21. Frannie's Choice
"Wait!" CC chased after Nanny Fine's ex-fiance as fast as her stiff, unyielding leather pumps could carry her. "Please wait! I can help you win her back. We can buy her perfume, shoes, a new car – I'll pay for everything - "
The Italian-American man stumbled down the stairs of the Sheffields' brownstone, barely catching himself on the rail. He swung around and glowered up at CC, his tropical-print shirt billowing in the chill breeze. How he could wear that flimsy thing without freezing, when Nanny Fine needed a faux-fur-trimmed coat just to step outside was a mystery. Heat seemed to radiate off him along with his cheap cologne.
"Back off, lady," he snarled. "This is none a' yer business."
She recoiled. "Well, excuse me for trying to help!"
"I don't need no help. I'm through with that girl, I tell ya! Didn't you hear her back there? She called me stupid – right to my face!" He jabbed the spot between his own eyebrows, as if there could be any doubt to which face he was referring. "Three years a' my life I wasted on that crazy chick, workin' my ass off ta pay fer her shopping sprees, listenin' ta her nag me night 'n' day about my language, my back hair, the way I eat … nothin' I did was ever good enough, and now this! Heather 'preciates me. Least she used ta. But now she's gone too."
He kicked a parking meter, swore colorfully, and sat down on the Sheffield's front steps with a sound somewhere between a growl and a sigh.
CC approached him with tiny, cautious steps, as she might a dog off its leash or one of Maxwell's children. Something squirmed in the pit of her stomach. At first she mistook it for the effect of Niles sabotaging her coffee again, but after a while, she realized what it was: empathy.
"Oh, believe me, I know," she said, sitting down next to him, much to the detriment of her black gabardine trousers. "Three years? Try fourteen."
The bridal shop owner glanced at her shrewdly, then jerked his thumb in the direction of the handsome apartment behind them. "Sheffield, huh?"
She nodded.
"Damn." He whistled through his teeth.
"Exactly."
"But hey," he clapped her heartily on the back. "Sometimes enough is just enough, right? At some point, ya gotta know when ta quit."
She scooted away from him and drew herself up indignantly. "Excuse me, Mr. Royali - "
"Imperiali."
" – but if I'd listened when people told me that, I'd be stuck running charity functions and married to some spoiled, pompous trust fund brat my mother picked out for me. Instead I'm running a successful Broadway theatre company with the man of my dreams, and the fact that we're not married yet is a minor obstacle I plan to address any day now, is that clear?"
She clapped her hands in front of her mouth, appalled by her own honesty in front of this stranger. There was something compelling about the man, despite or maybe because of his crudeness. He was so straightforward. When he wanted something, he went after it, and when he didn't get it, he vented his spite and moved on to something else. Why, if she was so much smarter, better educated, and more successful than he was, couldn't she manage the same thing? The mere thought of giving up on Maxwell after so long made her physically ill.
A small and unpredictable part of her thought of Niles. If only the infuriating butler were this simple to deal with, life would be so much easier, but no. He had to cloak everything he said in about thirteen different layers of sarcasm. Just like her.
"Sure, lady. If ya say so." The Italian patted her on the back again, with surprising gentleness. She gritted her teeth. Was he pitying her?
Then his arm slipped down to wrap around her waist in a way that had nothing pitying about it. He murmured in her ear: "How 'bout you 'n' me go get a drink someplace? Classy woman like you, you must know where ta find the good stuff. We can drown our sorrows together, whaddaya say?"
He smiled at her, his blue eyes surprisingly bright in his tanned face. The unaccustomed contact made her heart beat faster. Even the Queens accent that was so irritating in Nanny Fine sounded different coming from him, bold and masculine. How long was it since a man had touched her? Just one night, would that really be so wrong? Besides, Nanny Fine's comment about "a fifth of Scotch and a fresh pack of batteries" still festered in CC's mind. Wouldn't that show her?
Good Lord, Miss Babcock. A man like this? Have you finally lost your senses?
The sardonic British voice in her head made her jump. When had Niles, of all people, become her voice of reason? How mortifying.
She took another hard look at the man whose arm was wrapped around her. Here was someone putting the moves on a complete stranger only minutes after his girlfriend had dumped him. Said girlfriend having been heartbroken for months because he'd cheated on her, fired her from her job and hired his mistress in her place. Said girlfriend being Nanny Fine.
Good Lord. Imaginary Niles is right.
"Ah - look, Mr. Ravioli," she said, unpeeling his arm and rising to her feet.
"Imperiali."
"I'm very flattered, believe me. This is nothing against you. It's just - "
"What?"
"I'd rather join a convent for the rest of my life than take Nanny Fine's leavings."
He shrugged, a very Mediterranean gesture that involved his entire upper body. "Suit yerself, lady. If ya change yer mind, ya know where ta find me."
He strolled over the rusty van with the name of his bridal shop emblazoned on both sides, saluted her jauntily before hopping in, and drove off in a cloud of filthy exhaust. CC, waving her hand before her face, thanked her lucky stars for the intervention of Imaginary Niles.