Chicago 1987
Ruby
My mom straightens my coat collar, checks me out, eyes narrowed like she’s disappointed I left home without applying lipstick, again , and says, “Smile, Ruby, for God’s sake.”
I stretch my lips upwards in a fake smile and roll my eyes at the same time. I can’t help it. She clocks the eye-roll, and her mouth pinches into a tight buttonhole shape. “Remember why we’re doing this.”
We are not doing anything. What she means is, remember why you’re doing this, Ruby.
“I didn’t pay for all those ice skating lessons for nothing,” she adds, her voice silky smooth while making sure that I understand we’re in this together.
I work at the outdoor skating rink some evenings. I don’t mind it. I like being outdoors. I like watching folks landing on their butts on the ice and leaping up again, laughing like they planned it that way. Like they enjoy making a total ass of themselves on a night out.
Sure, the boots stink sometimes, and I have to pinch my nose and hold them at arm’s length when I shove them back onto the correct shelf, but it means I get to skate for free whenever I want. The rink gives off holiday vibes anyway, especially when we’ve had a frosting of snow in Chicago, and people are snuggled up inside their furry hoods and ski gloves.
The fairy lights strung around the rink twinkle behind my mom, highlighting her rosy cheeks and pink-tipped nose. I knew as soon as I saw the VIPs rock up in a black stretch limo that it would only be a matter of time before she showed up. I could’ve timed it down to the second if I wasn’t so busy shoving boots into the hands of celebrities wanting to show off their skills—or lack of—on the ice.
I don’t even know how she does it. It’s like she has a built-in radar: money alert, money alert, money alert.
My dad had a stroke thirteen years ago, shortly after I started middle school. Before he got sick, he’d been a successful businessman. He started his company from the basement of his parents’ house when he graduated from university with a master’s in computer technology and an idea that he believed would make him a millionaire.
It did. And then some.
And then it almost killed him.
Well, not the business exactly, but the stress of running a company that was evolving faster than he could keep up with. I don’t know what happened exactly—my parents don’t talk about it—but I do know that a bad deal wiped him out and his business collapsed faster than a house of cards.
I watch my mom fussing over my hair, teasing strands over my shoulders and clicking her tongue like she could do with a can of hairspray right about now. Her hair is immaculate as always, her clothes old but still with designer labels attached to the inside. Her eyes skim my face, noting the state of play of the makeup and nothing else.
“It’s fine, Mom,” I say. “An extra layer of mascara isn’t going to make any difference.”
“It makes all the difference, Ruby.” Her eyes finally meet mine. “I didn’t bring you up to be the kind of girl who forgets to check her teeth in the mirror before she leaves home.”
My mom applies two coats of mascara every day, more sometimes, depending on who she wants to impress.
She works in a beauty salon—I guess looking perfect comes with the job title. It’s what she did before she met my dad and got swept off her feet and into the parallel universe of exclusive hotels, expensive champagne, and glitzy parties. Between her full-time job and my three part-time jobs, we cover the household bills now that my dad can’t work.
She doesn’t resent him for it—for better, for worse, until death do us part, right? But she misses the lifestyle they had before the business went bankrupt. She misses the doors money opened for her, the front row seats on Broadway, and the way people looked at her like she was somebody.
That’s why she’s here now.
She glances over my shoulder, and her eyes widen. “He’s even more gorgeous in real life than he is in the movies.” I see it in the slant of her eyes and the tilt of her head, flirting without even realizing she’s doing it.
I have my back to the rink, but I saw Alessandro Russo arrive with a bunch of his wealthy friends. The boss served them. Only the best for celebrity guests—I guess he couldn’t risk me trying not to gag as I handed over the bladed boots.
Mom thinks they ooze money.
I think they could do with oozing a little less arrogance and a little more authenticity.
So, maybe Alessandro Russo is Hollywood’s rising star. Maybe his last movie did make him a bunch of dollars and first pick of the lead roles in next year’s planned productions. But there’s also the teensy little advantage in his pocket that his family is wealthy and associated with the Russian Mafia—if the stories are to be believed.
But I bet his shit still stinks.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Mom stands back and surveys her handiwork. AKA me.
“Like what?” I know that she knows exactly what I’m thinking.
You know how some moms say there’s no point lying to them because they’ll always catch you out? That’s my mom. Celia Jackson. Lie detector extraordinaire. I swear it must’ve been her party piece when she was younger.
She places her hands on my shoulders, turns me around so that I’m facing the rink, and whispers in my ear, “Go catch yourself a Russo, sweetheart.”
My dad used to take me fishing when I was a little girl when he still had time to spend doing family stuff. I never caught a fish because I couldn’t sit still for more than a couple of minutes. I couldn’t keep quiet either.
But more importantly, I never saw the point of trying to catch a fish using maggots as bait. It felt dishonest; those poor fish in the river never knew that the tasty maggot might be their final meal. They never knew that the meal came with a lethal hook, one that would sink inside their gullet and reel them in before they even knew what hit them.
This feels the same.
There’s Alessandro Russo gliding around the ice without a care in the world in his black leather coat and shiny gold scarf. And here’s me: the maggot.
The guy can skate, I’ll give him that. He turns around so that he’s skating backwards, legs crossed, body all sleek angles and swarthy good looks, grinning at his friends before he executes a simple toe loop and whizzes off, a trail of teenaged girls in his wake.
Ugh!
Of course, he’s lapping up the attention like the cat that got the cream. He glides towards a couple of teenaged girls who are watching him from the edge of the rink, heads almost touching so that they can whisper about how hot he is, and hisses to a halt in the middle of them. I watch their cheeks turn pink as he offers them a hand each and leads them towards the middle of the ice where everyone will be able to watch the performance.
I don’t even know how I’m supposed to get close to him.
A glance at my mom, and she raises her perfectly groomed eyebrows with a nod in the actor’s direction.
Deep breath. I do a few laps of the rink, practicing my spins and salchows in time to the music and lose myself to the Friday-night atmosphere and the chill on my face. When I’m skating, I can forget everything else and pretend that I’m an ice princess, the way I used to do when I was younger.
The crowd around Alessandro Russo grows. I can still see his head above the girls trying to smother him with their autograph requests and their eager smiles, but he’s obviously basking in their adoration like a lizard in the sunshine.
I skate away from my mom and stop at the edge of the rink, bending to fasten the lace of my left boot which has come undone. As I do, someone knees me in the side and performs a somersault over the top of me, landing on their back on the ice like an upturned beetle. I hear the whump of air whooshing from their lungs and flinch.
It sounded like it hurt. A lot.
“Are you alright?” I move closer and offer the guy a hand, and he takes it with an embarrassed smile. At least he isn’t trying to fool me that he did it on purpose.
His hand is warm through his woolen glove, and his grip is firm, although he hauls himself upright and puts no pressure on me to help him.
He has a kind face, that’s my first thought. My second thought is that his eyes are the color of the sea on a clear day in fall. Pumpkins pop into my head. Fiery orange leaves, steaming coffee, and log fires.
“Sore,” he says, “but I guess that’ll teach me to watch where I’m going next time.” His gaze drifts towards the actor in the middle of the rink like a candy store owner handing out free sweeties.
“It’s what happens when you choose to come skating on the same evening as someone famous.” I shrug. “You should come midweek. You can practice falling elegantly as much as you like.”
He smiles, and his whole face lights up. “Is that what you do?” Heat floods his cheeks. “I mean, not that I’m suggesting you can’t skate. I’ve been watching you. Not like that, not in a pervy kind of way, just, well… You’re good.”
I can’t help laughing. “My mom made sure I could skate. She said no one wants to be seen flat on their back with their legs up in the air, at least, not when they’re wearing skates. She said if I didn’t learn, there was always the possibility that someone else’s blades would slice my fingers clean off.”
He blinks, those cool blue eyes growing even wider. This man doesn’t need an extra coat of mascara, that’s for sure. “She said that?”
“My mom’s full of life’s important lessons.”
He smiles again, his expression fading rapidly as his skates slide out from under him… While he’s standing still.
I offer him another hand, only this time, when he grabs it, I can’t help laughing. “On second thought, maybe you should stick to walking, or swimming. Although there’s always drowning…”
He’s laughing though. Which is a bonus. My mom always says I should try reining in the sarcastic humor when I’m in company because not everyone understands or appreciates it.
“Harry Weiss.” He shakes my hand.
“Ruby Jackson.”
“Do you want to?—”
He doesn’t finish because my mom has walked around the outside of the rink and is waving something at me. Harry follows my gaze, and I inhale deeply.
“Gotta go, sorry. Nice meeting you, Harry Weiss.”
He nods. “You too, Ruby Jackson.”
I feel mean abandoning him, but at least he can hold onto the side and pretend that he’s taking a break. My spot beside him is immediately filled by another guy in a smart tweed coat, and I recognize him as one of the men who arrived with Alessandro Russo. Maybe Harry knows him too.
“Ruby!” My mom grabs my attention, and I shove Harry Weiss to the back of my thoughts. Wrong surname. Probably wrong background, too for what my mom has in mind. “What are you doing?”
“Being friendly to the paying customers?” I’ve spotted my car keys in her hand and try to grab them, but she snatches them away from me.
“Nu-huh. Not until you get out there and get yourself noticed.”
“Have you seen how many people have had the same idea?”
She pockets my keys and sets her features into a this-is-me-you’re-talking-to expression. “Other people are not you, Ruby. Other people can’t skate right over there, grab his goddamn hand, and show him what you can do.”
“What makes you think he’ll be interested in what I can do?”
“He’s a good-looking, hot-blooded young man, and you’re a beautiful young woman.”
That’s it. That’s her reasoning, and she doesn’t even see anything wrong in the way she presented it like being a female is enough.
I don’t tell her that I’m done being a maggot. He’ll either notice me or he won’t. And even if I reel him in, there’s no guarantee that he won’t flip straight back into the water to chase the fish already wagging their tails in his face.
“You’re not getting your keys back until you do,” she says, “so I suggest you start performing now.” My mom walks away, her eyes on the prize who is currently autographing the back of someone’s hand, a well-practiced smile on his face.
I skate around the group of fans, giving my best impression of someone who doesn’t know that she’s in the presence of movie royalty. I don’t even look in Alessandro Russo’s direction. I focus on the blades cutting the surface of the ice, and everything I ever learned when my mom dragged me to the rink as a child.
I sense, rather than see, the shift in the atmosphere. The music grows livelier, cashing in on the Friday night experience, and the crowd starts moving away from the celebrity, giving him space to strut his stuff. Two tunes later, and he’s skating alongside me, hands behind his back like this was what he was born to do.
“Do you come here often?” He flashes me his most dazzling smile like that will seal the deal with minor effort on his part.
“Seriously? That’s your chat-up line?” Sometimes, I can’t help myself.
He laughs out loud. I bet it’s won him a few dates before now with that laughter. “Shit. You got me there. You’re good.” He gestures to the ice.
Here’s the point where I should tell him that he’s not so bad himself. You know, flirt a bit, bat my eyelashes at him. But then I spot Harry Weiss in my peripheral vision, clinging for dear life to the side of the rink as my mom approaches him, says something, and then waits for him to make his way off the ice.
Whatever she said, it worked. He glances my way, once, but he doesn’t smile or wave or even acknowledge that he almost took my fingers off. Nothing.
Then a new track comes through the speakers. ‘Love is in the Air’. It’s my dad’s favorite tune, and it hits me like a jolt straight through my heart that I’m doing this for my dad. For us. To give us all a better life. And I smile at the hot actor.
Harry
It’s late by the time I arrive at the InterContinental for Alessandro’s birthday party. I didn’t even see the others leave the skating rink—I was too busy changing the tire on Ruby’s car. Her mom, Celia, told me that she’d noticed her daughter’s car had a slow puncture and she didn’t want her to be stranded in the city when she finished her shift.
I mean, how could I refuse?
I stumbled right over the goddamn top of her—changing her tire was the least I could do. Not that I was helping as an apology. I’d already made an ass of myself with that one.
If I’m honest, I don’t even recall the physical process of the tire change. I guess I was shell shocked, or at least in a bit of a daze, reeling from my brief conversation with Ruby. Something about her…
Anyway, I study my reflection in the elevator mirror and realize that I have grease on my chin. I try scrubbing it off with the sleeve of my sweater and only succeed in spreading it further, so now I look like a kid who’s just returned from summer camp. I smooth my hair back with my hands and sigh when it springs straight back up again.
The party is in full swing, buzzing with laughter and loud conversations that will only grow more boisterous as the evening progresses. I’ll stay for a couple of drinks and then leave—parties are not really my scene, they’re much more Alessandro’s thing. I guess if we met now, rather than at Uni, we probably wouldn’t be friends, we wouldn’t even socialize in the same circles.
Carlos, Alessandro’s brother, comes over and grimaces when he notices the smears on my face, and I subconsciously try to wipe them away with the palm of my hand. “What happened to you? Is this supposed to be some kind of camouflage so that no one will notice you? If so, it isn’t working.”
I check my fingers—they’re grubby now too. “Just helping a damsel in distress.”
He peers all around, his eyes twinkling. That’s the thing about the Russo family—they all have that sparkle, a charisma that people literally find irresistible, and they’re genuinely nice people with it. Must be why the universe smiles down on them.
“Where is she then, this damsel in distress?”
I can’t help smiling. “She’s the one that got away.”
Carlos clamps a large warm hand on my shoulder and peers around at the guests.
Alessandro hired a function suite for the party, the ceiling heavy with crystal chandeliers that cast shimmering diamonds across the room. Waiters in crisp white shirts and black bow ties are walking around with trays of champagne. The tables lining the room are laden with platters of food and floral centerpieces.
Not the kind of place I’d ever have envisaged my friend hosting a birthday party, but he’s drifting into a new lifestyle, and I wonder how long it will be before he leaves his old friends behind. I recognize a young actress from a recently released movie, wearing a gold dress that looks as if it has been poured over her. She’s talking to a movie director who looks remarkably like Martin Scorsese.
I swallow hard, wishing that I’d at least gone back to my room to shower before making an appearance.
“I see Alessandro has finally met his match,” Carlos says, dragging me out of my self-indulgent misery.
“Who?” I scan the room for Alessandro—he’s taller than most people—and the air seems to leave my lungs for a second time this evening when I spot him across the room with a small group of people I don’t recognize. Apart from the young woman standing beside him.
Ruby Jackson.
Do they know each other? Or did Alessandro dish out invitations like autographs at the ice rink? A quick glance around the room tells me that she’s the only one here who isn’t dressed to impress, so I guess he didn’t bring a busload of folks back with him.
She’s the only one.
A waiter comes over, and I accept a glass of champagne which I down in one go. And regret it instantly when the bubbles resurface almost instantaneously.
“Have you ever seen him like this?” Carlos nods in their direction.
He doesn’t need to elaborate—I know exactly what he means. Alessandro is charming as always, steering the conversation, the wide easy smile a constant, but his eyes keep flicking to the woman at his side, the sparkle unmistakable. His hand snakes around her and settles on her lower back as he lowers his head to whisper in her ear, and she smiles up at him…
I signal for the waiter to bring more champagne and switch my empty glass for a full one. I sip this drink slowly.
I don’t know why Alessandro inviting Ruby to his birthday celebration bothers me so much. Scratch that. I know exactly why it bothers me.
We’ve been friends long enough for me to understand that he’ll woo her and then drop her like a lead balloon as soon as he gets bored. Alessandro is the classic chaser. He enjoys the challenge, and if my brief conversation with Ruby is anything to go by, she’ll present the kind of challenge he’ll be unable to refuse.
And Ruby Jackson deserves better than that. Fuck if I’m honest, I want her.
I swallow another mouthful of bubbly liquid. I need a beer. I’ll never get used to drinking champagne and expensive wine that needs time to breathe before you can taste it.
How do I know that she deserves better?
I don’t. At least, that’s what I tell myself, as I turn away from the sight of my best friend nuzzling her neck while she chews her bottom lip.
“I think I need to meet the woman who has captivated my little brother.” Carlos raises his glass to me in a mock toast and navigates around the guests to go join Alessandro and Ruby.
“Did you get into a scrape or something?” Ronnie comes over with a beer and eyes up my greasy face.
“Long story. Where did you find a beer?”
Ronnie taps the side of his nose. “I brought a secret stash. I can’t be drinking that shit.”
I follow him to the cloakroom, where he has hidden a crate of beer underneath a rail of glamorous but impractical winter coats. We crack open a couple of cans and follow the steady thrum of voices back to the function room.
Ronnie spots an old friend and leaves me standing next to a table filled with hors d’oeuvres, bite-sized morsels that smell overwhelmingly fishy. I’m so busy studying the swirls of pink mousse and crab claws and tiny mounds of caviar, that I don’t notice anyone approaching.
“Have you recovered?”
I spin around to find Ruby standing next to me, a smile tugging her lips up at the corners. “Yes. Thank you. Yes, I always feel safer when my feet are touching the ground.”
She nods. Too late, I realize that she has already spotted the black smears on my chin. “Another accident or did you read the newspaper on the way here?”
I can’t help chuckling. She seems to have that effect on me, creating laughter that gurgles beneath the surface just waiting to erupt every time she speaks.
“I changed your tire. I should’ve gone back to my room to shower, but I didn’t think, and, well, you’re not the first person to have noticed, so it looks like I’m stuck with it now.”
She furrows her brow. “My tire?”
“Yes. Your mom said you had a slow puncture. It was flat as a pancake when I got there. She was worried about you getting home.”
She nibbles her bottom lip with her front teeth and then says, “May I?” gesturing to my beer. I hand it over and she takes a long swig, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before handing it back to me. “Thank you. For the beer and the tire.”
Ruby moves closer and surveys the guests in their fancy clothes. “Are you and Alessandro friends?”
Alessandro… The name already sounds comfortable on her tongue.
“Known each other since Uni.”
“Are you an actor too?”
She studies me intently, and I notice now that her eyes are green. I’ve never seen green eyes close up before, and I think I understand why cats are so bewitching.
“No. I work in oil. Petroleum. Fuel.”
Her laughter caresses my cheek like a chiffon scarf. “So, you’re used to getting your hands dirty.”
I peer down at my empty hand and ball it into a fist to hide my grimy fingers. “Not quite. At least, not anymore.”
Her eyes narrow briefly. “Not anymore?”
“I seem to spend more time in the office these days, managing numbers.”
She gives me a curious sideways smile. “So, what, you’re an accountant?”
I’m generally uncomfortable discussing what I do—most women turn their nose up at the word fuel—but Ruby isn’t like most women. She’s still here and she doesn’t look like she’s trying to escape. Yet.
“Not exactly.” I swallow, the back of my throat clicking drily. “I’m the boss. I own my own company. It’s still early days. We can’t compete with the likes of BP or Chevron, but, well…” I glug a mouthful of beer. There’s the dark family business but I’m not involved with it yet, and I don’t want to scare my woman away. My woman? “What do you do? When you’re not skating?”
“I read a lot.”
I nod and pray that she doesn’t ask me who my favorite author is. I haven’t read a book since Uni.
“I studied literature,” she continues without waiting for a response. Which is just as well really, as book talk isn’t my strongest subject. “It was the only thing that I stood a hope in hell of passing, so I went with it.”
She has an air of confidence that allows her to say exactly what she means rather than pussyfooting around. I like that about her.
“Favorite book?” I ask, because damn, I want to know.
“ Wuthering Heights . I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve read it. Doesn’t everyone want to be loved the way Heathcliff loves Catherine Earnshaw?”
I must be gaping at her because the smile is back, but she isn’t laughing at me.
“I guess,” she continues, “if your next question is what I want to do with my life, it would be to write a modern-day Wuthering Heights . Not because I want to go down in history as the next Emily Bronte, but because if I can write about love with that kind of passion, then I’ll be a very happy lady.”
“Was Emily Bronte happy?” I ask.
She studies me coolly. “What a question, Harry Weiss.”
A shiver travels down my spine at the way she says my name.
“You know, she probably wasn’t. She died when she was thirty years old. Can you imagine what she might’ve gone on to write had she lived a full and healthy life?”
“There you are!” Alessandro is standing in front of us, his eyes sparkling for Ruby. “We’re all heading down to the pool before we’re too drunk to stay afloat.” He entwines his fingers with hers and pulls her away.
“Are you coming, Harry?” Ruby doesn’t move; she’s waiting for me to answer.
“Course he’s coming. Aren’t you, Harry?” Alessandro raises his eyebrows at me, telling me to get a move on.
“Sure. I didn’t bring swim shorts though.”
“Who cares?” Alessandro guides her away from me. “No one did.”