Chapter 32
GOLDEN DINER, MADISON STREET
What was he doing? Something other than his job was the answer.
Luca could tell himself this was necessary research to ensure he really dug deep into Gabriella’s core aesthetic, but he’d be lying.
He wanted to spend more time with her. And exactly how long had it been since he had wanted that with someone?
Perhaps, if he was really honest, it was Nancy Parker, his girlfriend at college.
Ambition had been his only significant partner since then.
‘So, this place we’re going to,’ Luca said as he and Gabriella walked side by side. ‘It’s one of my favourite go-tos.’
‘Does it have napkins or serviettes?’ Gabriella asked.
‘What?’
‘You know that’s how you can tell a quality establishment.’
‘Yeah? So, you like all the different spoons and dessert forks? Maybe we should go somewhere else, I mean—’
‘No!’ she said quickly. ‘The opposite actually. If this place does have waiters in tuxedos then I’ll deal but—’
‘No,’ he interrupted. ‘The opposite actually.’
‘Do they do breakfast?’
‘You want breakfast now?’
‘Don’t you?’
He didn’t have to think too hard about that question. ‘I actually always want breakfast.’
‘Hmm,’ she mused. ‘I don’t know if I believe that. Are you humouring me?’
‘Absolutely not. And the answer is yes, they do breakfast all day.’
‘Then what are we waiting for? Show me the serviettes.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
He led the way to the unassuming restaurant with its blue canopy.
It was a hot spot all year round, with outside eating in the summer and he hoped this time, in the inclement weather, there wouldn’t be a wait line.
Thankfully, the diner gods were on his side and not only was there no queue, there were also a couple of free tables.
‘Oh, wow,’ Gabriella said as they stepped inside into the warmth and she looked at the counter with its stools and the Formica-covered tables.
‘No waiters in tuxedos,’ Luca commented.
‘Thank God,’ Gabriella said. ‘It’s perfect.’
She had breathed out the last sentence like she really meant this modest eatery was her idea of culinary heaven. And that had his mind revolving again…
They sat down, took off their coats and were given menus, but he already knew what he was going to have.
‘I recommend the Chinatown Egg and Cheese Sando,’ he told her. ‘That’s my breakfast.’
‘Does it come with bacon? I mean, I shouldn’t really have bacon if there’s a chance a reporter is going to photograph it but—’
‘You can add anything from the sides.’ He leaned a little across the table and put his finger on the section of her menu. ‘And, in my experience, it’s not the kind of place that has reporters jumping out of nowhere.’
‘Don’t tell me that,’ Gabriella said. ‘I’ll add everything.’
‘So add everything,’ he said with a smile. She looked up from the menu, eyes fixing on his. Somehow they were questioning. ‘What?’
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘I do.’
‘People don’t ever say things like that and really mean it.’
‘No?’
‘Not in my experience,’ Gabriella said.
‘OK,’ Luca said, nodding. ‘So, you want to try my recommendation?’
‘Sure,’ Gabriella agreed, closing her menu. ‘But with bacon.’
‘OK,’ Luca said. ‘And to drink?’
‘Ah, well that’s easy. I’ll have the Winter Tonic cocktail. There’s nothing better than hot alcohol when it’s December.’
He called the waiter over. ‘So, can we have two Chinatown Egg and Cheese Sandos and two Winter Tonics?’
‘And one of those sandos with a side of bacon,’ Gabriella said.
‘No, actually, we would like all the sides,’ Luca ordered.
Gabriella shook her head but there was a smile on her face as she passed the waiter her menu. And, for some reason, that pleased him…
‘A man of your word,’ Gabriella commented. ‘I hope you’re going to eat the yoghurt and the tofu.’
‘I hope you’re not going to take all the sausage.’
‘Oh, so we’re in a food challenge now?’
‘Absolutely not,’ he answered. ‘We’re just going to enjoy it. Maybe eat with our fingers and use the serviettes.’
Gabriella smiled. ‘You’re not what I expected a stylist to be like.’
‘Well, for one, you expected a woman.’
‘No,’ she said. But then… ‘OK, maybe yes.’
He laughed. ‘I mean it’s not a new thing. I get it all the time. People think men can’t style. Or, predominately, people think that men can’t style women. But some of the greatest fashion designers are men and they’ve been dressing and styling women for years so, go figure.’
‘But it’s still a career choice that’s in the minority, right? So, what made you choose it?’
There were two answers. He only ever shared one. How could he ever share the other? And as his mind battled with that conundrum his mouth forged forth.
‘Couldn’t make it on Broadway,’ he answered, deadpan expression in place.
‘So you thought, can’t hold a place in the chorus line, I need to dress it?’
‘Are you making fun of me?’ he asked.
‘Not at all. Just trying to get a gauge on you.’
‘A gauge?’
‘The fact you made a joke about why you chose to be a stylist and didn’t actually answer…’
‘It’s telling you what?’
‘You have something to hide?’
He shook his head as the feeling like worms were writhing in his stomach infiltrated.
‘I’ve nothing to hide. To be completely honest, fashion is the only thing I’ve been any good at.
Since the year I styled my sister for a high school competition.
Britney meets The Terminator meets Camp Rock. Do you see the vision?’
‘Vividly, actually,’ Gabriella said as their cocktails arrived, steaming in the glasses. ‘Perhaps you could bring it back. A 2026 reinvention.’
‘For your library event?’ Luca suggested.
‘Haha, I meant the next time one of your clients needs something special for the Met Gala.’
‘Maybe if you need something for the Met Gala.’
‘I’m not Met Gala famous,’ Gabriella said. ‘But you seem very keen to get me into nineties/early 2000s couture.’
He smiled, circling his finger over the rim of his cocktail glass. ‘Busted.’
He looked up from his drink and watched her take a sip of hers. Her lips on the glass… He shifted a little on his seat.
‘Wow, this is special,’ Gabriella said, putting the glass back down. ‘I don’t know whether the sharpness is from the ginger or whatever the alcohol is.’
‘It’s soju. It’s Korean. Definitely giving the burn.’
‘I like it.’ She nodded as her eyes met his.
‘Me too.’ He took a beat, kept looking.
‘And you still haven’t answered my question fully,’ she said, taking another sip of her drink. ‘So was your sister’s rise to high school costume competition winner the reason you excelled into styling as a profession?’
‘Actually, she didn’t win,’ he admitted, remembering the loss of the competition and how Steffi had got that mix of mad and sad she got when things didn’t go her way – teary and punchy.
‘But maybe that was the beginning of realising that it was a profession that could be open to me, if I got better at it. Second place to a Marge Simpson whose hair was made from thousands of actual real blueberries was a lesson learned.’
‘Wow. They went the extra mile.’
‘Yeah. But I studied, I pursued it. Intently. I knocked on doors. I stalked my contemporaries. I stalked Sybille actually.’ And he had no idea why he had just admitted to that. He was definitely limiting this to a one cocktail occasion…
‘Really?’
‘I’ve made it sound too impressive. I just happened to be in her favourite restaurant a couple of times. Might have found out what she ordered.’
Gabriella laughed. ‘That is totally stalking. So instead of a restraining order she gave you a job?’
‘No,’ Luca answered. ‘She gave me a chance.’ He remembered back to how it had been.
He had never expected to just walk in to somewhere as high calibre as La Facon, had only hoped to get an opportunity to show Sybille what he thought he could do.
But, at the back of his mind, all he really wanted was for someone to see him for him.
He took a breath. ‘And I’ve been grateful for it every day since. ’
‘It must feel satisfying… to be working at something you have a real talent for and also it’s something that you love.’
He nodded but he was watching her. The little reactions she made she probably didn’t know she did.
Her finger on the rim of her glass, a subconscious look to the door as diners entered, the way she corrected her posture as she sat.
He felt there was a lot going on in her mind that she kept to herself.
‘Like with you and your writing?’ He had deliberately posed it as a question to see how she reacted.
‘Ah, well, that’s something I came to a bit later in life. When I’d exhausted other avenues.’
Spoken like a true media-trained savvy individual. She had answered the question but not really…
‘And what were those avenues?’
She smiled. ‘I’m not allowed to talk about them,’ she whispered. ‘It’s a matter of national security.’ She tapped the side of her nose.
‘I get it,’ he said, nodding. ‘But, just so you know, I will work at getting higher level clearance.’
‘OK, Mr President,’ she retorted.
‘So, can you tell me if you longed to be something else? Race car driver? School teacher? Tour guide?’
She leaned forward a bit. ‘Hmm, what does it tell me about you that you chose those occupations for me?’
He laughed. ‘Honestly, not that much thought went into it.’
‘But our subconscious, it works away in the background despite anything we might try to do to deceive it.’ She took a sip of her drink. ‘So, you think I’m racy, intelligent, and yearn to travel.’
‘Thank God I didn’t say anything worse.’
‘Or better.’
Something rippled between them across the table, like there had been an immediate charge in the atmosphere. Luca felt his insides tighten, expand, contract and back again as their eyes danced.
And then their food order arrived with a thump.