Chapter 33
ENZO
It’s Thursday afternoon, two days before Christmas Eve, and Martin just offered me a job.
The job.
I’d be the one calling the shots, controlling how things are done. I could do it all my way.
I study Martin. He’s a big guy in a tailored suit, behind a ridiculously large mahogany desk that commands an expansive view of Midtown Manhattan.
It’s a power office that speaks of money and opportunity.
He’s just promised that if I play the hand he’s given me, I can have my own share of money and power.
“Is there any way I can work remotely?” I ask. “At least part of the time.”
He doesn’t even consider this before shaking his head. “We need boots on the ground, Enzo. Your full devotion to the position.”
Given what I know about Hideaway Harbor’s spotty connectivity to the rest of the world, I know he’s not wrong. But it’s a hard pill to swallow.
“Can I think about it?”
He gives me a severe look, his brows knitting together across his forehead. “What’s there to think about? This is the opportunity of a lifetime, and I don’t mind telling you we wouldn’t normally offer a job like this to someone so young. How old are you anyway, thirty-five?”
“Thirty-three.” He knows exactly how old I am. This is his way of hammering home what a fantastic opportunity he’s offering me. It’s a manipulation—the backbone of what they do here at Murphy & Associates.
Doesn’t sit right.
“Look at you, making my point for me,” he says shrewdly. “But sure. You can have twenty-four hours.”
“When would the position start?”
“Monday,” he says significantly. “You’ll be pulling long hours at the start, I don’t mind telling you. You’ll need to clean up after Tom. He didn’t leave things nice and pretty.”
I take a moment to think. Not about the job, but about Lucy and the life I’ve been living this past month. I’m proud of what I’ve done at Hidden Italy. Of having been there for my family and for Lucy. If I take this job, all of that’s over.
A voice in my head suggests, Maybe Lucy would be willing to move here or try long-distance.
But how could I be in a long-distance relationship if I’m chained to my desk?
Then there’s my grandmother to consider. I could hire someone to help her out since I’d be making bank, but there’s a very good chance she wouldn’t even allow them onto her porch, let alone into her house, and besides…
She’s getting older. She told me herself that she’s not sure how much time she has left. If I leave, I’ll miss it.
“I’ll take the twenty-four hours,” I say.
He gives me a disapproving look but nods sharply. “Be sure to get an answer to me first thing tomorrow morning.”
I can’t help myself: “That wouldn’t be a full twenty-four hours, Martin.” It’s already late afternoon—I’ve spent the whole day here, talking with half a dozen different people, and I feel drained in a way I haven’t in weeks.
Invigorated too. I can’t deny that a part of me feels drawn to this opportunity. To the ability to shape things and make them my own. To be the man behind the curtain, like I always wanted to be when I was a kid, able to shape destiny rather than to be shaped by it.
He surprises me by laughing. “That’s what I like about you, Enzo. No BS. All right. Tomorrow at 3 p.m. I’ll be expecting your answer.”
“And you’ll have it,” I say, shaking his hand again.
I leave the building and walk through the streets of Midtown, taking in the bustle. The smell. The busyness of everyone making their way somewhere, their bubbles barely brushing.
A part of me is drawn to the anonymity. No one here would care enough about my relationship with Lucy to gossip about it. It sure as fuck wouldn’t make the paper.
In Hideaway Harbor, every local’s life is subject to scrutiny, not just people like Amanda and Brody, who are interesting to the rest of the world too. (After the reading, Lucy insisted on googling Brody and learned he’s apparently up for some huge movie role.)
Here, I can just be.
But I’d be alone.
Lucy won’t want to live in New York. If she did agree to make the move, she’d lose the home she’s longed for. The family.
I wouldn’t ask her to make that sacrifice.
So if I take this job, I’ll almost certainly lose Lucy.
Lucy, with her stubborn pride, her brilliant ideas, and her biting sense of humor.
Lucy, who cuts me down to the quick when I need it.
Lucy, who’s waiting for me to call.
Lucy, who doesn’t know about the holiday surprise I arranged for her.
And, just like that, I know I can’t do it.
I don’t want to. I don’t want to lose her, and to my surprise, I also don’t want to lose the home she’s been reintroducing me to.
I’ve become closer to Giovanni and Nico over the last month.
My grandmother too. And even though everything is moving in the right direction for Hidden Italy, I’d meant to see them through the transition—and also to convince Nonna that it wouldn’t be the end of the world for her to have some kind of companion around to help her at home.
I don’t need twenty-four hours to give Martin his answer. I’m ready to give it to him now.
Filled with determination, I whip around too fast and run into a man in a Santa suit. We both fall down, Santa tumbling onto his butt.
“That man hit Santa,” a little kid cries out, pointing at me.
“It’s okay,” Santa Suit says from the ground. “Nothing to see here, man. It’s all chill, chill, chill.”
He reeks of marijuana and liquor.
The little boy’s mother wraps an arm around his shoulders and hustles him away.
I frown, because we’re in a city of 8.5 million people, and someone hired this guy to be Santa?
His brown eyes are bloodshot, and he looks like he hasn’t shaved in a week.
Then again, who says anyone hired him? There’s no law against random people running around in Santa suits.
If there were, half of Hideaway Harbor would be arrested.
“Sorry,” I say, reaching down to help him up as people stream around us. “I wasn’t looking.”
“Oh, that’s okay, brother. I wasn’t looking either. I was looking inward.”
Fuck me, I have something in common with this clown.
“Say, you look like a helpful guy, and I could use some help,” he continues.
Here goes, I think, half expecting him to tell me he dropped a bucket of quarters in the dark alley across from us, and he needs help picking them up so they can be donated to orphans. No doubt I look like a mark, walking around in a daze, wearing an expensive suit.
“What is it?” I ask stiffly.
“Never mind, never mind. It’s probably a terrible idea.”
“What is?” I ask, even though I’m inclined to agree with him.
He scratches his head. “It’s just…my girlfriend broke up with me last night, and it was brutal. I mean, she said I lacked ambition. I went to acting school, and now I’m an actor, Shannon, how’s that not ambitious? Anyway, I may have stayed out a little too late.”
“It’s almost 4 p.m.”
“I may have stayed out all night,” he says, waving a hand flippantly, “and I’m supposed to be Santa at this event, and man, I really don’t want to disappoint those little fuckers. Those kids might ask some serious questions, if you know what I mean.”
I pause, caught off guard, then point to myself. “Are you saying you want me to cover your shift as Santa Claus?”
“Uh, yeah. I mean, you could have my coat and beard and stuff, if you’ll do it. I’m already going to be late, and I don’t think I can stay awake for four more hours.”
“No,” I say, thinking of the Cheetos beard I took from Curtis the night of Santa Speed Dating. One borrowed fake beard is enough for a lifetime.
He scratches his head, which reminds me of lice, which in turn reminds me of Lucy. Because I guess everything does. God, she would love it if I play along and do this. She would also never let me live it down.
“So, is that a no to the whole thing?” Drunk Santa asks with another suspicious head scratch. “Or, like, just a no to the suit? They could maybe find you another suit if you were interested, I mean, I think they could. But it’s probably too late for them to find another Santa.”
“Give me a second,” I say, stepping toward the side of the high-rise closest to us.
He shrugs, then sits down on the sidewalk.
People walk around him as if he’s a new fire hydrant, although I see someone flick a few dollar bills at him.
He shrugs and scoops them up as I pull out my cell phone and dial Lucy’s cell number.
No ring. It goes directly to voicemail, suggesting today is one of those days in Hideaway Harbor.
I leave her a quick voicemail, saying I’ll call her later—I don’t want to spill my heart out with the brokenhearted Santa sitting in the middle of the sidewalk next to me and the smell of piss stinging my nostrils.
Then I dial her home phone number—no answer—followed by the landline at the Sip. The phone is answered by an older man.
“Hello? Whatchu want?”
An interesting method of answering the phone at a place of business, but since he doesn’t work there, I’m guessing he’s not interested in tips on phone etiquette.
“Wayne?” I ask. “Why are you answering the phone?”
“Is this one of those sales calls?”
“No. I’m Lucy’s boyfriend,” I say, liking the sound of it. Wishing he weren’t the first person I’d said it to.
“So you made it to New York. Good, that’s good. Did you get that job?”
“I got the job offer, yeah, but I’m definitely not going to take it. Can you tell Lucy I’ll call her later?”
“Okay, champ, I’ll tell her all about it.”
He hangs up, and I breathe a sigh of relief. At least Wayne will pass along the message. I think.
I walk over to the Santa on the sidewalk and find him fast asleep.
“Uh…Santa?” I shake his shoulder and he flails awake.
“Are you going to do it?” he asks as I come into focus for him.
“What do you know, I am,” I say with a smile. “I’ve suddenly become flooded with the Christmas spirit.”