Santa Cruise Page 6

  Amy lifted Blinky out of the suitcase and put him on the floor. When she picked up Hop-Along, Blinky was right back in the suitcase. She knew she was fighting a losing battle. “OK. Fine. Stay there. But you guys are going to have a lot of ironing to do.” She shook her finger at both of them. Neither seemed to care. They were too busy enjoying their new beds.

  Amy was still having a hard time shaking off the disturbing conversation she had had with her mother. She wondered if Dorothy would have Rusty sign a prenuptial agreement. She looked at her watch. It was seven on the West Coast and ten back East. She sent a text to Rachael:

  Can you talk?

  A few minutes later, her phone pinged.

  Sure. Call me.

  Amy dialed Rachael’s number.

  “What’s shakin’, chica?” Rachael asked brightly.

  “My mother is getting married,” Amy responded glumly.

  “To that creepy guy?”

  “Yep.”

  “Is she happy?” Rachael asked.

  “She sounds happy. But I’m concerned that Rusty is using her for her money.”

  “Well, that wouldn’t be a first,” Rachael said wryly.

  “That’s why I called you. Turns out her divorce lawyer was the same as yours. Lloyd Luttrell.”

  “It’s a small community,” Rachael noted.

  “I need to find out if she is going to have Rusty sign a prenup.”

  “Why don’t you ask her?”

  “Have you met my mother?” Amy replied sardonically. “She would freak out if I asked her.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “Do you think I should call Lloyd and give him a heads-up?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I am sure he wouldn’t want his fine work to go down the drain. Not that there’s anything in it for him anymore, but maybe if he approached her?” Amy was thinking out loud.

  “Wouldn’t that be awkward?”

  “Once they announce their wedding plans, Lloyd could reach out to her. After all, he did a splendid job in getting her pretty much everything she asked for. It would be a shame if all his hard work got left in the dust of the Rusty Highway.”

  “Good point,” Rachael agreed. “Hang on. I have his phone number. Might be worth having a conversation with him. Tell him you’re concerned for her financial well-being.”

  “Excellent idea.” Amy felt a sense of relief. It wouldn’t hurt to get in touch with him, even if he charged her $400 for a quick phone call. In all honesty, Amy loved her mother, but their relationship had been guarded ever since the divorce. Even so, she surely didn’t want to see her mother get hurt or taken advantage of.

  Rachael gave Amy the phone number. “Let me know how you make out.”

  “Thanks. You’re a pal.”

  “No problem. You and I have a lot in common.”

  Amy and Rachael had bonded in high school. Coming from wealth, both had had to suffer through the bombardment of lessons, language classes, and pretentious parties. More often than not, Amy and Rachael would see each other at various social events. But once Amy discovered a microscope and a Bunsen burner, any interest in the trappings of upper-middle-class expectations went out the window.

  Her mother was horrified that Amy would rather watch things mutate than perfect her tennis backhand. But Amy was a straight-A student. No one could argue with that.

  “OK, chica. Let me know how it goes.”

  “Will do.” Amy ended the call. She felt a sense of relief. Even though she hadn’t spoken to Lloyd Luttrell yet, she knew he would have no problem sticking his lawyerly nose into Dorothy’s business. She thought it was serendipitous that Rachael had mentioned her lawyer, giving Amy the opportunity to bring it into the conversation with her mother.

  The next morning, she phoned Lloyd Luttrell. She hoped he hadn’t left for the long weekend yet. She told his receptionist she was Dorothy Blanchard’s daughter, and she had a question for him. In less than a minute, he took the call.

  “Ms. Blanchard. What can I do for you?” He sounded very smooth.

  “Hello, Mr. Luttrell. Thank you for taking my call. I know this is a little out of the ordinary, but I am hoping you can help me out. Especially my mother.”

  “I’ll certainly try. What seems to be the problem?”

  “My mother told me that she and Rusty are getting married.”

  “Oh?” Lloyd Luttrell’s voice had an odd ring to it.

  “Yes, and I’m concerned that she might not consider having him sign a prenup.”

  “What does this have to do with me?”

  “I was wondering when they announce their wedding plans if you could take her aside and suggest it?” Amy grimaced, waiting for an eruption. But none came.

  “That’s really none of my business,” Lloyd said softly.

  “I know, but I’m worried. She is all gaga over this guy because he’s all over her. If you know what I mean.”

  “I do indeed. I’ve seen him in action at the club.” Lloyd cleared his throat.

  “Could you do this for me? For her? I’ll gladly pay you.”

  Amy was on the edge of begging.

  “Pay me? That’s not necessary. Your mother is, was, a client. I should have her best interests in mind. Wouldn’t you agree?” Lloyd sounded kind and reasonable. So un-lawyerly, she thought.

  “Oh, Mr. Luttrell, that would be fabulous. I’m on the other side of the country, so it’s hard to keep an eye on her.” Amy laughed nervously.

  “I’d be happy to suggest it to her. Do you know when they’re going to make the announcement?”

  “This Saturday. At the country club.”

  “When is the wedding?” Lloyd asked.

  “April. She wants to honeymoon in Paris,” Amy answered glumly.

  “That should give me more than enough time to work on this for you. And your mother,” Lloyd said with an unusual amount of enthusiasm. “I plan on being at the club on Saturday. I’ll ask her to have lunch with me the following week. That way, what I say won’t put a damper on her euphoria.”

  “Mr. Luttrell, I cannot thank you enough.” Amy appreciated the support.

  “My pleasure. I’ve always been fond of your mother. I wouldn’t want anyone to take advantage of her.”

  Amy noticed what seemed to be a protective tone in his voice.

  Amy ticked off her phone number to him. “That’s my cell, Mr. Luttrell. Please keep me apprised. And as I said, I would be glad to pay you for your time.”

  “And as I said, that is not necessary. I’ll enjoy having lunch with Dorothy. Be well.” Lloyd Luttrell ended the call.

  Amy sprung from her chair. She felt as if a weight had been lifted. If Rusty turned out to be a dirtbag, at least her mother’s financial future would be secure.

  Chapter Seven

  Thanksgiving Week

  Frankie’s Apartment

  Frankie looked at the wall calendar she kept in her linen closet. She felt that it was always good to write things down and have a visual look at the week. It was the day before Thanksgiving. So far, none of the women had dates for New Year’s Eve, although at this point it did not matter. They had all agreed to go, regardless of their relationship status. Rachael was the only one who had a potential date, but that wasn’t unusual. Rachael always had a potential date. Frankie chuckled to herself.

  She sent a text out to the other women asking for a Zoom call:

  Thanksgiving, ladies! Are we ready for our seafaring adventure?

  She received the following responses:

  You bet!

  Absolutely!

  Can we leave now?

  Frankie sent out the invitation for the call, and within a few minutes, everyone’s face appeared on her laptop screen.

  Lots of hellos, hey-theres, and blown kisses went around.

  Frankie started. “Is everyone ready?”

  Amy was the first to speak. “Check it out!” She turned her laptop for everyone to see her bounty of clo
thes, and her two cats sleeping in the suitcase.

  “They’re not coming with us, are they?” Rachael asked in a horrified voice.

  “Don’t be silly. They just think it’s their new bed. I figured I’d let them sleep in it until they find another spot. Don’t panic, Rachael.” Amy smiled. “I cannot imagine taking them on an airplane, then a cruise.”

  “Well, you know, some people have to take their animals with them,” Rachael reminded everyone. “It seems like everywhere you go, someone has a ‘support’ animal with them.” Rachael used air quotes.

  “But I’m not that person.” Amy almost sounded indignant. “Besides, I told you I have a kitty sitter.”

  Nina broke in. “Rachael. Are you OK? You seem a little tense.”

  “I had another argument with Ernie.”

  All three exclaimed at the same time. “Who is Ernie?”

  “What happened to Tommy? Or was it Miles?” Nina joked.

  “Ernie is someone I met at the dance studio.”

  Frankie was counting on her fingers how many boyfriends Rachael had had since the summer. “Remind me. Jimmy, Miles, Tommy, Ernie. Am I leaving anyone out?”

  The women chuckled. “Very funny,” Rachael squawked.

  “Well, that’s four in six months.” Frankie was being pragmatic.

  “OK. OK. So what if I went through a few in a few months? I’m making up for lost time.” Rachael had a big grin on her face at that point.

  Amy shook her head. “I don’t know how you do it.”

  “When we get on that ship, you can watch and learn,” Rachael said, a twinkle in her eye.

  “Yeah, but I don’t want to go through a new guy every six weeks. I want something stable.”

  “I agree,” Frankie chimed in.

  “Ditto here,” Nina said.

  “Well, so do I, girls. You know what they say, ‘You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you meet a handsome prince.’ ”

  Nina couldn’t help herself. “You should be covered in warts by now!”

  Frankie and Amy howled. Rachael stared blankly. “What are you, a bunch of comedians?”

  The teasing continued for a few more minutes until Frankie directed the conversation back to the trip ahead.

  “OK. So everyone is going to check in in two weeks. Print everything out. Ticket, copy of your passport, luggage tags, and customs declaration pages. We won’t need them until we return, and the ship will provide them, but it’s always good to have a spare set.”

  The women exchanged weekend plans with each other. Frankie was going to rent a car and drive to Ridgewood to spend time with her parents; Rachael was having dinner with Ernie, maybe; Amy was working at the shelter; and Nina was cooking for two of her friends who lived far away from their own families.

  Amy informed them that her mother was announcing her engagement to Rusty on Saturday at the club. Suddenly, the screen went silent.

  “Oh dear,” was all Frankie could say. She knew how Amy felt about the man.

  “Yikes!” was Nina’s response.

  “Well, I’ll be there, so I can report back to you,” Rachael indicated.

  “Oooohhh . . . a spy! I like it!” Nina added.

  Rachael wasn’t sure if she should bring up the subject of Lloyd Luttrell, but Amy had no compunction about it.

  “I spoke to Lloyd Luttrell, my mother and Rachael’s divorce attorney, yesterday.”

  “Divorce attorney? Why?” Nina asked.

  “Because I want my mother to ask Rusty to sign a prenup, but I’m too chicken to bring it up with her myself. I thought Lloyd would be a good go-between.”

  “What did he say?” Frankie was intrigued.

  “I told him what was in the works and that I was concerned about her financial well-being. Of course I’m worried about her emotional well-being, too, but if Rusty turns out to be a creep and takes advantage of her and her money, she’d be devastated. With a prenup, at least she’d have some protection.”

  “Good thinking, girl,” Nina said.

  “Thanks. Lloyd said he was also planning on going to the club on Saturday and was going to invite my mother to lunch the following week.”

  “Brilliant!” Nina clapped her hands.

  “Indeed,” Frankie concurred.

  “I’m kind of excited, actually,” Amy continued. “If Rusty is a stand-up guy, he’ll have no trouble signing it, especially if he really is related to the Jacobs family. The rich Jacobs family from Switzerland.”

  “That assumes that Lloyd can persuade your mother to have a prenup drawn,” Amy observed.

  “Lloyd Luttrell can be very convincing,” Rachael quipped. “I can assure you of that.”

  “You must be relieved that someone has your back,” Frankie added.

  “I always thought my mother was overbearing, but now I think the problem is that she’s been insecure,” Amy mused.

  “Huh. Interesting,” Nina said.

  “When they were going through their divorce, she told me that being a father is different than being a husband. Being a husband is different than being an employee. Not all roles are interchangeable. I think I’m finally figuring that out.”

  “That’s an excellent observation,” Nina remarked. “It’s kind of like acting. All the roles are different. You play a part in one script, and a different one in another.” Nina furrowed her brows. “That explains a lot.”

  Frankie inched closer to the screen. “Wow. It certainly does. Think about all the TV interviews reporters have with neighbors when someone goes off the rails. ‘He was a quiet guy.’ Meanwhile, he was actually a serial killer!”

  “Freaky.” Nina contemplated. “Looking back, I can see how that fits with so many relationships I’ve had. Not just with men. Friends, coworkers, family. A different face for different situations.”

  “OK, let’s not get all Sigmund Freud, ladies,” Rachael jumped in. The women chuckled. “Therapy time is over.”

  “Well, I’m glad you called Lloyd; and now you’ll be able to let this dilemma go for a while,” Frankie chimed in.

  “I can’t wait until Saturday,” Rachael exclaimed. “I’ll fill everyone in!”

  “Good deal,” Amy said.

  “Can’t wait to hear,” Nina added.

  Frankie jumped back in. “Listen, I have to go. Giovanni is coming by to pick up a key. He’s going to look after Bandit tomorrow and Friday while I’m at my parents’. No sense in driving back after a big meal tomorrow.” Frankie meant a big meal indeed.

  There would always be at least a dozen or more people at the table. Frankie’s father would bring in the four-by-eight-foot sheet of finished plywood and set it on top of the regular dining-room table. Frankie’s job was to set the table. That had been her role every holiday since she was tall enough to reach it. They used her great-grandmother’s lace tablecloth. The one she had smuggled out of Italy during World War II. The fine china and crystal came out of the hutch, as well as the sterling silver place settings. Ever since Frankie had moved into the city, she would place an order at the local Ridgewood florist to deliver the centerpiece. This year it was going to be a table runner of small gourds, pumpkins, berries, votive candles, and gilded leaves.

  They would start with antipastos. Cold and hot. Cold would consist of prosciutto, mozzarella, and figs; soppressata, capicola, provolone, Genoa salami, black and Cerignola olives, and roasted peppers. The hot antipasto was clams oreganata, eggplant rollatini, mussels fra diavolo, and shrimp scampi.

  Then came the pasta dish. Either lasagna or ravioli. Add a side of sausage, meatballs, braciola, and loaves of garlic bread. That took well over an hour. Once those dishes were cleared, out came the turkey and all the fixings. Frankie used to joke that her mother made lasagna in the shape of a turkey. The entire meal took several hours, with more than a few conversations happening all at the same time. Jokes from Uncle Ralph rounded off the festivities.

  The women had signed off, and Frankie was pondering the feast ahead, when the buzzer
rang. It startled her, but not as much as when she saw Giovanni at her front door. In the past he had always worn a polo shirt with the MARCO’S logo on the front left pocket, a baseball cap with the same logo, and khaki pants. She was taken aback seeing him now in a freshly pressed white button-down shirt, slacks, and loafers, his full head of thick black wavy hair stylishly groomed. She hardly recognized the fine-looking man standing before her. “Giovanni! You look very handsome tonight,” Frankie exclaimed.

  He blushed. “Grazie, Miss Frankie!”

  “Please, just call me Frankie.” She gazed into his deep blue eyes. She hadn’t noticed them before. Probably because he was always wearing a cap, and they would briefly exchange greetings. She had never really had a long conversation with him. Not the kind she would have with Marco. She also realized that Giovanni was about her age. For some reason, she had thought he was much younger. Maybe that was because he did all the deliveries and she would see him cleaning up at night.

  “Come in.” Frankie opened the door wider for him.

  He nodded respectfully and looked around. “You have a lovely place, Miss Frankie.” Giovanni’s accent was not as strong as Marco’s. Also, it was a bit more refined.

  “Please. Just Frankie.” She smiled at him.

  “Scusi!” He apologized in Italian, and Frankie stifled a giggle. She found him quite charming.