Chapter Fourteen
Fourteen
“Alone at last,” Tony said, once we were in my car and buckled up.
“Not really,” I said. “Rosie’s here.”
Rosie left her spot on the backseat and crawled into Tony’s Zegna-clad lap.
My chaperone. I realized that before today, Tony had never laid eyes on Rosie.
Our hook-ups had all taken place when I was in New York or L.A.
on business. And even though I may have shown him pictures of my dog (I showed everybody pictures of my dog), it would have been the previous Rosie he’d seen.
I’d barely been in contact with him since Rosie I had passed.
“I hope your dog doesn’t shed,” Tony said.
I took my hand from the ignition key. “That’s all you’re going to say about her?”
“What else is there to say?”
“Well, starting with the obvious,” I said. “She’s the most adorable creature on the planet.”
“Next to her owner.” Tony smiled. He had a killer smile, which no doubt helped him close many a deal back in Hollywood.
He wasn’t going to close this one, though.
“Thanks, Antoine.” I started up the car and pulled out into traffic. My GPS told me I had two miles before I-93 N. I could feel Tony’s gaze on me. For the tiniest moment, I remembered what it felt like when that gaze was a type of prelude.
“So, what’s your timetable?” Tony asked.
“You mean, as far as finding Book Babe?”
“No,” he said. “As far as marrying Richie.”
I turned to him. “We don’t have a date set,” I said.
“That’s interesting.”
“Why?”
Tony shrugged. “You were married to him before.”
“And?”
“Well, it’s not like you need to get to know him better,” he said. “I mean, a second engagement is usually more of a technicality.”
I exhaled. “Richie lives in Asbury Park now,” I said.
“New Jersey?”
“One and the same.”
“What’s he doing out there?”
“He’s general manager at a place called Candy’s Room.”
“Home to the world’s greatest Springsteen tribute bands.”
My eyes widened. “You know it?”
“Of course I do. I’m not chained to Hollywood.”
“Still.”
“I get around, Sunny,” he said.
“Clearly.”
“I love that place,” he said. “The giant Exxon sign over the bar. ‘Who’s The Boss’ trivia nights. The names of the drinks. The Pink Cadillac. Rosalita’s Margarita…”
“Born to Rum.”
“Right.” He chuckled. “What a great place to work.”
“Richie thinks so,” I said. “Anyway, that’s why we haven’t set a date. We’re still trying to figure out what our living situation is going to be like.”
“You like the Shore?”
“Very much,” I said. “Most of the time.”
“So, what’s the problem? You’ve got the type of job you can do from anywhere. You love to drive. Live in Asbury Park.”
“But Spike’s in Boston. So is my dad. My loft…”
“You can probably keep the loft, right?” he said. “And it’s driving distance…Man, I can’t believe I’m telling you to speed up your wedding plans.”
“You’re not the only one.”
“I’m sure, but I, uh…have a vested interest against it.”
I smiled. I couldn’t help it. Though I did add an eye roll for good measure.
“I mean it, Sunny,” he said. “When Melanie Joan told me what had happened with ReadAnon, I was upset, of course. Her publisher’s insane overreaction. It wasn’t fair. But then she told me she was hiring you to find Book Babe, and I thought…well, that is definitely a silver lining.”
“That’s flattering,” I said.
“I’m just being honest,” he said. “I’ve missed you. A lot.”
“Again, that’s—”
“Flattering. I know. I promise I’ll stop. I respect you and your choices,” he said. “I just wanted to get it all out in the open. I’m not a big fan of subtext.”
I turned and looked at him. “We had fun, Tony.”
“I know.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“I know.”
“So, what do you say we change conversation topics?”
“Fair enough,” he said. “Or we could just listen to the radio.”
“Fair enough.”
My radio was set to the Bruce Springsteen station—it had been ever since I’d driven back to Boston from the Jersey Shore.
I turned it on. “I’m on Fire” was playing.
Speaking of preludes…I shut it off quickly and checked the GPS.
We had about forty minutes to Gloucester, and I wanted them to be as subtext-free as possible.
“Let’s talk about Natalie Blythe,” I said.