WITH A firm hand at her waist, the handsome young man guided Amanda off the train at the Christopher Street stop, up the stairs and into the night-time Village crowd.
“The famous Circle in the Square theater used to be right there.” He indicated a grocery store on the ground floor of a high rise. “And the Theater of the Ridiculous was over there. You ever seen ‘em? Nutty. C’mon, we’ll start at the center of things.”
They walked east, her guide pointing out various shops and favorite places to eat, and entered Washington Square Park, its tree-lined walkways converging on a large circular fountain, not yet filled. Further, at the northern entrance to the park, a large triumphal arch marked the beginning of Fifth Avenue.
“Reminds me a little of Paris,” he explained, “with the arch lit up at night. Do you know Paris?”
Amanda shook her head no.
“A beautiful city.” His dark eyes looked deep into hers with the implication that Paris would be even more beautiful shared with her.
Amanda looked away, trying to ignore her heightened pulse, admonishing herself to keep her mind on the immediate tour at hand and stop making up romantic scenarios.
“The city’s cleaned up the park here a lot, but I still wouldn’t suggest touring the place alone at night. Better be safe…” His voice trailed off. Amanda glanced at him and caught a moment of introspection before his handsome face turned a mischievous smile on her. “But then, I don’t usually go for safe myself.”
Pools of light and shadow dappled strolling couples and quiet groups of the night inhabitants of the park. Pairs of foot patrolmen were in evidence to see that things remained peaceful.
“NYU’s almost taken over this part of town buying up buildings and putting up university high rises,” her guide ruefully remarked. “I like the little streets. Okay?”
He guided her south. What an amazing collection of contrasts, Amanda thought. Huge avenues filled with thundering traffic slashing through neighborhoods of barely navigable, narrow side streets spider-webbing in all directions. Small, dark brownstones nestled low, elbowed by glass and steel structures rising high into the air. And everywhere, busy, purposeful people.
On Sullivan Street he indicated a small theater in the basement of a brownstone,“The Fantastics. It’s been running since the beginning of time but it’s still one of the sweetest shows in town. They’re talking about finally closing it. Of course,” he said, and laughed, “they talk about closing it every ten years or so and it’s still running. It’s charming and romantic and I betcha you’d like it.”
“I’ve seen Fantastics. It’s a favorite with amateur groups. I saw it at Carnegie-Mellon, I think. It was terrific.”
“Pittsburgh.”
“Yes. Formerly of.”
“And like the hero in the play, you’re seeking greener pastures elsewhere.”
He seemed less and less Amanda’s conception of a man making his living as a nude male model. She chided herself for having such a narrow view of the profession. How hard it had been for her to break through the constrictors she had faced as a female executive, a daughter, a sister, a fiancée.
Perhaps he’s a writer gathering material; an adventurer on a lark; maybe a handsome fugitive on the run, hiding from his former life and striking out for a new one. She chuckled to herself at the fantasy.Hiding in plain sight.
“The hero inThe Fantastics,” she answered, “discovered the grass was anything but greener on the other side, as I recall. So far, the grass in New York has proven to be remarkably healthy under my somewhat tentative feet.”
“Oh, right. David says you’re a rising executive in the corporate world.”
“I don’t know that I’d put it that way. But, so far, so good. Have you known David long?”
“Yes.” He didn’t elaborate.
As they walked back toward the West Village, he pointed out current favorite shops and former haunts now gone.
“That was a great bookstore; now it’s a not-so-great restaurant. Remember midnight movies?The Rocky Horror Picture Show ran at the 8th Street movie house forever. What great times. I thought it was amazing. My buddies even dragged me up on stage once. Now, no more movie house.” And no more buddies, his darkened faraway look seemed to indicate. “But the movie runs all the time and the stage show is making the rounds again.” His face brightened.
Amanda’s brothers had taken her to seeRocky Horror and she had insisted on being taken back two or three times. “I could imagine you as the blond Adonis created by the mad Dr. Frankenfurter.”
He gave a derisive snort. “Not in those days! I played the nerd with horn rims. Knew every line.”
“Now, no more nerd,” she noted, slyly. “You must have lived in the Village a long time.”
“Off and on. I grew up on the west side. Left the city. Came back. Left. Came back. Like a bad penny.”
“Are you here for good?”
“No. For good and bad: short-term lease.”
“I don’t think I’ll be going back to Pittsburgh. Not to stay.”
“Gonna take a chomp outta the Big Apple?”
With this handsome, secure man at her side, she could do anything. “Gonna try.”
“Good.” He held her hand tightly for a moment. Then let go. “There’s a terrific gym just around the corner.” He took up his tour guiding again. “They have great revues at that club with clever, original stuff!”
A group of loudly chattering teenagers with spiked hair, streaks of color emblazoned on their faces, wearing outfits that hadn’t yet been appropriated by scavenging designers and extolled inW, clattered by, obviously headed for the latest rave.
Amanda smiled indulgently. It hadn’t been that long ago.
It had been longer for the model. “Being cool. So very important.”
“It’s exciting to see kids experimenting, trying to find themselves, living such full lives.”
“Sometimes too full.” His look flattened, but almost instantaneously broke with a chuckle. “They’re probably on their way to a nostalgia party.”
The light from the store windows sent glints reflecting off his tumble of dark curls. What a surprising man, Amanda thought. Mercurial and obviously more complicated than she had at first thought.Everyone is more complicated. Even you…Ace.
“More than likely they’re from Jersey or the Island. I’m afraid most of us around here are just your standard-issue displaced souls trying to make sense of life and hopefully earn a buck or two in the process so we can pay the escalating rents.”
She certainly hadn’t thought of him as a displaced soul. He seemed as secure as a rock. He certainly looked as solid. She remembered his muscular naked body and warmed. But he didn’t seem to have the self-centeredness that she had always assumed a body-conscious man would have. He seemed completely at ease in his finely-shaped skin.
She looked around. “It truly is a small village, isn’t it?”
“Bunch of neighborhoods. Now, the West Village here is the quiet side, family-time, kids.”
“Do you have a family?” she asked.
“Oh God, no. Well, at least not a wife and kids, if that’s what you mean-at least not yet. How about you?”
She smiled. “No, no wife and kids, either.”
He guided her deftly around a sleeping lump on the narrow sidewalk. “Could be your famous ‘drunken sailor’ or a homeless genius. More than likely a little of both: a homeless, drunken genius.”
His accent became pure stand-up Noo Yawk. “Now you take your East Village.” His thumbs hooked the pockets of his jeans and his strong body slumped, his face mock serious. “Even scares me sometimes. I nevah go dere.”
She laughed and he shifted her portfolio’s strap that hung from his shoulder to gently slide his hand around her waist, his voice shifting easily to a professional instructive lilt. “Unless I feel like a really unusual meal, want to do some bizarre window shopping, or check out the latest in transsexual cross-dressing.”
“You really love it here, don’t you?”
“The Village pretty much let’s you be what you want to be.”
A group of flashily under-dressed girls clattered by gesturing and chattering among themselves with great abandon.
“They must be freezing,” Amanda noted.
“Guys usually have a higher metabolism than girls, plus the wigs keep their heads warm and the effort of trying to stay upright on those heels keeps their adrenaline pumping.”
“Oh.” She watched the retreating group. “I admire people who are determined to be themselves.” Even in Pittsburgh’s most wanton neighborhoods she had never seen quite so flamboyant a group. And the guys-girls-looked so striking.
“Also,” the head of dark curls tilted toward her and the edge of his beautiful mouth lifted, “there’s probably plenty of foam rubber to help keep away the cold.”
The slightest blush played over Amanda’s cheeks as she peeked up at the beautiful man on her arm. “Well, we know someone who obviously doesn’t need foam rubber to look good.”
He stopped and looked down at her, his deep eyes wide with pretended surprise. “Why, Ace, you almost make a guy want to take off his clothes in gratitude for your appreciation. Thanks.”
They were both quiet for a moment as they gazed into each other’s eyes. Amanda wondered if he was repressing the same naughty response that was running through her head. The model’s look of repressed amusement faded. His broad brow furrowed and his dark eyes clouded. With a purposeful press of his hand on her hip, he headed them up the street.
Another strange moment. More and more complex, she thought.
“Oh good, we’re here.” He was all enthusiastic charm again. “I’m starved. What about you?”
They had stopped in front of an unmarked door in a small row house. Amanda felt a surge of excitement. She had heard of special places to eat tucked secretly away in the depths of the Village, known only to their privileged clientele.
“It’s late.” His hand was on the doorknob, “but everybody knows me here…” Suddenly he hesitated.
“On second thought, maybe this isn’t such a good idea.” He stepped away from the door, looking around. “Uh, the kitchen has probably stopped serving.” And he hurriedly propelled the disappointed Amanda away.
The dark figure following the couple watched in horror from a nearby doorway as the young man had reached for the door. A hand shot up in involuntary protest and an impetuous step was taken toward them but instantly, as they paused and then continued past the restaurant, the great-coated figure melted back into the shadows with a sigh of relief.
Finally, some sense. Surely he’s beginning to realize…
“Oh, I was hoping…” Before Amanda could began a feeble protest, they were around the corner and into another narrow street.
“There’s a beautiful courtyard in that apartment building, fountain and all.” His tour-guide voice again. He pulled her closer to him and instantly Amanda forgot her disappointment.
“And on your left, a fine old church that even I have been known to bend a knee in.”
Amanda was surprised to see it wasn’t a Catholic Church. She had expected, with his obvious Latin heritage…
“A naked heathen like you,” she teased.
“I have been known to pray,” he pontificated in mock solemnity and then turned to her, his voice quiet. “Sometimes…very hard.”
Amanda’s grip tightened on his arm.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
“What about soup?” His voice changed the subject. “There’s a terrific soup and sandwich place right around the corner and I’m pretty sure it stays open late.”
But it didn’t. Taped to the inside of the glass was a scribbled note: “I can’t take this rotten weather any longer. When spring returns, so will I. In the meantime, there’s an Italian joint up the street that’ll probably be open no matter what.”
He grinned. “That’s what I love about this city. Let’s go for some steaming pasta.”
“AH, ANOTHER late-night S and S referral,” the young, dark-browed waiter noted as he seated them in a cozy, back, wooden booth. “Yeah, Rick said a couple of weeks ago he was gonna take off for the Keys until we drop him a postcard promising…” He broke into song, “Spring is here! I guess I should learn to do that In Italian,” he mused as he acknowledged the couple’s smiles and the man’s request for two glasses of burgundy. He looked at Antonio expectantly.
“La Primavera e arrival,”the model replied with a nod.
“On second thought,” The waiter resumed his singing. “Spring-ga is-a here-a!”
He bowed to their laughter and applause. “Sorry. Probably not politically correct.” With a knowing look, he changed the subject. “The garden should be open in a couple of weeks. The buds are starting to break and,” he arched an eyebrow at them, “the sap is beginning to rise. In the meantime, have a couple of extra candles for atmosphere.”
He grandly scooped two tiny votive lights from nearby empty tables to add to the one centered on the checked tablecloth. He made an OK gesture with his thumb and forefinger, pleased with himself and, humming quietly, left.
Amanda watched the smiling Antonio slipping out of his jacket. Her eyes traveled over his broad chest. The plaid flannel shirt fit him comfortably. Open at the throat, it revealed the powerfully corded neck that, Amanda remembered with a heat rising in her center, led to the swelling broad planes of his pectorals.
“What would you like?” He took her coat from her and hung it on a nearby rack as she shook her hair loose from the knit cap and tried to push the unruly dark mass into what she hoped was a semblance of order.
I must look a mess, she thought grumpily, but was instantly caught up in the expression of the handsome man seated across from her.
His eyes seemed filled with her. “You look great.” His voice was low and rich with innuendo.
“I…I can never keep straight what all the different pastas are,” she busied herself with the menu. “I’m…not really all that hungry, now that I…”
A golden glow had centered in her midsection that she wasn’t sure she wanted to disturb with food, but the wine which the humming waiter delivered with a flourish made the glow even stronger. She ordered soup and a salad.
“Italian food is easy,” her escort explained. “Pasta is pasta. It just comes in different shapes. What really matters is how you dress it up.”
Or undress it, Amanda thought, smiling, allowing the rich heat of the wine to further escalate her imagination.
“It’s Near-Eastern that baffles me,” he said. “I’m never sure what I’m eating.”
“You and me both,” the returning waiter interjected. “By the way, since it’s late, your choice is spaghetti or tortellini.”
Amanda watched the model as he ordered and continued discussing food. He was such an easy person to be with. She felt that hopeless drift that she knew led straight to complete comfort. A soft, mellow comfort that she hadn’t felt in such a long time.
There was a lot to be said for home and hearth. But life-a deep sigh settled her more deeply into the comfortable cushion of the enveloping booth-life was much more complicated than that. Particularly if you had to make something of yourself; had to stand on your own two feet. Sometimes that meant you had to give up something special in order to get something more special.
The room-temperature, dark red liquid was lush on her tongue and stroked the back of her throat with its salty, musky taste, her salad was crisp and crunchy and the small, fragrant bowl of soup floated thick with firm vegetables.
The model attacked his tortellini drenched in sun dried tomatoes with gusto. He was so beautiful, masculine and sensitive. The perfect prince. Amanda felt a sudden pang.
How utterly immature she was being. There was no way this could possibly fit into the life she had ordained.
The rising female executive made a determined decision to very practically push her questioning thoughts aside for the time being and revel in the nearness of the man across from her invoking such dangerously suggestive reveries.
Enjoy it while it lasts. Who knows, Ace?
Outside in the cold shadows, the figure keeping close watch briskly rubbed gloved hands over the arms of the great coat to keep warm. Directly opposite was another restaurant. From a table by its window the couple could be observed. The figure quickly took up a warmer place of surreptitious surveillance.
“Tell me about yourself, Ace.” The model had finished his plate and was starting on his salad. “Was David right? Are you new in town? I would guess you must be if you live in Chelsea and have never been down to the Village. We’re just a couple of stops away,” he noted, invitingly.
“I was waiting for the right tour guide.”
His eyes softened. “You know, you draw pretty good, lady. Once you get started. You’ve been at this for a while, haven’t you?”
Amanda was startled that he had taken note of her totally inept false starts tonight.
“It seemed like every time I tried to get close to you,” he continued, “someone would drag me away to show me their work. But I finally got to see what you were doing. You make great choices.”
Amanda felt her cheeks brighten even more as his eyes rested steadily on her.
“Some of the students in the class are impressively talented. And,” the clefts in his cheeks grew deeper as he took another sip of wine, “some, pretty blatant.”
“You mean Christine.” Amanda felt her already warm cheeks burn.It must be the wine. Christine Atkinson had spent the entire session sketching, with great slashing strokes, the nude model’s sexual organs from every possible point of view.
“She said to David, Mr. Parkerson-Christine said she had to get it out of her system before she could look at the whole figure objectively. She’s quite a woman. Quite an artist. Sometimes, I wish…”
An array of fine lines appeared at the corners of the dark eyes. “I have her phone number.”
“She gave it to you!”
“Yep. And not to invite me up for a private posing session, either. She made it quite clear her intentions were totally dishonorable.”
Amanda frowned. He laughed easily, obviously enjoying her surprise and the pleasure a man must feel being admired by an attractive woman. For Christine, for all her outrageousness and angst, was an attractive woman.
If only I had the guts, Amanda thought glumly.
“Don’t worry, she’s not my type,” he reached over the table to stroke Amanda’s hand.
She felt a rush of adrenalin and pulled her hand away quickly. Her voice came out much harsher than she had intended. “Why should I care what type you prefer?” She stuffed a cold slice of garlic bread into her mouth.
The startled man sat back in the booth.
Amanda’s eyes bored into her salad plate. It was empty. The bread basket was empty. Her glass of wine was empty. The silence was deafening, except for the throbbing in her ears.
“May I have another glass?” She shot her eyes defiantly at the man seated across from her.
His dark eyes leveled at hers. His moist full lips fell slightly apart; the tip of his tongue brushed them in concentration.
“It’s true,” she hurried on as matter-of-factly as possible, unable to hold his look, “you do have a… an… they are… uh…” She swallowed. “But you also have a beautiful… everything else. Your poses were… superb. Christine didn’t have to be so… narrowly focused,” she quoted Mr. Parkerson. “So blatant!” she quoted the man opposite her. Amanda gritted her teeth in frustration. “Professor Angeli did some really remarkable sketches of you. All…of you.”
She dared to look in his eyes again.
His gaze was direct and soft. “You’re jealous,” he said quietly, surprise and delight in his voice.
Amanda’s entire body reacted.How dare he!
She opened her mouth to tear into this self-centered, egotistical, brazen…
He slid his hands, palms up, toward hers. “That’s the greatest thing that’s happened to me in years.”
Amanda sat open-mouthed. She felt totally bathed in spring sunshine.
“You’re not just being nice to a naked man with a ‘beautiful…everything else?’” His grin spread from ear to ear as he pretended sudden concern.
Amanda’s spine relaxed along with her face. She curled her hands into his welcoming palms. His strong fingers pressed securely and solidly around hers.
“You’re impossible,” she muttered, totally chagrined and yet delighted at his easy playfulness. “But I suppose if I were as well-shaped as you are, I’d be impossible, too.”
His thumbs rubbed her palms suggestively. Amanda felt the hairs on her neck rise. “I’m looking forward to finding out just how well-shaped you are.” He brought her fingers to his mouth and brushed his lips gently over them, his breath electrifying the nerve endings of her fingers.
“Although I have to admit,” he continued, appraising her from under thick, dark lashes, “from what I see already, you are in great shape.”
“Oh, come on, Antonio, you know you’re a good looking man…”
“Ace, you’re being too good to me. Well, maybe not too good, just yet.” The sparkle in his eyes was totally teasing, seductive enchantment. “And I’m really glad you like the way I look. Coming from a fine artist, that’s high praise.” He paused.
He was the most changeable man, Amanda noted again, as his dark eyes flickered away from her and then resolutely returned.
“But I’m a lot more concerned about what you think of me,” the mischievous grin returned, “with my clothes on. Because I think you are…”
“Well, well, well, what a pleasant surprise.”
The voice boomed down at them from the great-coated figure that suddenly loomed over their table. Whipping off the dark fedora, he revealed a handsome older face with a salt and pepper Van Dyke beard.
“David.” The young man’s voice was tight.
“Mr. Parkerson, what a surprise,” Amanda said.
“But I’m afraid you’re keeping our Miss Emerson up much too late…Antonio.” The instructor turned pleasantly toward Amanda. “Didn’t you tell me your position required you to be at work early?” Amanda had the embarrassed feeling she had just been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She looked to the young model for support but his dark eyebrows were knitted tightly together as he stared angrily at the instructor.
Parkerson looked from one to the other, then began to take off his coat. “I see you’ve finished eating, perhaps we can all have a quick good-night cup of coffee and then we’ll see about putting Miss Emerson in a cab to her apartment.”
He smiled comfortably at the nonplussed couple as he smoothly slid into the booth next to the model and gestured to catch the waiter’s attention.