Fool Me Twice

19

Molly handed Jesse his phone messages as he walked by her desk.

“Frankie Greenberg called,” she said.

He nodded and went into his office.

He returned her call first.

“Help,” she said.

“‘Help’?”

“Marisol Hinton arrives tomorrow. I need a respite.”

“‘A respite’?”

“Stop repeating everything I say. I need relief. I need to feel the wind in my hair. I need to be lifted off the earth and transported to a magical land where nymphs play and angels sing.”

“I know just the place.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“My house,” he said.

“What time?”

—

This is just what I’d imagined,” Frankie said as she entered the house. Jesse ushered her into the living room, where she dropped her things on a chair.

She looked around. The kitchen caught her attention.

“You’re cooking?”

“No.”

“You’re kidding, right,” she said, inhaling deeply.

“Vito Rezza did the cooking,” Jesse said.

“Who’s Vito Rezza?”

“The owner of Vito’s Ristorante, of course.”

Frankie looked at him questioningly. “On tonight’s menu, we have a Caprese salad, along with freshly baked garlic bread. Our entrée is veal piccata served on a bed of linguini aglio e olio. And for dessert we have Vito’s legendary tiramisu.”

“Wow,” she said. Jesse grabbed a pair of wineglasses and poured an already decanted Lungarotti Rubesco.

“This is fabulous,” she said, after tasting it.

“Respite enough?”

“Pinch me, I’m dreaming.”

Jesse took her wineglass and put it down on the counter. Then he put his arms around her and kissed her.

“Wow again,” she said.

“And we haven’t even gotten to the appetizers.”

He kissed her again, then paused.

“We have a dilemma,” Jesse said, leaning back slightly.

“Oh?”

“Although we have an amazing dinner simmering on the stove, in point of fact, it could benefit from simmering a bit longer.”

“How much longer?”

“If I showed you around upstairs, it’s entirely possible we might become distracted long enough to allow it to simmer to maturity.”

“By all means.”

“By all means what?”

“Take me upstairs.”

“With pleasure,” he said.

—

Frankie was swimming in Jesse’s extra-large white cotton bathrobe, which she wore with the sleeves rolled up past her elbows. Jesse had on a gray PPD sweatshirt and a pair of blue-and-green-checked pajama bottoms.

Having finished the salad, they now eagerly worked on the veal and the pasta. Frankie was sipping the Rubesco. Jesse had switched to Sam Adams Winter Lager.

Saving the tiramisu for later, they retired to the living room, where Jesse settled himself into one of his armchairs. Frankie made herself comfortable on his lap.

Mildred Memory was camped out on the adjacent chair, watching them through half-closed eyes.

Frankie put her arms around Jesse’s neck and rested her head on his shoulder.

“I think I’ve just discovered the meaning of life,” she said.

Jesse kissed the top of her head. She looked up at him and raised her face to his.

“I could get used to this,” she said.

She kissed him once, then again with urgency.

She adjusted herself on the chair until she was straddling him. They stayed that way for some time.