Chapter 29 Dinner with Timmo
Chapter29 Dinner with Timmo
The Mother of the Bride
“I was expecting a drafty dining room in Gracie Mansion.”
“I only pretend I live there. I host events, staff parties there. I even sleep there on occasion. But you’re right. It is
drafty, and old. And I had enough old, drafty housing growing up in Galway. This place is more my style. Can I get you a drink?”
the mayor of New York asked Alexa as he loosened his tie and headed to the bar cart.
She nodded. “I’ll have what you’re having.”
He nodded. “An old-fashioned it is.”
There was measuring, shaking, and pouring while Alexa watched. She had certainly been in the presence of powerful men before. Greece was a small country and, thanks to her well-connected uncles, she was part of the elite, running in the same circles as politicians, shipping magnates, and art dealers in Athens and on the islands. Over the years, she’d been entertained by mayors, ministers, and presidents in other countries. Her luxury tours included embassy visits and mixing with sports stars and business titans. But Timmo Lynch had a certain humility that most men in a similar position didn’t even bother to feign. He looked at home in his own apartment, as if he really did make himself an old-fashioned every night after a long day at the office. He wasn’t waiting for his staff to rescue him. In fact, there was no staff there at all. He handed her the drink and a cocktail napkin, then lifted his own beverage. “Sláinte.”
“Cheers,” Alexa said, taking a small sip of the balanced drink. Perfect. “Thank you. I’m impressed by your bartending skills.”
“Once a bartender, always a bartender. It’s my fallback job.”
“In case International Man of Influence falls through? You seemed to be a star at the UN.” Since the engagement party, Alexa
found herself searching his name once or twice a week and following him on social media. He had made a powerful speech on
the ethics of globalization at the UN General Assembly last week.
“I could be canceled any minute,” he replied.
Politics was too tricky for her to weigh in on that statement, so she circled back to his domestic skills. “Don’t tell me
you cook, too.”
“I won’t because I’d be lying. My chef, Beatrice, left us something in the kitchen. I’m guessing salmon because that’s about
the only thing my doctor lets me eat these days,” he said wistfully. Then he gestured to the living room. “Please, make yourself
at home. I’m going to change out of this suit if you don’t mind.” He nodded and proceeded down the hallway.
She didn’t mind at all, although she thought he looked very dashing in his navy suit and purple and green tie. But she was
happy to have a little time alone to check out the apartment. Especially the photos, which seemed to feature the same blonde
over and over again. But then she realized he probably had security cameras everywhere, so instead she glanced around the
room in a vague, nonthreatening way, like a normal houseguest and not a woman casing the joint.
The modern condominium in Chelsea where the mayor had lived before he ascended to the office and where he intended to finish out his days in the Big Apple was a sophisticated mix of glass, views, and abstract art with a Celtic color palette of greens, blues, grays, and more grays. Layered textures ranged from sleek marble countertops to cozy wool throws. Some designer had the good sense to stop at the edge of maximal and saved Timothy Lynch from too much of a good thing. The open living room led out onto a patio high above the Hudson River. A table for two had been set outside under some heat lamps, taking advantage of the September sunset.
The living area and kitchen were three times the size of Simon’s entire pied-à-terre on the other side of Manhattan. This
was the kind of New York crash pad that Alexa could get used to. But first, she had a job to do.
***
As predicted, there was salmon. But there was also wine and nonstop conversation, a combination the two of them seemed to
relish. They talked about their home countries, their decisions to emigrate, what they missed and what they didn’t. They talked
about leaving family behind and how that impacted their family relationships. Alexa divulged that her three brothers treated
her like a fourteen-year-old when she returned home and still rolled their eyes about the fact that she’d had a baby “from
a turkey baster,” a joke that was never funny. Timmo explained that the blonde in all the photos was his “beloved” sister
Peggy, still in Galway, who announced her intention to visit New York City every time the press reported that he’d be out
of town and then left a thank-you note with a new photo as a lark. “She uses me for guest quarters and good seats. She loves
Broadway.”
They talked about starting their businesses, the good years and the bad, the nonstop pressure and the rewards. And they brushed
up against the fact that both of them had never married and why that might be. Could it really be as simple as they didn’t
have the time for a relationship when they were younger, and by the time their lives slowed down a bit, they were too stuck
in their ways? Was that the whole truth?
For dessert, Timmo served Alexa a lemony pudding cup on a silver tray. It was light and tart. Alexa scraped the dish clean while her host laughed at her. “Do you want to chew the glass? I believe there’s an extra one in the fridge if you’d like it.”
“It’s the lemon. I love all things lemon. My heritage,” she explained, putting down the small Waterford bowl. “I’ll stop at
one, but please let Beatrice know how happy she made me.”
“I’ll tell her. And I’ll remember that, the bit about lemons,” he said, splitting the last of the wine between their two glasses.
“But of course, I couldn’t forget because you were wearing lemon yellow at the party when I first saw you. And you were a
sight to see.”
The first hint of flirtation in their evening caught her off guard. She averted her eyes from his, which wasn’t her style.
“Have I embarrassed you?” he asked softly. “Mentioning the party?”
“No. Not at all. It was a remarkable day. I mean, when you arrived on that beautiful boat with... those sandwiches,” she
said with a smile. “I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until you arrived.”
That line got a rise out of the Irishman.
She saw an opening. “Not to change the subject too abruptly, from food to our Romeo and Juliet, but I want to get to the task
at hand.”
“The fact that we’re scheming to force a young couple to marry when they can’t seem to make up their own minds,” Timmo said.
“Is it scheming? Or is it creating the environment where they discover the truth about how they really feel?” Alexa countered.
“Somebody has made a living in the making-dreams-come-true business.” He stood up and collected the plates. Again, the small
domestic acts looked authentic to him. “I hope that Chase and Penny appreciate our planning. I will say, Chase has not been
himself since the split. And that’s not malarkey this time.”
“My sources tell me that Penny is tense and miserable. She’s avoiding my calls still and texting the bare minimum number of words to respond to my questions, but she’s committed to being at the museum tomorrow.”
“So has Chase. He claims his whole weekend is free.”
“Penny too. Which is why I think forcing them together one time is the right thing to do. They are miserable. We have nothing
to lose.” She followed him into the kitchen.
He put the plates in the sink, wiping his hands on a towel afterward. “By the way, I leave the washing up for the housekeeper
in the morning, in case you think I’m too good to be true.”
She matched his energy. “You read my mind. I was thinking that you must be the perfect man. But I’m relieved you have a single
flaw.”
“So, to the task at hand...” He pulled out his phone and found a pair of readers in a drawer. “Here’s the information my
assistant Tanesha sent me. She said this is the best assignment she’s worked on during my administration. Good to know that
among my staff, romance is a higher priority than affordable housing,” Timmo joked. He read off his device, “‘The museum will
shut down at six, so you can move your people in to do the setup in the sculpture garden. The regular guards will be there
as well as a few members of the museum staff to make sure’—and I’m quoting here—‘the crazy ladies from California don’t steal
anything.’ She confirms that the abundant sushi platter from the restaurant where they had their first date will be delivered
on ice by six thirty.”
“How did you, or Tanesha, pull all this off?”
“Believe it or not, I am a well-liked powerful man and people do things for me. In turn, I do things for them. And when all
else fails, I pay people. Out of my own account. That sushi isn’t free, you know.”
“I’ll cover the sushi.”
“Not on your life. This whole incident will make a very humanizing chapter in my memoir, which I am pitching now. My monster
advance will cover the sushi.”
“As long as your motivations are pure.”
“As the driven snow. Chase and I will arrive by car at seven. I told him this fundraiser was for a cause very personal to me, but I didn’t want it on the books. And he had to come so I’d have someone to talk to and an excuse to leave early. When we get there, I’ll bluster about and take a call or two to kill some time until I get the all clear from Tanesha that everything is set up. I’m to pretend that I may have the wrong address or the date, that’s why the museum is empty. This will be my finest acting, I promise. We’ll head to the garden to pretend to do one last check for the fundraiser, where I assume you and your Widows will be waiting.”
“Oh, no! My group is supposed to be VIP tourists there for an after-hours tour and reception. We arrive at six forty-five
and go directly to the galleries upstairs to stay out of view until you and Chase are in position. We’ve hired a Noguchi expert
to give us a walk through the museum so Penny doesn’t get suspicious right off the bat. And before that, we’re doing a historical
tour of Queens, so it’s clear that we are all in on Queens.”
“I know I’m the mayor and I have to say this, but I like Queens. It reminds me of the city I grew up in, with real neighborhoods
and gossip and a sense of connection. Plus, some pretty swanky high-rises now. I think you’ll like it if you give it a chance.”
“I’m on board with Queens. It was just such a shock. I’m probably related to half the borough. Obviously, you know it’s very
Greek. I made a conscious decision not to live there when I settled in this country, seeing California as a fresh alternative
to the old ways. Now, ironically, Penny may end up there. But if this all works out, I welcome Queens. I’m rooting for it,
in fact.”
“Very wise.”
“It’s Chase’s parents and their team who are in charge of transforming the small patio in the sculpture garden into what Abigail calls ‘a dreamscape.’ There’s a whole lacrosse team van of volunteers coming in from Connecticut. There’s a cello player and ballroom dancers and an electrician who is a magician with little white lights. You get Chase to the garden and tell him the real reason he’s there. Then we follow with Penny. And we all disappear. You’re welcome to join us at a bistro in the neighborhood afterward. I reserved a private room for our post-Noguchi party.”
“Have you thought about what might happen if this doesn’t work?”
“The world will go on. But there will be one less happy couple in it.”
“Yes, poor Penny and Chase.”
“I’m talking about me and Abigail.”
“I don’t think she cares for me,” the mayor admitted as he leaned back against the marble countertop.
“I don’t think she does either,” Alexa confirmed. “But this act of charity may change her mind.” Then, to change the subject,
she looked around the kitchen. “This island is bigger than my entire kitchen in Montecito.”
“But you can walk to the beach. As I recall, Penny told me you’re an open-water swimmer. There’s your trade-off. Swimming
in the Hudson is not the same as the Pacific.”
“I love the Pacific, but it’s not the Aegean.” Her mind flashed to the clean, clear aquamarine waters off Patmos where she’d
learned to swim. She missed her home island sometimes.
“Nothing is like the Aegean,” Timmo said.
The mayor’s move toward Alexa was so smooth, it took her by surprise. They were talking about the ocean, and she was thinking
that the color of his eyes was like the Aegean, and then he was standing next to her. He was close enough so one of his hands
rested on the counter, while the other slipped around her waist. She wasn’t flustered, only ready. She had been imagining
a moment like this since their first encounter. He jolted her system into gear that day in Fair Harbor, and she wanted more
than clever conversation. She placed her hand on his chest, not to ward him off but to reassure him.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
The kiss was light and playful. He was good at this. Then there was much more as he leaned into her and she leaned into him,
the pressure and the pleasure increasing. Judging by his reaction, she was good at this, too. Their kisses tasted like lemon.
He pulled away slowly, a satisfied smile on his face. “You know, I’m going to have some time on my hands after the first of
the year,” he said, alluding to the end of his term. “Maybe you will, too, after we pull off this wedding?”
“We’re a ‘we’ now, are we?”
“As Americans like to say, we both have skin in the game. You want a son-in-law and I want a candidate. We are going to make
that happen.” He traced his hand across her breastbone and down her arm, over her hip.
She smoothed his hair. “I like your confidence. About the wedding.”
“And about your schedule in January?”
“How about we start with tonight? And see where it goes.”
***
The next morning, Alexa marched into the hotel lobby, dragging her Rimowa roller bag behind her, the result of having gone
straight from the plane to dinner and never getting over to the hotel to check in. She was grateful to have a change of clothes
and her own toothbrush with her this morning. She had been dropped off at this modest tourist hotel in Midtown by the mayor
of the greatest city in the world on his way to a breakfast meeting with the secretary of labor. (At least, that’s what Timmo
Lynch had reminded her when they parted.) She hoped she had enough time to get to her room, change, and return to the lobby
before the nine o’clock meetup. She figured the time change was in her favor and most of her companions would just be waking
up.
But no. The Merry Widows were camped out in the breakfast room, which faced the front door of the hotel. Were they waiting for her?
“We see you!” Frannie bellowed and waved, so Alexa had no choice but to join them even though she wanted to head to her room,
deep moisturize her face, and go down an internet rabbit hole of everyone that Timmo Lynch had ever dated in his seventy years
on the planet. But all that would have to wait.
Standing tall and proud, Alexa called, “I see you, too!”
They made room at their table and Mitsy summoned over the server. “What can I buy you?” she said, taking control of the situation.
(Mitsy was proving to be surprisingly adept at spycraft for an eighty-year-old philanthropist. She was a timeline master,
kept everyone on schedule, and had a keen understanding of protocol. Plus, she understood that the primary mission of the
Widows was to provide cover. She was the one who had chosen the hotel for its low profile and average tourist clientele. “We
can’t stay in our usual place. We need to make Penny think this really was a last-minute trip and this is all we could secure,”
Mitsy had argued as she instructed Alexa to make the reservations.) Enveloped in tweed and cashmere with a swipe of Black
Honey Almost Lipstick in place, Mitsy was the opposite of average. And the first to ask the question they all were thinking,
“How was your evening? And your morning?”
The Merry Widows bubbled over with excitement. This was the good stuff they had been waiting for Alexa to divulge for over
a decade. Finally, they had caught her in the act, so to speak. With the mayor! The George Clooney of politicians. This was
a layer of romance they hadn’t suspected.
“So... tell us everything,” Ming insisted, as more coffee arrived.
“First, I must let you know, he is up to speed on the plan for tonight. He will execute his end of the plan,” Alexa confirmed,
antagonizing her friends on purpose. They could wait for the juicy stuff.
Mitsy took the lead. “Well, that’s grand to hear, but that’s not why we all got up at the crack of dawn.”
Alexa dragged the moment out by taking a long sip of her weak hotel coffee before saying, “I can confirm that Timmo Lynch is a very charming man with a stunning apartment who can make a very good old-fashioned. And that is all I am going to divulge.” There was a round of boos and disappointed faces.
“Is he still operational?” Roxanne asked, making a gesture with her hands that was considered impolite in most countries.
Gasps all around followed by laughter.
Alexa realized she owed them more. They had, after all, come to New York to support her plan, so she delivered. “Yes, still
fully operational. And, I can tell you this, it was my idea to spend the night and his idea to drop me off this morning. In
addition, he informed me that he would have quite a bit of free time in January and might like to spend some of it with me
on the Aegean.”
This is what the table had wanted, and they offered up a small ovation.
“Brava,” said Toots.
“A fine head of hair!” said Roxanne.
“Nice catch,” said Ming. “And he doesn’t need your money.”
“I’m sorry that Sarah had to get that van back to the lacrosse team in Connecticut,” Frannie said. “Or else she would whoop
it up and scream, ‘LFG!’”
“What does that even mean?” Roxanne asked.
“I don’t know. But something good.”
The women all toasted with their coffees. “LFG!”
***
After breakfast Alexa only had a few minutes to get ready for the day before Penny arrived in the lobby expecting an art tour, not an ambush. Alexa had her get-ready-quick drill down: dry shampoo, body-only shower, moisturizer, and foundation. Then she slipped into her New York travel outfit of black on black on black with a decent bag and good, European-chic sneakers. She blew out her hair, put on makeup, slipped the Operation Butterfly baseball hat and a pashmina into her bag. She was ready, at least physically.
She took a second to breathe deeply.
Her stomach was in knots at the thought of seeing Penny. Her daughter. Her heart and soul.
She needed this to work. She needed to get back to the closeness they shared. She needed to hear Penny say that she was forgiven
for whatever had caused the rift. She wanted her daughter to be happy again.
She let out one last, long breath. Please let this work, please let this work.