Chapter 2

~ How Your Remind Me ~

"Eight o'clock! You're in bright and early this morning." Claire Meade, co-Editor-in-Chief of Hot Flash, sailed into the office of the Editor-in-Chief of Mode, and surveyed the mounds of paper scattered over the surface of his desk. "Well, early, anyway, maybe not so bright," she amended at the sight of her son's loosened tie, grimly set mouth and puffy, tired eyes. "Daniel, have you been up all night? I'm not sure which is more disheveled—you or your desktop. Could you find a single item there that you wanted without first shuffling through a couple dozen others?"

"Actually, there's an order to my madness," retorted her son. "What you see before you is three distinct groupings of documents, all spelling trouble for me. Over here on the left—these are the principal photography for our two major fashion layouts in the current issue. They're awful! With our regular photographers on strike, we're left with second-rate over-the-hill hacks or else neophytes with talent but no understanding of how to work with models. But at least, now that Cliff's been elevated to Creative Director, I can throw the problem in his lap. As a world-class photographer himself, hopefully he can tap resources I don't know about. Otherwise, goddamn it, he'll have to re-shoot these features himself."

"So that problem's under control, sort of. And what's that pile on your right?"

"Just the seemingly ever-growing evidence of my pathetic shortcomings as a father."

"Let me guess, Danny's screwed up again? Did it ever occur to you that this may have more to do with his shortcomings as a son than with any inadequacy on your part?"

"Gee, is that what you told yourself when Alex and I were teens acting out against our absentee parents?"

Claire fell back a step, sustaining the blow, then pulled herself up straight. "Ouch, landed a good one there. Feel better?"

"I'm sorry, Mother, you don't deserve that. It's just . . . Danny's been kicked out of yet another school, and believe me, they had plenty of reasons. Here's the letter from the headmaster at St. Lucius, officially expelling him. And this here's a warning from the truant officer. Oh, and these messages? They all seem to be from the irate father of one of his little girlfriends, who I'm praying isn't too muscular or too well connected within the Department of Justice. Nevertheless, I really can't let Danny shoulder all the blame, can I? I mean, I'm well aware of how much I don't know about being a parent. And I'm damned if I'll undermine his sense of security by going on the attack, like Bradford would. The boy shouldn't be made to suffer just because I don't know how to manage him."

"Danny's a good, loving kid at heart, Daniel, but he doesn't lack self-confidence the way you did. He lacks discipline and a sense of accountability. You'll only reinforce your son's recklessness and feelings of entitlement if you don't show him that he needs to own up to his own misbehavior and accept the consequences."

"Yeah, that's what Betty said. She pretty much dictated the terms of his punishment last night."

"Well, thank God for Betty, then. I always say you're lucky to have her on your team. She's been a lifesaver to you and you don't pay her nearly enough."

Daniel threw up his hands in frustration. "Damn it, that's what everyone's always saying! So I'm always increasing her pay and still nobody thinks it's enough! Just how much do you think I should be paying her, anyway?"

"I don't know. How much do you pay her now?"

"See? You don't even know!"

"No, I just know it can't be enough. You don't want to lose her, do you? Now, what's your third problem?"

"My third problem is, I may be losing Betty."

"I told you so!"

"No, really, look these over." Daniel grabbed a pile from the midst of the clutter before him and shoved it into his mother's hands.

"What's all this?"

"My third problem—a new project of Betty's, a proposal for a cooking magazine. I was going to bring it to you to review today. Could you get back to me with your opinion sometime after lunch? Even though I'm dreading to hear it."

"Oh dear, is it so bad that you're going to have to reject it outright? Still, she might be disappointed, but I don't think she'd quit over that, Daniel."

"No, you don't understand. It's surprisingly good. It's better than good. How could I watch her work right under my nose all these years and not realize how well she's come to know the publishing business? I mean, she's always had talent and imagination, but this is really sophisticated. In fact if all her research and her numbers hold up, this could be damned near ready to go into production."

"And you're not happy about that?"

"If this flies—and my guess is that Alex will approve it—I can't stand in Betty's way. She'll deserve a major editorial role. It's her big chance. Now, it's selfish, I know, but, Mother, she's always been there for me. I don't know how I'll operate without her. And, also . . . I'll just miss her. Like the song says, I've grown accustomed to her face."

"Ah, yes, My Fair Lady. Well, remember—Henry Higgins got to keep his Eliza in the end."

"That's true, but Eliza lived in his house and was willing to keep doing all the things she'd always done for him. She wasn't embarking on a whole new career."

"But maybe if she had, they still would have worked something out." Claire swept towards the door with Betty's offerings in her arms. "Of course, Henry was in love with Eliza. That's the difference." She shot Daniel a sharp look. "Or is it?" Then she was gone.

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Justin smiled gleefully as he hugged his aunt. "I don't know why you asked to see me so early today, Aunt Betty, but thank you, thank you, thank you! You know I'm grateful that you got Christina to give me that tailoring apprenticeship, and it's really going to come in handy when I apply for fashion school next year. But the thing is, Christina says I'm built just like Elizabeta—you know, that model who dated Daniel for awhile?—and she's always making me stand in for her at fittings when the girl's too hung over to show up for work. Which happens, like, every morning. What did Daniel see in her? Anyway, sometimes I don't mind so much, but today they're doing the peasant look, which is so fey. You know, Marc never made me do stuff like that back when I was his intern."

"Well, that was before you grew up to be a willowy 5-foot-10. Actually, you're just lucky that Amanda never got her claws on you back then, or you'd have been dressed up in something a lot more fey than the peasant look. And she'd have made you walk her stinky little dog, to boot. In the meantime, tell me, how's your new baby brother?"

"Very loud! Man, that kid's got lungs! Which he mostly likes to exercise when everyone else is sleeping. And does he have Mom and Jamal whipped, like they're more his slaves than his parents."

"He's just a baby, Justin, give him a break. Crying is his only way of getting his needs met. Don't worry, he'll grow out of it soon enough."

"Hey, after 18 years with no competition, let me have my little moment of sibling rivalry! Don't worry, I'll grow out of it soon enough."

Betty switched topics: "So let me tell you why I called you here, I have a favor to ask of you. And it just might get you out of those early morning fittings, at least for awhile."

"Great! I'm all ears!"

"Well, I know that last June you were happy to graduate from high school a year early, but how would you like to get back in the classroom? This time, as a teacher. With a class of just one student."

"Class in what subject?"

"Two, actually. I'm asking because they were two of your best: Geometry and Spanish."

"Well, Spanish, duh, all I had to do was channel Grandpa. And, geometry just came naturally to me somehow. It's very spatial, which I'm sure is linked to my fine, fine sense of design. So, who would be my lucky instructee?"

Betty cleared her throat. "You know Daniel's son Danny?"

"Okay, thanks for the offer but no thanks, bye!" Justin jumped up, ready to dash for the exit.

"Wait, Justin, I know Danny is spoiled rotten, but at least he's never going to ask to sew you into a fashion project."

"Well, yeah . . . "

"And, um, Christina tells me they'll be fitting the models for gold lamé swimwear later this week. Bikinis, I think she said."

"Curses, why'd I have to be built so damned willowy? All right, you got me. But why does that guy need me to teach him? Can't he just take those classes in school?"

"Long story short, Danny's been expelled and I can't line up a professional tutor until after Christmas. But in the meantime, he's been skipping his Spanish and geometry classes for over two months and needs to get caught up. I guarantee Daniel will pay you quite well for taking this extra job on. He realizes it will be a challenge."

"Woo-hoo, Meade money! So I'll at least get a wardrobe update out of this. Open your cash registers, Dolce and Gabbana, here I come!"

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Betty grinned, recognizing the Scottish brogue upbraiding her through the phone. "I thought we were friends! Why are you taking away me most obedient and responsible model for the foreseeable future? Justin's such a gem, bless his androgynous little heart. I need him! And furthermore, why did you send that pretty fruit of your boss's loins down here to toy with the hearts of all me other models? Danny said you sent him to get the girls' measurements. That can't be right, can it?"

"Hah! He wishes! I'm having Justin tutor Danny for a couple of months, and I sent Danny down to set up a class schedule with him. Pul-lease keep your models away from that jail-bait, Christina. That is one piece of bait that will jump right off the hook to go swimming after the fishes if he gets the chance. Oh, and keep your own hands off him, too, of course."

"Really, Betty, who do you imagine you're talking to? Just because he's adorable and nubile and has that sweet accent and . . . .okay, okay, thanks for reminding me. No robbing the cradle! By the way, do you want to meet for a drink after work?"

"Oooooo, how did you know? I'm hoping to have big news about my future today, so by closing time I'll definitely be needing a drink either to celebrate or drown my sorrows. You're on!"

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Arriving at Mode for her usual after-school shift, Annette found her supervisor in her office pacing nervously. With the Cuisine project wrapped up, obviously this was not going to be a typical workday.

"Good afternoon. Did everything go well today, Ms. Suarez? Did you get a chance to give Mr. Meade the magazine proposal?"

"Actually, I handed it to him last night, and I have an appointment with him in about half an hour to hear his reaction. Listen, Annette, the waiting is killing me, so I'm too keyed up to work right now. Let's just use this time to sit and talk. I will have another assignment to tell you about a little later, but in the meantime, tell me, are you getting what you hoped for out of this internship?"

"Oh yes, especially since I've gotten to work so closely with you. The other interns are kind of jealous."

"Even though I'm just an assistant?"

"But you're more than that! You're a writer, and you know so much about magazines! This internship has convinced me that I need to go to art school after I'm done with high school next year. I love painting and I love graphic art and I love photography, and a career in this industry would allow me to indulge all those interests. You've made me really excited about my future."

Annette glanced inquisitively at the charm hanging from Betty's watch band. "Ms. Suarez," she continued, "Could you tell me more about making a 5-year plan? Where did you get that idea? And what does 'Just Be' mean? You said you'd tell me sometime."

Betty settled into a chair and smoothed her skirt down with her hands. "Okay, once upon a time, there was a young guy who manned the sandwich cart at Mode, and without meaning to, I got him fired on his very first day of work here. But do you know, he never really held it against me because he said it gave him the kick in the pants he needed to start on his 5-year plan. It turned out that he wanted more than just a job and an income. He had actually been studying and experimenting and he knew just about everything there was to know about cold cuts and salads and breadmaking and mixing flavors and textures. He was a craftsman. Why are you smiling?"

"I'm sorry. I was just thinking about how much you love eating sandwiches. It sounds like this guy would be a handy kind of friend for you to have."

"He was. He was a really good friend. He used to embarrass me by calling me The Eater, but what kept me from killing him for it was that to him it was a huge compliment. He loved to see people enjoying the food he made for them, and you can imagine he didn't get much chance for that with his emaciated Mode clientele."

"So, the 5-year plan?"

"You see, he wanted to eventually own a sandwich shop with the world's longest condiment bar, and after I got him fired, he took the first step toward that by opening a little deli. You know where the manicure place is? That's where the deli used to be. Now, this guy had attitude to spare. If you just knew him casually you might think he was quite a smartass—and you'd be right—but underneath, he was also responsible and level-headed and hard-working and ambitious. Me, on the other hand, I was in limbo in my job, hanging in and helping Daniel, but not doing anything to get ahead. This guy inspired me—shamed me, really—into getting back to my writing. He encouraged me to take a writing class on my lunch hour, and then he encouraged me to go after writing assignments here. He got me going on my own 5-year plan. I'd like to think he'd be proud if he knew what you and I put together over the last couple months."

"And did he ever get his long condiment bar?"

Betty dropped her eyes. Annette was surprised to see how melancholy she looked. "I can't tell you that," said Betty. "I actually knew him for only a few months. After that he went away to Italy and we fell out of touch."

"Ms. Suarez," Annette's voice was gentle. "Was that man more than a friend to you?"

Betty cast a pensive look at her protégé and sighed. "Now that's a complicated question. For most of the time I knew him, I was in love with somebody else. But there's no question that there was a connection between us. He just seemed to get me, you know. He knew me so well. . . ." Her voiced trailed off, and her mind seemed to have drifted far away.

"And did the silver charm come from him?"

Betty's thoughts drifted back to the last time she and Gio had been together.

She had two questions to weigh—Gio's invitation for a monthlong trip to Italy, and a marriage proposal from her former boyfriend Henry. And she handled the situation miserably. What Gio asked of her filled her with a giddy joy. The few hours right after she said yes to him she secretly remembered as the happiest of her life.

Then later the same day Henry arrived unexpectedly with a request that she come home with him to Arizona as his wife. Only a couple months earlier, that had been exactly what she had prayed for—a sweeping away of all the obstacles that kept them apart. Yet when the proposal came, there was no excitement, no happiness, only anxiety and puzzlement and irritation.

Weeks afterwards, Betty bitterly regretted not having gone with her feelings at that moment. She should have told her suitor at once that it was too late for them, that she had moved on, that she had cried all the love out of her heart. What was left was simple affection and a hope that he could build a contented and fulfilling life without her. But she had adored him for so long, she didn't believe in those empty feelings. How could so powerful a love wither away in a few short weeks? Could she be that fickle? That shallow? No, surely she simply needed time to adjust to the idea and then the ecstasy and love would engulf her anew.

The following afternoon she, Henry and Gio all played in the Mode-Elle softball game. In short order, each of her admirers learned of the other's plans for her, and each was aghast. Somehow, the three of them ended up covering the outfield together for Mode. While waiting for the game to begin, Betty looked to her left and saw Henry in his anguish, and all she felt was guilt and pity. She just wanted him gone. Then she looked to her right, and the depths of sadness in Gio's face almost destroyed her. She had not realized until that very instant that she cared so much, and the knowledge washed over her and shocked her like a splash of icy sea water. Her impulse was to run to him and cradle him and tell him, "It's okay, you're the one, I choose you." If only she had, if only, if only . . .

But at that moment, Willi Slater threw the pitch that kicked off the game. And when the teams reached the last inning an accident occurred. All three outfielders went after a pop-up fly headed for center field, and somehow Betty was knocked to the ground unconscious. Upon recovering, she had no awareness of how much time she had been passed out or what had flitted through her mind as she lay there insensible. However, for some reason she awoke with a new sense of resolve. At the close of the game, she fled the field without speaking to either man. She went home, showered and washed her hair, crawled into bed and pulled the covers up over her head.

The next day, she arrived at Henry's hotel room and knocked on the door gripping his ring in her hand. The door opened in a flash. Spying the twinkle of the diamond she held, Henry began a slow grin and pulled her into the room: "I trust you're here to let me place that on your finger."

"No, I'm so sorry," she blurted out. "I can't marry you. I can't move to Arizona. Not now, not ever."

"What? I don't understand. Look, Betty, if it's leaving your family or your job you're worried about, just say you'll be my wife and we'll find another way to get there from here. It's complicated—I mean, there's baby Nate, he has to be taken into account. But I love you enough that I'm committed to finding a way for us. You don't know, these weeks without you have been hell on earth."

"Oh, Henry, they were hell for me, too. But I've come through that tunnel and out the other side. I'm sorry and I—I'm ashamed, but I find I'm not the person you thought I was. It's just over for me. I hate saying it as much as you hate hearing it, but you need to know that there are no plans you can make, no accommodations you can agree to, which would change things. Even if you came back to New York now, we would still be finished."

She pressed the ring into his hand and folded his fingers over it. For a moment they stared at each other in silence. Tears glittered in his eyes. Finally he spoke. "Is it Gio, then?" His rising voice held torment mixed with mounting anger.

And so that he would understand once and for all that there was no hope, she told him. "Yes. It's Gio. I love him." It was the only time in her life she had ever admitted it out loud, and Gio was not there to hear it.

Thus Henry learned that the one thing he had feared most had come to pass. He threw her out then, telling her she was cruel, saying he never wanted to see her again, all the things she believed she so richly deserved. Helpless to comfort him, she left him looking beaten and dead inside.

Outside the hotel, she punched Gio's number into her cell phone, catching him at his deli, where he was wrapping up a few loose ends with the cousin who would be filling in for him during his Rome sabbatical. She asked him to meet her in the same park where two days earlier he had taught her to slug a softball.

When she arrived, Gio was already there. Despite the season the air was nippy that day and, wrapped in his brown leather jacket to ward off the chill, he appeared to her impossibly handsome. Right off the bat, he challenged her, "You've been to see Henry."

"Yes."

"And now you've come to give me the bad news."

Betty held up her left hand and wiggled the second finger from the end to show that it held no ring. "Gio, I told him that I would never marry him and that's the truth. But now I have to tell you that I also can't go to Rome with you." His eyes left her face and looked off into the distance as she continued, "Right now I don't trust what I feel, and going away with you for so long, I'm afraid it could be a trap. It's too much pressure. You told me you want to be The Guy—my guy—but I'm just not ready yet to say that you are. And it wouldn't be fair for me to go with you until I sort it out for myself." Her hand took hold of his arm and he looked back at her, listening, his mouth set in a grim line. "I'm not saying no to you, Gio. You're very special to me, and I'll still be here when you get back. We can both use this month to think things over, okay?"

Unexpectedly, he tossed her a wry grin. "Back to playing it safe, aren't you? I guess you have your reasons, though I'll never understand how your mind works. Anyway, I don't need to think things over, as you say, but I do get the message that I'll have to wait. Again. Oh well, I've got a lot of practice at that. I guess I can hang in there a bit longer." He tickled her side with teasing fingers. "So, I'm still a little too hot for you to handle, is that it? Tell you what, I'm going to send you a pair of oven mitts from Italy. And you better be wearing 'em next time I see you, because I'll be coming right at you, B, and—believe me—you're gonna feel the heat."

Betty smiled a little at Gio's quip. She slipped one arm lightly around his waist and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, relieved that he seemed to be managing his disappointment well. Gio bent his head and peered intently at her face with a quizzical expression, while tracing circles on her back with his hand.

Abruptly, in a husky voice he muttered, "Come here," and swept her into a ferocious hug, rocking with her as though the motion would somehow mold them closer together. As they slowed to a stop, his right hand came up and cupped the back of her head. He buried his face in her neck and grazed there with kisses. After a moment, she pulled her head back to gaze for a long moment into his shining eyes, her hand caressing the curve of his cheek. Then, wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him softly on his lips. His chest rose and fell, as a powerful sigh escaped him. Suddenly, she felt his mouth moving wildly against hers, greedy and desperate, and her own mouth responded in kind, as a fund of passion welled from deep within her. Her lips, her tongue could not get enough of his. But at last Gio pulled away, letting his hands slide down her arms, linger a moment in her hands and finally break clean.

Stepping back and tucking his hands in his pockets, he spoke gruffly, "I'm really going to miss you in Rome, Betty. I'll miss the plans I had for us."

"I don't want you to miss me. I want your trip to be so exciting that you won't have time to miss me. I want you to find out everything there is to know about Italian cooking, and then come back and cook for me till I burst from sampling everything you've learned. This is going to be a great adventure for you, Gio. Make the most of it—please!" In reply, Gio nodded and winked at her, but his expression was solemn as he turned and strode off.

Betty called after him, "Hey, do you want me to drive you to the airport tomorrow?"

Without looking around, he called back, "No, that's all right. I'll be home in a month. See you then!"

At first, time passed quickly. On the day of the ball game, she had already decided that the Suarez family home did not afford her the privacy and freedom she needed to accommodate her rapidly evolving life. So she rented an apartment over in Brooklyn Heights, asked Christina to be her roommate, and moved there.

It happened that Daniel's and her circumstances were in upheaval during that period, so that the stress of her job kept her stirred up, and Christina's difficult pregnancy also absorbed much of her attention. But as the days sped by, she observed with increasing confidence and anticipation that her ardor for Gio was not wavering as she had feared it might. In stolen moments, she found herself daydreaming about her man's return, growing more and more sure of her feelings, more impatient for the chance to let him know that she was truly his. She yearned for Gio to plague and tease her and feed her cookies. She yearned even more to feel his strong arms around her again. And she nurtured another fantasy she was eager to turn into a reality—the chance to share a bed and to make love with him for the first time.

But Gio never came home. And when a gift arrived from Rome, it held not oven mitts, but a tiny silver charm and a letter with a message that sliced her heart into pieces.

"Ms Suarez? The charm?" Annette's voice jolted Betty from her reverie.

"Yes, Annette, it was a gift from the same man, the sandwich guy. Back when I knew him, I sometimes—often, in fact—used to find myself making poor life choices based on some impossibly rigid standard I'd set for myself. One time when I was particularly miserable, he pointed out that I was constantly beating myself up over how I thought I should be, and he said that instead I needed to learn how to 'just be.'" Betty chuckled. "And then he got me to engage in an act of petty burglary."

"You? Stealing? But stealing is wrong!"

"I agree, but in this case it was also very liberating. And I wasn't a bit sorry. Unfortunately, 'just be' turned out to be a lesson I had difficulty absorbing. A time came when I failed to follow it, and it led to the biggest mistake of my life, which I don't want to talk about further. Just suffice it to say, later on when my friend sent me the charm from Italy, I decided to wear it every day as a reminder."

Annette glanced at the clock on Betty's desk. "I think it must be time for your appointment with Mr. Meade now, isn't it?"

"Why, yes it is. Thank you, Annette. Oh, by the way, if you're thinking of putting together your own 5-year plan, a good way to start is by talking to people who've already gone down the career path you're seeking to follow. If you'd like, I'll be happy to arrange an interview for you with my friend Cliff St. Paul, Mode's Creative Director. Among other things, he's an amazing photographer, he's very kind and approachable, and he has the complete confidence of the Meades. And, speaking of the Meades, here comes your next assignment now."

At that moment, Danny Meade slouched into the room. Annette felt her cheeks grow hot and hoped that neither he nor Betty noticed that her face had suddenly started blushing furiously.