'clock that night.

“Vin took me to hear the Philharmonic in Central Park,” Sami explained. “It was
unbelievable
. You should have seen the fireworks after the concert. And then he took me to this little coffeehouse where John Lennon and Yoko used to hang out. So naturally we just had to go see the Dakota, and—”

“Wow, you certainly got the deluxe tour,” Rain said.

“I aim to please.” Vin laughed.

“And you succeeded,” Rain continued. “Look at this girl! Sami's practically bursting!”

“Oh, and speaking of bursting, we had an amazing picnic with these incredible desserts,” Sami continued, as if to prove Rain right. “They were pastry shells with cream and topped with powdered sugar. What did you call them?”

“Cannolis,” Vin replied.

“Don't even mention dessert,” Rain moaned. “Anything with sugar is off-limits until after this fashion show. Mollie Mack's clothing is totally unforgiving.”

“Okay, well, the music was really interesting too,” Sami assured her in an attempt to change the topic. “I hadn't heard much by Leonard Bernstein before, but he wrote this ballet score—”