Mikalo's Grace (10 page)

"We all have our secrets," she said, watching
the chaos of cars and people angling for room where Fifth met 14th
Street. "Now hush."

I settled back, watching the familiar hustle
and bustle, the gritty energy of it all a stark contrast to the
almost genteel streets of my Upper West Side neighborhood.

I had earned my graduate degrees at NYU, so
none of this was new to me. Familiar, yes, but, in my heart, I know
this was a life I had left behind.

Within minutes, we had come to a stop, were
out of the car, hustling our way through the park, and approaching
MacDougal Street.

Where we suddenly turned left.

"Listen," Deni quietly said as we threaded
our way through the college kids choking the sidewalk outside their
dorm. "I made some calls. He's still in town."

"Really."

"Really," she said as we crossed the
street.

"So where's he been?" I asked.

"I'm getting to that," she said.

She stopped under a large awning at the foot
of several steps leading to a brightly lit coffee shop.

"Wait here."

And with that, she skirted up the steps, her
pink Chanel coat and matching pumps quickly disappearing
inside.

What the hell?

I looked around, the noise of busy West Third
Street to my right, the quiet park with its wanderers and dog
walkers and readers sitting on iron benches soaking up the latest
best seller to my left.

And finally the happy sounds and delicious
smells of the coffee shop wafting from the large windows facing the
sidewalk, the room inside warm and inviting with its small,
circular cafe tables and wood paneled walls.

The door creaked open.

Deni stuck her head out and motioned for me
to come in.

Climbing the stone steps, I followed.

She held her finger to her lips as she took
my hand.

We made our way through the room, the rich
scent of bitter espressos and thick cappuccinos and icy
frappuccinos filling the air, the desserts waiting behind the large
glass case looking inviting, the heat of the ovens baking pizzas
warming my skin.

To the back we went, a surprisingly large
garden waiting down several more steps.

Her hand stopped me as, catching my eye, she
nodded her head to the outer edge of the space.

And there at a small table near a small
fountain they sat, arm in arm, her red head cradled on his strong
shoulder, his lips grazing her cheek as he held her tight.

Virginie.

"Do you know her?" Deni whispered.

"Yeah."

"Oh," she replied, sounding surprised. "Since
when did you start reading French Vogue?"

"What?"

"French Vogue. Virginie LaMaddo. She's on the
cover this month."

Oh shit.

I started seeing red. And I wasn't talking
about the bitch's hair.

Deni reached out her hand, steadying me.

She shook her blonde curls and then turned,
nodding to the couple again.

The red-headed harlot was taking her glossy
supermodel curls from my Mikalo's comforting shoulder.

She removed her sunglasses as his strong hand
stroked her cheek. Lifting an elegant hand, she wiped away discreet
tears and, ducking her head low, laughed a small laugh.

He smiled and kissed her, his hands moving to
cup her chin, lifting her face.

She looked up at him.

Her eyes were blackened and bruised, the
wounds still raw and red.

Shit.

Deni touched my arm and cocked her head
toward the door.

I followed her outside.

We rushed down the stairs and hit the
sidewalk, quickly walking toward the park.

"What the hell?" I asked.

"Her husband, her new husband, Alfredo, he
beats her."

"So, this isn't the first time?"

She shrugged.

"It rarely is."

"But why couldn't Mikalo tell me? I could
have helped or something. I should have known. He could have told
me. Wouldn't have spent an eternity wondering where in the hell he
was or what I did wrong or ..."

Deni stopped and turned to me, angry.

"Why would he? Think about it for one second,
will you? Why would he? One of his best friends, a woman he's known
for a hell of a lot longer than he's known you, is beaten to a
pulp, reaches out to him for help, for comfort, for safety, and
he's supposed to call you?

"The last thing that girl needs is for it to
get out that her face is screwed up. That's her paycheck, Ronan.
She could lose work if people knew. She's probably already had to
cancel jobs. You don't think Mikalo knows that? You don't think she
would tell him that? You don't think he's aware of how frightened
and alone she feels?

"Of course he would be quiet. Of course he
would be discreet. Of course he would do whatever he needed her to
do. And of course one of the last things she'd want him to do is
tell you."

"How do you know all this?" I asked. "How did
you find out? I mean, it's not like you're down here all the time
hanging out in coffee shops or something, right?"

She stopped, her mind rolling.

She spoke.

"I have a friend, he works in fashion, he
knows of Mikalo, he knows of you, he knew of this. End of
story."

"I had no --"

"End of story."

She turned and walked toward the park.

I caught up with her.

"You could have told me, Deni. I mean, this
friend, he sounds like a great --"

"You could have asked," she said, her voice
rising. "You could have stepped outside yourself and your broken
heart and your sadness and your constant, persistent drama, and you
could have asked."

Gesturing toward the coffee shop,

"One of Mikalo's closest friends sits with a
busted up face and all you can wonder is why you didn't know? Think
about it."

She was quiet, her eyes watching me as she
waited for, I don't know, an answer. For me to speak. Say
something.

But there was nothing to say.

"I love you, Ronan," she then said. "I really
do. Like a sister. You know that. You're family. You are. I would
be lost without you. I cherish you. I do.

"But not everything in this world involves
you or includes you or is about you."

She buttoned up her coat, pulling the
brilliant yellow silk scarf close to her chin.

"Take your head out of your ass," she
continued, "and start looking around. Life will look a hell of a
lot better once you do."

And, turning, she walked away.

Chapter
Twenty-Four

I couldn't sleep.

Not only did Deni's words haunt me, so did
Virginie's battered, wounded face. Her blackened eyes. And Mikalo's
sincerity and kindness. His tenderness as his fingers cupped her
chin, lifting her to him. The beauty of his smile as he gazed at
her.

And of course Deni was right. I had been
totally OCD and self-obsessed and over-dramatic about everything
the past few days. Or weeks. Or years.

I turned over and pushed my face into the
pillow.

Oh damn. It smelled like Mikalo. His sweat,
his skin. His supple flesh and firm muscle. The heat of his breath
and the taste of him under my tongue.

I wish he was here.

Stop it! This is not about you!

I flipped back onto my back, my eyes watching
the dark ceiling above.

But it was, in a way. It was about me. Sort
of.

I mean, I had feelings. My heart was hurting.
I missed him and ached for him and, really, a quick phone call to
let me know he was still in New York and he was okay and just
spending time with a friend would've been nice.

Oh, who am I kidding?

Knowing me, I would've wanted to know what
friend and who and where? And why? And who is this again? Is she
pretty? Is she rich? Famous? Skinny?

And when can I see you? I miss you. Are you
okay? Do you miss me?

And who is this friend again?

Yeah, good call on his part. Totally the
right thing to do, not calling me. Knowing he had chosen someone
else over me would have been a worse nightmare than just being kept
in the dark.

Deni was probably right. I had been too OCD
and depressed and obsessed about Mikalo. Work was suffering, my
life was suffering, everything just feeling out of place unless he
was there.

I definitely needed practice when it came to
balancing relationships and work.

With Benjamin, it had been easy. His work on
Wall Street had him leaving at the crack of dawn and not returning
until sometimes late at night. And it was clearly understood that I
was not to call him or disturb him in any way, shape or form during
the day. Unless it was a huge emergency. And even then there was a
question mark over what constituted an emergency.

Benjamin had made it easy. Break the rules
and you suffer the consequences. The condescension, the sighs, the
silence. And finally the door of the home office as he closed it,
locking it behind him. Locking you out.

Mikalo's kindness made it tough. The
temptation was there to lose myself in him in a way it never was
with Benjamin because I know Mikalo would welcome it. Benjamin
would have been annoyed and irritated. Would have reminded me, once
he emerged from the office to lie next to me in bed, how trapped he
felt and how he never really wanted this relationship in the first
place.

Had taken pity on me because I had turned on
the "water works". So, he had married me because it felt like the
right thing to do.

And now he was stuck.

It had never occurred to him that I felt
stuck and trapped, too.

I didn't feel that with Mikalo.

This was ridiculous, I thought as I kicked
the sheets away and got out of bed. There is no way I'm sleeping
tonight. Besides, it's almost morning anyway. Might as well get up
and get going. Hit the office early and make up lost time.

Definitely call Deni and apologize. Let her
know I cherish and treasure her, too, and appreciate her honesty
and candor. As always.

We'd had our bumps before, she and I. And we
always came through.

We would this time, too.

As for my Mikalo, well, he knows where I live
and he knows where I work and he has all my numbers. So, the ball
is in his court. I'm here if he wants me, but I have a life to
return to.

No more waiting around.

Chapter
Twenty-Five

He had been waiting for me.

Coffee in hand, he was sitting on my stoop
when I opened the front door and stepped outside.

And now we walked through Central Park, our
breath rising in delicate clouds of steam as we talked in the crisp
morning air.

"We are not over," he was saying.

I remained silent, sipping my coffee.

"The Firm, they wish to see me three days
from now, on Thursday.

"So," he continued with a shrug," we will
then see what is to happen."

"I want you to stay in New York," I said,
surprising myself.

He looked over at me and smiled.

"This I want as well, my Grace."

I breathed a sigh of relief.

And then quickly took another sip of coffee,
the only obvious deterrent to me once again opening my mouth and
possibly inserting my Manolo-shod foot.

"A bird of worry is again around your head,"
he continued. "You want to speak?"

I shook my head no.

And took another sip.

"Ah," he said, looking out over the park as
we walked.

He sipped his coffee and then sighed.

"It was difficult not talking with you, my
Grace," he then said. "But life, it was difficult, too."

"You don't need to explain --"

"You are worth that, no?"

He was right. I was.

I let him speak.

"Virginie, my friend. You met her. She was
hurting and, like a brother, I go. Her husband, this Alfredo, he is
angry because in her job, sometimes she shows her body, yes? There
is a lot of money she makes, but sometimes she is naked for the
photographer. It is life and, for Virginie, it is work.

"But Alfredo? This makes him unhappy, so he
hits. I go to Virginie, I toss Alfredo out like a piece of garbage
to the street, and then she cries. I let her. It is good."

"I understand, Mikalo. And I'm so sorry. I
hope she's doing okay."

"Her face, it will heal. Her heart?"

He shrugged and lifted his coffee to take
another sip.

His knuckles were scraped. I hadn't noticed
that before.

"Will she leave him?"

He shrugged again.

"I say yes, but Virginie? It is a process. I
think she will choose yes. She will not let him into the home and
she will go to Paris soon -- alone --, I think. She has many around
her who love and will remind her of what is right and what is
wrong. Alfredo, he is wrong.

"But this, it is not a decision for me."

"Thank you for telling me," I said, my hand
taking his. "I can certainly understand why she wouldn't want you
to tell anyone."

"Oh no," he quickly said. "She said 'Call
her'. Tell you where I was.

"But you, you have so many questions and,
perhaps, you would not believe me. So it was better, I think, to
give her all of my heart for a time and then, when there were no
more tears and she smiled again, to come and offer to you my heart
again.

"This was right, no?" he asked, pulling me
close.

I nodded.

What else was I going to say? That I went
nuts? Was certain I'd been abandoned? Had gone all the way down to
the Village to spy on him and Virginie as he comforted her?

A nod was easier.

"It is good to be with you again," he was
saying. "This, this feels good."

He stopped and gathered me close, his arms
around me, his eyes watching mine.

We kissed.

His lips resting on my forehead as he held me
near, he spoke, his words warm against my skin.