She did mind, but since he was doing her a favor, she’d let it go. “Thanks, Bobby.” She slipped her raincoat over the back of the wrought-iron chair and sat down. Once the noise from a blender died down, she continued. “I really appreciate you taking the time for me. Here are the papers I filled out for the credit union.”
“You know I’d do anything for you,” Bobby said and closed his hand around hers.
“Yes … well … ” She slid her hand out from under his and picked up her coffee spoon wondering if she could use it as a weapon if he became too aggressive. “I realize you don’t do this kind of work anymore. I just need a general opinion. Should I invest my own money? Or let it go?”
“Give me a moment or two,” he said. He looked at her as if he wanted to say something more, but put his attention on the papers.
While she waited, she sipped her latte and thought about the upcoming time with Marcos. Their dinner in Italy had been the stuff of schoolgirl dreams. Could they sustain the pleasure for a whole weekend?
Bobby cleared his throat, interrupting her daydream. “I can see why you didn’t get the money,” he said. “You’re a good businesswoman, Elizabeth. The fact that you’re company is still in the black selling high-end services in this economy is a credit to your ability.”
“That’s what all the banks say, but they still won’t give me money.”
“One of the problems is that your experience is with retail, not manufacturing. And you don’t have a partner or advisor with manufacturing experience. The risk is higher for the banks.”
Elizabeth’s shoulders slumped. A partner in anything would be really nice right now.
Just not Bobby.
Bobby leaned closer. “Are you really passionate about this, Elizabeth? If you are, I have a solution.”
Her suspicions were on full alert. “What is it?” she asked.
He took her hand again. “I’ll invest. I have the money and you know I care about you. Let me help you.”
She pulled her hand away again and picked up the spoon. “Thank you, Bobby. That’s very generous.”
“I can afford it. And we can brainstorm about the manufacturing, just like we did in the old days.”
That would be the problem. She wouldn’t just be getting Bobby’s money. She’d be getting Bobby.
“I have to think about it,” she said. “I really do appreciate it, though. You think there’s no hope from the banks?”
He slowly withdrew his hand from the table center and picked up his coffee cup. “No, I don’t.” He drank his coffee.
She slumped back in her chair, put the spoon down, and stared into her cup, surprised to find it empty.
“Would you like another?” Bobby asked.
She shook her head. Bobby’s question circled her brain. Was she passionate enough? What did she really know about manufacturing? Did she resent the bank’s attitude because her ego was taking a bruising? Or because they were pointing out something she didn’t want to admit to herself? She glanced at Bobby. Taking his offer was out of the question.
“How are you doing?” Bobby asked.
“I’m doing okay. It’s a little lonely without Sarah nearby. That’s why I’m excited about getting this project going.” She saw his fingers drift again and put both her hands in her lap.
“Is there any chance for us?” Bobby asked. “We had something good going.” He took a deep breath. “I could live without marrying you.”
She put down her cup and shook her head. “It’s over, Bobby. We had fun while we were together, but we want different things.”
“What? What could you want that I can’t give you?”
She wasn’t sure of the answer, but didn’t want to tell him that. “I don’t want any relationship right now. I went from my parents, to Joe, to you. I need some time on my own.”
“You’re seeing someone else.”
“No, not really.” Elizabeth realized her slip as soon as she said it. She quickly added, “Bobby, I don’t think our dating is a good idea.”
“But it’s okay to date someone else.” He sounded bitter.
She sighed and tried to soften the blow. “It’s casual — not serious. The guy I met in Italy is coming to see some vineyards. I’m showing him around and he’s taking me to dinner. That’s all.” She hoped it would mollify Bobby.
“And he’s coming all that way to see you? How can you say it’s not serious?”
She had enough. “It’s none of your business, Bobby. We’re. Not. Together.” She stood. “Thanks for the advice, Bobby. I appreciate it. Maybe someday we can be friends again.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Maybe.”
She looked at the man she’d loved once, her heart aching for him. But there was nothing she could do for him without surrendering herself. And she wouldn’t do that anymore.
For anyone.
“See you, Bobby,” she said and walked out the door into the rain, letting the door swing shut behind her.
After leaving Bobby Elizabeth headed north on Highway One. Her guilty conscious urged her back to the shop, but she sailed past the exit to Costanoa.
Traffic was mercifully mild and within ten minutes she found herself in downtown Santa Cruz, trolling for a parking place. A sleek new Subaru pulled out from a narrow spot on Pacific and Elizabeth slid right in, her small sports car fitting with room to spare.
She found herself in front of The Wooden Spoon, her favorite kitchen supply store in the county. Joy returned. She made the short dash to the front door, entered and lost herself in the soothing accoutrements to food preparation.
After fifteen minutes of examining bright Fiesta Ware, hand-thrown coffee mugs and arcane cookbooks, reality began to inch into her mind. Bobby had been adamant. No bank was going to loan her the money.
Even more troubling, he’d nailed her on what was wrong with the entire endeavor. She didn’t have the right business experience. And she didn’t know anyone who had manufacturing knowledge.
Except Marcos.
She pushed the idea aside.
Opening her own line of lotions had seemed like a wonderful idea in the luxury shop on the Mediterranean, but implementation was more difficult on the foggy Monterey Bay.
Idly she fingered the wooden implements that filled a large crock in one of the many corners in the store as she pondered how to move forward with her dream to help women feel and look better.
Genetics played a big role, but she knew from her studies that good skin care could keep a woman looking younger without surgery, improve her self-esteem, and even help prevent skin cancer. Elizabeth wanted to create a line that was affordable and as natural as possible.
But how was she going to get the dream off the ground?
“May I help you?” a woman asked.
Elizabeth turned. “I’m just … ” She spotted a long wooden rolling pin leaning against a bookshelf. “What’s that?” she asked.
“An Italian rolling pin for making pasta like lasagna noodles and ravioli. Someone custom ordered it and never picked it up. I can give you a good deal on it.”
Elizabeth’s imagination stirred and she walked over to the pin. It wouldn’t help her with her business problem, but the idea of making ravioli was beginning to take hold. She ran her hand along the hard wooden surface. “How long is it?”
“About thirty inches. Have you made your own pasta?” the clerk asked.
Elizabeth shook her head, images of the soft, melt-in-your-mouth pasta pillows she’d had in Italy with Marcos flitting through her mind. “When I was in Italy, I found a ravioli press. I brought it home for a wall decoration.”
“I don’t think this would be a good decoration,” the woman said, disappointment written across her face.
She was probably right, but making ravioli was one project that didn’t need a bank loan. Annie had told her making bread was a good way to eliminate stress and think things through. Maybe pasta would do the same for Elizabeth.
“I’ll take it,” she told the clerk.
“Would you like to look around some more?”
“Yes. Yes, I would.” Elizabeth continued her perusal of the merchandise, captivated by gadgetry and gizmos, indulging in fantasies of the upcoming weekend. As she searched through the trinkets, she remembered the essence of being in Italy, the spirit of
la dolce vita
. That’s what she wanted to create with her lotions — the feeling that life was sweet and needed to be treasured.
Dealing with recalcitrant bankers and overbearing investors, like Bobby, wasn’t the sweet life. Neither was the cold steel of a manufacturing line. But if she could transcend those problems, she could touch the lives of many people, not only women, but men and children, too.
Standing in front of the crystal wine glasses, she made her decision. She wasn’t giving up, no matter how many bankers turned her down. She’d find a way.
Minutes later, she walked out of the store and gently placed the long wooden pin on the passenger side of her car. Glancing up, she saw the Italian deli across the street.
She definitely wouldn’t master ravioli by the weekend, but she could have a taste of Italy for dinner.
• • •
Saturday morning Elizabeth awoke early. Another restless night left her tired. What would the day be like with Alicia? Would the girl constantly remind her of Joe? Or would Elizabeth be able to get past her parentage?
Accompanied by her second cup of coffee, she opened her email. Her eye immediately caught the address she’d been looking for: Marcos.
“Ciao bella,
“I have made my arrangements and will be leaving for California by the end of the week. I will be in Napa for some days and then hope to travel to Santa Cruz. Will you be available? Or do you know a realtor I can contact to take me around. You have intrigued me with this vineyard area. It has a very old history.
“Either way, I hope you will be able to come to dinner with me every night I am there. I am anxious to see you again.”
“Ciao, Marcos.”
Elizabeth hesitated. She wouldn’t know until the end of the day if Alicia could handle a Saturday. True, times were slow during the week, but people still traveled from San Jose to catch the lingering rays of summer on the weekends.
Later. She’d answer Marcos’ email later.
Alicia arrived promptly, her butterfly tattoo covered by short blouse sleeves and the nose ring replaced by a tiny diamond stud. Her nails were clean and polished, make-up discreetly applied.
She looked like someone ready to work.
Elizabeth’s heart lifted. “Welcome,” she said. “I thought we’d work side-by-side today so you can see how the store operates from beginning to end. Sound good?”
Alicia smiled at her with Joe’s smile and Elizabeth’s heart cracked in pain. She pushed it aside. Alicia hadn’t caused her father’s infidelity.
“That would be good,” Alicia said. “Is everything okay? You have a funny expression.”
Elizabeth turned toward the back of the store to hide the tears that threatened to fall. “I’m fine. Thanks for asking. You can put your things back here.”
Alicia proved to be a quick study. Elizabeth was impressed by her knowledge of cosmetology, and her ability to pick up procedures and follow them. As she got to know the girl, the pain receded, and Alicia became a person in her own right. Stress began to lift from Elizabeth’s shoulders and she began to enjoy her business again.
She practically flew home in anticipation.
The first thing she did when she got home was to answer Marcos. “Yes, I will be able to spend time with you.”
Her heart beat faster as she clicked the send key.
• • •
Marcos’ heart beat a little faster as he finished up his vineyard tour in Napa Valley. Unfortunately, his last stop had delayed him and he left the wine country later than he’d planned, leaving him snarled in Friday tourist traffic. As his rental crept behind cars meandering down Highway 29, he cursed the traffic. Didn’t Americans ever work?
It was three in the afternoon before he finally edged past the last vineyard, and onto the highway. He allowed himself to look at the blue skies and think about what he’d seen in Napa. A lot of vineyards were perfect for Cabernet, but they were all beyond his budget, even with recessionary prices. None of the land was suitable to grow Burgundian grapes. Too hot.
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music as he admired the view of the bay to his left. Egrets stalked the swampy land to the south, a sharp contrast to the anchored battleships. California was a contrary place.
What was it going to be like to meet Elizabeth in her native territory? He could charm anyone at home; he knew his way around. But in a strange place? How could he order the best dinner in the restaurant when he didn’t know the chef?
He merged onto the Benicia Bridge and promptly screeched to a stop. He slammed his fist on the steering wheel.
Porco vacco!
Glancing at his watch, he realized he’d be late meeting Elizabeth at the restaurant by seven, a bad beginning when you wanted to impress a woman.
His thoughts stopped whirling as if they’d also hit the stopped traffic on the bridge. Why did he care so much? What was it about this woman that was different from the others he’d dated or slept with over the last decade?
As he inched the car forward across the bridge, he pondered.
Madonna!
It was ridiculous to think like this. He’d only met the woman a few times. He wanted to create the best wines the world had ever seen. He didn’t have time for a woman.
Then why couldn’t he get her out of his head?
As he emerged from the mouth of the bridge, the highway got wider, allowing the cars to speed up a little. A flashing sign announced another slowdown ten miles ahead. Marcos sighed. He’d have to stop and call Elizabeth, tell her he’d be late. A coffee shop sign at the next exit caught his eye.
He pulled off, convinced the barista that he really did want a black espresso without any extra milk or flavorings, and was about to get back into the car when his cell phone rang.
“Hello?”
Who could be calling him in America?
“Hi Marcos,” Elizabeth said. “Where are you?”
He told her the name of the last town he’d gone through.
“Oh, dear. You’ve still got a long way to go and you’re going to hit San Jose right at rush hour. The traffic to Santa Cruz from San Jose is miserable on a Friday night.”