What Others Tell You: The Second Angie, Front and Center, Story

By Lisa Shiroff

Copyright 2014

This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes.

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

And now we’re off!

 

(Spoiler Alert: This particular story takes place in time after the book Hitting the Sauce ends. If you don’t want to ruin part of the surprise ending in that book, you may want to read this story after reading it.)

When Angie arrived at her spa at nine o’clock Tuesday morning, it was already bustling in a way only a spa could bustle: quiet and hushed. Having been opened for two hours already, a full staff was present, a pitcher of cucumber water surrounded by environmentally-friendly disposable cups was on the waitingroom coffee table, and a recording of Japanese Shakuhachi flute music could barely be heard.

She stepped inside, inhaled the slight aroma of sandalwood, and let her eyes close for a long, slow exhale. There. She was grounded. Clear. Centered. She opened her eyes and waltzed through the reception area feeling as if floating on a sea of good vibrations. She smiled at a client perusing skin care items on display, nodded hello at another on her way toward the nail salon, and then stumbled at the sound of her receptionist.

Actually, it wasn’t really the sound that Crosby made that caused Angie lose her footing. It was the words she’d said that landed like a sucker punch in Angie’s stomach.

“Good morning, Mrs. Pulsoni,” Crosby had chirped. “So good to see you again.”

Angie spun around and locked eyes with Giada Pulsoni.

“Oh, hello Ange.” Giada approached Angie, placed her hands on her arms and air kissed her cheeks. “I told you I’d see you soon.”

“And you were right,” Angie said. She cleared her throat and stepped back. “So, uh, what are you here for?”

“A deep tissue massage,” Crosby interjected. “She’s trying something new.” She handed a clipboard to Marissa who’d just stepped through the doors leading to the back rooms. “She’s all yours Rissa.”

“Maybe we can grab a cup of coffee or something afterward,” Giada said to Angie.

“Oh, sure.” Angie struggled to smile as if she meant it. “If you have the time. No worries if you don’t, though. We can catch up some other day.”

Giada followed Marissa out of the room. As soon as the door shut behind them, Angie leaned over Crosby’s desk.

“Trying something new?” she whispered. “How often does she come here?” Because it had been a couple years since Angie, herself, had provided services at her spa, she wasn’t sure which clients were regulars or who was a long-standing customer anymore.

“Let’s see.” Crosby clicked her computer’s mouse and stared at the monitor. “She’s been coming for about three years on a quarterly basis. Usually comes in February and November for spray tanning, then May and August for full-body dermabrasion.”

“When did she make today’s appointment?”

Crosby squinted at the screen. “Yesterday.”

“Interesting.” Angie chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I know I’m going to regret this, but, can I get a full report on her?”

“Sure.” Crosby grinned and did her magic with the keyboard and mouse. Within seconds she was obviously ready to provide a complete dossier on Giada Pulsoni, but postponed it while she checked in a new client and took payment from a departing one.

Angie waited patiently, in great appreciation of Crosby’s tact. The spa’s database held information more secretive, and potentially more dangerous than anything the NSA could ever hope to find. Clients in passing should never be privy to it.

“All right,” Crosby said, turning back to her monitor when they were finally alone. “She’s currently married to an Anthony Pulsoni. He’s her second husband. She’s his third wife. When married to number one, she lived in Philly. Now I’m not sure where she lives.”

“She’s somewhere on the Jersey shore now.”

“Okay. I’ll see if I can find out where, exactly. So anyway, he has two adult children from wife number two. They have no kids of their own. She doesn’t want any. She really likes Siamese cats. Took it hard when one of them died several years ago. As of the last visit here she had three, all named after designers: Versace, Gucci and Chanel. Let’s see…what else?” Crosby paused to scroll down the screen. “She likes vanilla more than chocolate. Doesn’t understand why people enjoy watching the news. And she’s afraid of boats. Therapist notes say she’s not as vapid as she wants you to believe she is and to be careful, seems like she can be vindictive.”

“Huh. Thank you.” Angie blew out a stream of air and twisted her lips to the side.

“What’s up?” Crosby asked.

“I’m thinking there was a motive for her to get in today and I’m not sure what it is.”

“Why? How do you know her? She acted like you were old friends.”

“I just met her for the first time on Sunday,” Angie replied and paused before dropping a bombshell. “She’s my sister-in-law.”

“What?”

“Actually, my half-sister-in-law, if there is such a thing. She’s married to my half-brother. What does that make her?”

“Someone you know, but uh,” Crosby tucked her straight, brown hair behind her ears. “I thought you only had a sister.”

“Yeah, I thought so, too. I just learned a couple weeks ago about a long-hidden family secret. And now I have a father and three half-brothers with wives and kids.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. It’s a long story. Ask Lucy to tell you about it the next time she comes in. She’s really my cousin, not my sister because my dad—” Angie shook her head. “Just ask Lucy to tell you about it. She understands the whole mess better than I do.”

Crosby laughed. “So does Giada get a family discount, then?”

Angie squeezed her forehead. “I guess so.”

“Maybe that’s her motive.”

“Ah, maybe. And just in case any other Pulsonis come in, they do, too.” She looked at Crosby from under her hand. “Are there any other Pulsoni regulars?”

Crosby clicked through her computer. “Nope.” She grinned up at Angie. “Not yet, anyway.”

 

Angie headed to her office hoping Crosby was right and that Giada only wanted a discount. While she had spent the previous two weeks getting to know her father, Angie’s only exposure to the rest of her new, old, family (that is, her three half-brothers and their wives) was at the dinner her father had held at his home in Philadelphia the past Sunday. The event was not a warm and friendly homecoming for her. Usually tough and strong enough to hold her own under any circumstances, she had felt uneasy all evening. Not only was it obvious her half-siblings believed she was an outsider, they made it clear they believed she was an outsider with suspect ambitions. Perhaps similar to how a jewel thief would be perceived when arriving, with a potentially counterfeit invitation in hand, at a private showing of Queen Elizabeth’s personal treasures.

For the most part, the wives of the oldest and youngest brothers ignored her. They chatted only to each other, feigning interest when necessary to their children and husbands. Giada, on the other hand, made no attempt to bond with anyone and was pretty much ignored by all except her husband. She sat by him and nodded in agreement with whatever he’d said. On occasion, she’d offer a small, rhetorical comment while staring dead-pan into Angie’s eyes, as if she expected Angie to understand it was a double entendre.

The only direct communication she had made with Angie was her parting shot when they were preparing to leave: “I’ll see you soon.” Angie had nodded in return while silently wondering if it was a threat, a promise, or if it was her standard, usual way of saying good-bye.

Now Angie had narrowed the possibilities down to the first two.

Angie sat at her desk and dumped out the pile from her in-bin. She removed the trash from the stack and began sorting and prioritizing the rest, all the while keeping an ear out for Giada’s slightly nasal Jersey-style voice.

However, the first sound to break out over the flute music was Carlita’s knock on the door jamb.

“You will be very happy to know your little friend has returned.” The spa’s maintenance manager leaned her head into the office. “They sat her in the break room and begged her not to touch anything. I’ll be in the laundry waiting to clean up whatever she destroys.”

“What?” Angie frowned and wondered if Carlita had been hitting the rum on company hours.

The diminutive powerhouse laughed and wagged a finger. “Just remember, time and a half if I have to clean up any of her messes.”

Angie understood and groaned. An accident-prone, left-at-the-altar bride was in the break room. She would have preferred smelling alcohol on Carlita’s breath.

Overcoming her temptation to ignore the announcement, Angie left her office and found a tanned Valerie Mitchelson in the break room, chatting up Erika.

“Don’t you think it’s really cool that someone has a job just to do that?” she was asking when Angie entered.

“What kind of job?” Angie asked.

“Oh! Ange!” Valerie ran over and hugged her as if they were old friends. “I’ve missed you so much!”

Angie bugged her eyes at Erika over Valerie’s shoulder. “Isn’t miss a strong word for someone you barely know?” She pulled out of her grasp.

“But I feel we do know each other. We’re like soul mates, or soul sisters, or whatever.” Valerie ripped a paper towel off the dispenser. “I was just looking at these towels and thinking isn’t it cool that someone has a job to do nothing but create patterns to be pressed into paper?”

“Um, yes, I suppose it is, but I think there’s probably more to that person’s job.” Angie squeezed her forehead for a brief moment before realizing what she was doing. She let go and ran her finger over the vertical crease that was deepening into a small trench.

“I think it’s time for me to set up a room,” Erika mumbled as she headed toward the door. “Bye!”

“So good to see you again!” Valerie called after her.

“So, uh, what are you doing here?” Angie asked Valerie. “Did you come for a pillow?”

“Yes! I so want one. Badly,” the younger woman said. “But that’s not the only reason why I’m here. Listen.” She grabbed Angie’s arm and dragged her to the table. They sat. “So I came back from my solo honeymoon and took some time to sit around and think about what to do with my life. I left you a message right after my non-wedding, remember? I said I was thinking about opening a spa. And I still think that would be the perfect thing for me to do. I mean, I’m just like you, right?”

“Um—”

“I’m blond. You’re blond. I’m fun. You’re fun. You’re like a much older version of me.”

“I don’t know about much—”

“So how do I get a spa? What’d you do for this?” Valerie kept a tight grip on one of Angie’s arms and leaned her eager face close.

Angie got over the sting from being reminded of her age and smiled. “I went to massage school. Worked for a couple of years at a different place. Built up my clientele. Opened a small business of my own and hired a couple more people. Built that up and moved here.”

Valerie let go of Angie and leaned back in her seat. She frowned, almost causing a line to form in her brow. Angie felt a twinge of envy.

“Well, geesh, no offense or anything Ange, but that kind of sounds like you did it the long way. Why didn’t you just buy a place to start with?”

“I didn’t have the cash on hand,” Angie said. “If you do, why don’t you look into buying a franchise or something?”

“Hey! That’s what I needed to know.” Valerie ran to the counter where she’d left a large shoulder bag. She pulled out a notebook and returned to the table.

“Look. Into. Buying. A. Franchiiiise. Or something,” she said out loud as she wrote the words. When she was finished, she beamed at Angie. Angie looked into the young woman’s face and saw that innocent yet blank quality housed in the faces of the matryoshka and kokeshi dolls she collected. She really wanted to take Valerie home, set her up in a glass curio cabinet, and make sure nothing bad ever happened to tarnish that look.

“I just knew you’d tell me what to do!” Valerie said, standing again. “Thanks. Can I get that pillow now?”

 

Angie gifted a bolster pillow to Valerie, shooed her out the door, and hoped she’d never see the woman again. But when she returned to her office, she realized she’d rather deal with a hundred flighty Valerie Mitchelsons than with one, mysterious Giada Pulsoni, who sat waiting for her.

“How was your massage?” Angie asked. She smiled with faked enthusiasm as she sat behind her desk.

“It was fine,” Giada said, not even bothering to smile in return.

“Good. Be sure to drink that water.” Angie nodded toward the full cup of cucumber water Marissa must have given Giada. It was spa policy. “That will help flush the toxins out of your system.”

“Yeah, right.” Giada set the cup on Angie’s desk and leaned back to examine her long green fingernails. She picked at tiny gold rhinestones at the tip of her ring finger. “So, how you like being a Pulsoni?” she asked.

“Actually, I’m staying a McCool,” Angie told her. “I’ve been Angie McCool for forty-one years. I’ve grown fond of the name.”

“Yeah. I get that.” Giada reached for her enormous, obviously designer, purse and placed it on her lap while she rummaged through it. “Tony tells me you and his dad have been getting kinda close. Real close.” She found a package of gum, popped a piece in her mouth, and chewed with her lips open.

“I don’t know about close, but we’ve been getting to know each other.”

“Uh huh,” Giada worked her jaw sideways on the gum. “So what does that mean exactly?”

Angie took her time answering. In the two weeks since she’d met her real father, he’d been intent on making up for their non-existent past and had tried to shove forty-one years worth of together time into a fortnight, which subsequently caused the current pile of neglected work on her desk. She had taken more time off to be with him then she had in the entire ten years she’d owned the business.

But, not only had Sal Pulsoni been intent on making up for the lost forty-one years, he was determined to provide her with the equivalent of everything he had given his sons, which she suspected was at the root of their disliking her Sunday night. Suddenly Daddy’s wallet was opened in a different direction from what they were used to. And she now wondered if perhaps the middle son, Anthony, had sent Giada to snoop.

“Well, at first,” Angie started, carefully picking her words, “he thought he owed me something since he hadn’t been around when I was growing up.”

“It’s not like he even knew,” Giada said.

“Right. But we can’t help what other people feel, right?”

“Yeah. I guess so.” Giada chewed. “So, like uh, what has he done for you?”

“I think he’s done what he did for his sons when they were growing up. Well, what he would have done if they were girls, anyway. Either that or he’s reliving a second childhood.”

“What does that mean?”

“Honestly?” Angie gave a little laugh, bent over her desk and lowered her voice as if she were saying a secret. “Don’t tell anyone. It’s a little embarrassing.”

Giada took the bait and leaned toward her.

“He took me to the zoo down in Cape May one day. Then the next day, we went up and had tea at the American Girl store in New York City.”

“He did what?” Giada burst out laughing. “Oh my God, he’s such a sap. Then what did you do?”

“On the way back home from New York, I suggested we stop by the Mitsua stores in Edgewater.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s kind of like a Japanese mall.”

“Why’d you go there?”

“I thought I’d show him the kind of dolls I collect. They’re called kokeshi dolls.”

“Huh?” Giada’s face changed. She almost snarled. “Did he buy you any?”

“He wanted to, but I assured him I had enough. I just wanted to share one of my passions with him. That’s all. Just in case he wanted to return to the American Girl place.” Which was the truth. What Angie kept from Giada, was that two days later, a giant shipping carton full of kokeshi dolls landed on her door step. She had yet to take them out of the packaging as she had no where to display them.

“So you’re, like, forty? With a doll obsession?” Giada cracked her gum.

“It’s not really an obsession and perhaps doll is the wrong term. They’re hand carved, wooden pieces of art that I collect. But anyway,” Angie shifted in her seat. “How was your massage?”

“Like I said, it was fine.” Giada crossed her arms and clacked her gum.

“Good, well,” Angie said after a few silent seconds. “I told Crosby to give you a family discount, you know, since we’re, um, family and all.”

“That’s really nice of you!” Giada leaned forward and rested a hand on Angie’s desk. “I wasn’t expecting that or anything. I was just hoping we could be, like, friends or something.”

“Oh, of course,” Angie assured her.

“Good.” Giada stood up. “So, uh, when you meeting up with the old man, again?”

“I think sometime this week,” Angie said, which was the truth in a vague sort of way.

“You going shopping again?”

“No. I think we’re just having lunch.”

“You think a lot, huh?”

“I try to.”

Giada nodded and strutted to the door. Angie saw her out and gave her a quick peck on the cheek to say good-bye, as friends are wont to do.

Angie ordered lunch delivered to her desk and ate while she worked. Unable to accept Giada’s visit to have an innocent motive, she thought to get a second and even a third perspective.

First, she dialed up Rick, the man she’d started seeing back in February. The man she suspected might be the one, which could be rather unfortunate. Rick was a probation officer connected to the Atlantic City Criminal Justice Department. Her newly discovered father was a reputed mob boss in Philadelphia.

While Rick had been supportive of Angie’s desire to get to know Sal Pulsoni, he admitted to having reservations about him personally getting to know her family and had declined the extended invite to Sunday’s dinner.

“I need your jaded opinion,” Angie said with her cell phone on speaker.

“This must be about your father,” he laughed. “Am I right?”

“Almost.” She poked through the remnants of her salad with her fork until she found the last, tiny grape tomato. She speared it and popped it into her mouth. “It’s about a wife to one of my half-brothers. What am I supposed to call her, anyway? My half-sister-in-law just doesn’t sound right.”

“What’s her name?”

“Giada.”

“Hm. I know. How about calling her Giada?”

“You’re lucky you’re good looking. Otherwise, that smart alecky thing would be very unattractive.” Angie closed her salad container and threw it in the trash beneath her desk. “Giada came in today for a massage. She made the appointment yesterday.”

“And?”

“And that’s it. Except, it’s not sitting right with me.” She pushed back from the desk and sat straight in her chair. “I didn’t know this before this mornin, but she’s been a client of the spa for a long time. She comes in regularly four times a year, though never in March. And on Sunday, she’d said see you soon when I left my dad’s, but didn’t mention anything about coming here.”

“Did she stop and talk with you today?”

Angie described Giada’s visit while she slowly twisted her head to the left then right, and up and down to loosen her neck. “Do you think I’m being overly suspicious? Or do you think Anthony sent her in?”

“Of course I do.”

“Which?”

“Both. But you should be overly suspicious that Anthony sent her in. Sounds like she was fishing for something.”

“That’s what I think, too. Now what do I do?”

Rick paused before answering, giving Angie enough time to wiggle her shoulders and stretch her arms before scooting her chair back up to the desk.

“I don’t think there’s anything else you can do right now,” he said. “But wait for her to make the next move.”

“Hm. Okay.”

“That was too easy.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re supposed to argue with me and tell me I’m being biased and that—”

“No! Not at all,” Angie laughed. “I called you because I knew you would agree that I should be suspicious. Now, I’m going to call Lucy and she’ll tell me the opposite. She’ll say that Giada is reaching out to me to welcome me into the family.”

“I don’t understand. Do you have use-them-or-lose-them-minutes on your cell plan with nothing better to talk about? You know, I could have come up with a more exciting topic.”

“I’m sure you could have. But no. I want to hear both sides of the argument from other people to see how each resonates within me. I do it all the time when I’m undecided. It helps me get a clear perspective.”

“I see. So when I want to sway you to do something, I need to tell Lucy first and get her on my side, is that it?”

“Seems to me, you can be a very persuasive man. In fact, I enjoy it when you try to sway me. You can leave Lucy out of it.”

“What time am I bringing you dinner tonight? I’ll be sure to sway you into something afterward.”

She agreed he could meet her for a very late dinner at her home and hung up. Unfortunately Lucy’s cell and office lines both went to voice mail, so she’d have to wait for her perspective. In the meantime, Angie busied herself reading resumes and phoning up potential seasonal hires. Her busy season ran May through September. She had just a month to finish preparing for it.

 

Regardless of the upcoming busy season and the increasing pile of work on her desk, Angie took the next morning off to spend it with her father. When she had told Giada that Sal was trying to give her everything he thought he’d owed her, she was being literal. Sal remembered every gift he’d given his sons and wanted desperately to give the equivalent to Angie. He had offered to buy her a pony for her first communion, which she refused. He’d purchased her a cute little Mercedes convertible to celebrate receiving her driver’s license when she was seventeen, which she happily accepted. And he had paid off her townhome since he’d never thrown her a wedding, which made her feel uneasy. After all, she’d never told him which bank held the note or even that she had a mortgage on the place.

At that point, Angie had made it clear to him that she wanted nothing material from him and the offering of expensive gifts slowed.

However, he continued to surprise her with visits and offers to whisk her away on impromptu father-daughter adventures: there were a few Disney-based Broadway shows, a chocolate tour of Philadelphia, and visits to several of the museums in the area that were always followed by a trip to Basset’s ice cream in the Reading Terminal Market. On top of missing so much work, Angie had also gained weight, something she wasn’t exactly happy with.

And now they were scheduled for a father-daughter photography portrait session on Wednesday morning. Angie met him near his home in Philly, at a landmark called the Water Works, at ten o’clock. They had their pictures taken with Boathouse Row behind them and then ate lunch at a restaurant on the water’s edge afterward.

“Oh, my Angelina,” Sal said as they took their seats in the restaurant. “I absolutely love spending time with you. You are a treasure. So beautiful. So funny. Ah, so very much like your mamma, my precious Julia.” He made the sign of the cross and sent a kiss up to heaven. “May she rest in peace.”

Angie reached her hand across the table and placed it on his arm. Mob boss or not, he had the tenderest of hearts. Every time she’d been with him, he’d wept almost as much as he didn’t weep. She couldn’t help but wonder what the strong and clearly able-bodied young men who made up his security detail thought about it. Never once did she see one of them smirk or hear a whispered, snarky comment. Their faces remained impassive, yet alert, always.

“I am glad you’re enjoying yourself.” She scooted her chair closer to the table. “I hope my brothers learn to do the same. They don’t seem too thrilled to have a sister.”

Sal waved a hand in front of his face. “Don’t you worry yourself about that. They will come to love you. I know it. It is a new and difficult situation right now. You understand, yes?”

“I do.” She paused while a waiter poured sparkling water into her glass and wine into Sal’s, leaving the bottle at the edge of the table. “Do you think I should reach out to them? Maybe invite them over for dinner? Or should I just bide my time and let them make the first move?”

Sal leaned back in his chair, sniffed his Merlot and took a sip. He smiled and nodded, clearly approving of the wine, before meeting Angie’s eyes. “Maybe that would be good. Start with Dominic and his wife.”

“The oldest?”

“Yes.” He flicked his napkin to the side before smoothing it on his lap. Angie noticed the movement, leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He laughed. “And to what do I owe that delightful surprise?”

“Because I do the same thing with my napkins. I must have inherited it from you.”

“See that? You are good people. To kiss an old man for such a silly thing, yes, good people.” He picked up his glass and twirled his wine. “And my sons are good people, too. If only their wives were like the rest of us, eh?”

“Tell me about them, the wives,” Angie said. “I really didn’t get a chance to speak to them much on Sunday.”

“Eh.” He tilted his head and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. The oldest one, she’s probably the best. I mean, she’s not bad. She’s just lazy. Doesn’t ever want to cook. They’re always going out to dinner. Doesn’t do anything but shop. Maybe she’s not all that lazy. Shopping, I suppose, takes energy.”

“I suppose,” Angie sipped her Pellegrino and tried to keep her eyes on her father’s face. It should have been an easy thing to do and maybe would have been if it weren’t for the bodyguard seated at the table behind him. He sat off to the side and had shifted in his seat causing his jacket to fall open. Angie could easily see a gun in a shoulder holster strapped to the man’s torso. She thought perhaps having someone so well armed nearby should have made her feel safe but it had the opposite effect. “But what about the other two women?”

“Ah, well, the youngest has too many children.” He waved a chunk of bread in the air. “Yes, I know. As a grandfather I should think there is no such thing. But she is never in one place very long. No one in her family is. Those children do not have time to be children. She is always rushing this one here, that one there. Never has time for anything.”

“And the middle one?” Angie leaned back as the waiter approached. She and her father gave their lunch orders. She asked only for a salad.

“Why do you not want to eat anything?” Sal asked. “You’re too skinny as it is.”

“I eat plenty,” she assured him. “I just have an important meeting today and need to get back to Atlantic City by two o’clock. I can’t linger over lunch.”

“Why didn’t you say something? We could have moved Wednesday to Thursday.”

“I didn’t want to cancel. These photographs are important.” She squeezed his hand over the table. “I just can’t have a long lunch.”

“See that? You are a good person. And a hard worker. Again, just like my sons. Salut!” He lifted his wine and she clinked her water glass to his.

“So, about the middle one, the wife of Anthony,” Angie said after sipping. “You started telling me about her. Giada, right?”

Sal nodded. “That one is trouble.” He leaned over the table. “Now you listen here. I know how people are. And I told my Anthony not to get involved with her. But he didn’t listen to me. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before I am proved right. You mark my words.”

“What makes you think so?” Angie bent her head closer.

“When a woman is over forty the first time she gets married, there is something wrong with her.”

Angie didn’t reply. She sat straighter in her seat. Either her father hadn’t done the math to figure out she was forty-one, or he assumed she was divorced.

Sal sipped his wine and continued. “She was forty-two when they married. I told Anthony she wouldn’t be a good wife.”

Angie poured herself a tiny bit of wine. “How do you know she wasn’t married before?” she asked and took a sip.

“That’s what she said.” He nodded to her. “Why would a woman lie about that? If anything, I would think she would lie the other way around. It must be quite an embarrassment to be that age and have never been married.

Angie took a longer drink of wine and cleared her throat. “So, she’s not a good wife, then?”

“I don’t know how it is when they are alone. And she never talks when others are around. Never says a thing to me. Doesn’t speak to the other women. Surely you noticed on Sunday.”

“I did.” Angie nodded and eyed up the bodyguard’s holstered gun.  “The other two seem to get along well.”

He tilted his head to the side and gave her a half smile. “Exactly. And they pay no attention to Giada. It is my guess they figured her out.”

 

Angie left in time to get back to the spa by two o’clock. Her very important meeting that day was with her aesthetician, Devi. She was trying a new anti-wrinkle serum and treatment for the line that was deepening in Angie’s brow at a rapid rate, a result, she knew, from her habitual squeezing of the forehead. Sure, she was still behind on the mountain of paperwork on her desk, but the appointment was also for work. The spa needed before-and-after pictures to post on their website as proof the technique worked. Devi had thought Angie would be the perfect subject.

She reclined on the table and let Devi work her miracles while she processed what her father had said about her half-sisters-in-law. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to get to the spa in time to double check the accuracy of Crosby’s report on Giada. Although she doubted the astute receptionist would be wrong.

Angie had customized the client service forms to allow room for her well-trained staff to notate any and all kinds of personal information they could gather regarding their clients without their clients being any the wiser. Crosby, Angie’s keen-witted receptionist, gathered the information and dutifully plugged it into the spa’s database. She would appropriately refer to it whenever she spoke to the clients and she kept the therapists abreast when necessary.

Yes, it could be said that Angie was a busy body. But it was all in the name of providing good service and ensuring no customer was ever offended. If a client mentioned fertility treatments to a masseuse, there was no reason for a new nail technician to ask her if she had any children in order to get to know her better. If a previously gray-haired man comes in with shockingly dark hair, it should be noted that he’d probably appreciate not being asked how his dating life was going and would love it if his ego was stroked a little.

Angie was well aware of the potential for her database to be abused and more than adequately compensated Crosby for her trustworthiness and confidentiality. In return, Crosby was never wrong. And she had said Giada had been married before while her father had specifically said she hadn’t. Which meant: Giada was lying to someone. Angie probably wouldn’t have cared if it weren’t for the fact that she had a feeling Giada wanted something from her.

A knock on Devi’s door startled Angie. Her eyes flew open beneath the towel protecting them from the magnifying light but she remained on the table while Devi opened the door.

“Tell Angie her friend will be waiting for her in her office,” Carlita said. “And I’m running out now to buy a new pot for the plant she knocked over in the waiting room. I’ll put the receipt on Angie’s desk when I get back. Time and a half.”

Angie sighed on the table. “Are you close to being done?” she asked.

“Close enough,” Devi said. She flicked off the magnifying lamp and removed the towel. “Your skin looks good. Try not to put any makeup on for the rest of the day. Don’t spend any time in the sun and, whatever you do, do NOT squeeze your forehead. Okay?”

“I think you’re telling me to ignore what Carlita just said, by-pass my office, go straight home, pull the blinds and pretend I’m not neglecting my duties here.”

Devi laughed. She must have thought Angie was joking.

 

Joke or not, Angie went to her office anyway and found Valerie Mitchelson sitting in one of the guest chairs, notebook in hand.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon,” Angie said, sitting behind her desk and silently adding, or ever again.

“Well, my dad said he’d buy me a spa franchise.” Valerie blinked her wide, very round eyes.

“That’s…that’s…well, that’s great,” Angie said.

“Yes. He was a little surprised that I wanted to work for a living.” Valerie’s head bobbed up and down. “But he is happy about it.”

“I’m sure he is.”

“Anyway, all the ones he looked at said I would stand a better chance of succeeding if I had some kind of business experience. But I don’t have any.”

“Okay.” Angie leaned back in her chair and gripped the padded arms in lieu of squeezing her forehead. Though fearful of what Valerie was probably about to ask her, she was even more fearful that she’d feel too sorry for the younger woman to say no.

“So my dad suggested I talk to you again.” Valerie looked down at her notes and read a line to Angie. “I should ask you if you’d like to be a mentor for me.” She slowly lifted her head and sucked in her lips while she waited for Angie’s reply.

“A mentor for you?”

“Yeah. I think it means show me the ropes and stuff.”

“I know what it means, I just…well, I’ve never met your dad. Why does he think I’d be a good mentor for you?”

“He was impressed by how you encouraged me to work. He thinks I listen well to you.”

“I see.” Angie gripped tighter to the chair.

“You know you look pale,” Valerie said. “You all right?”

“I’m fine. I just had a facial and can’t put on any makeup for the rest of the day.”

“Oh, well, between you and me, you should probably get those done at the end of the work day and go right home afterward, you know? That way you won’t risk running into anyone looking like that.”

“Right.” Angie couldn’t help it. Like a magnet to a metal pole, her hand flew to her forehead and she squeezed. “Look. I’m very busy and—”

“Oh! My dad told me you might say that.” Valerie bent her head over the notebook. Angie waited. “So, I want you to know, I promise you, I’ll stay out of your way and just take notes. And I will, cross my heart.” Valerie sat straighter in her chair and made a cross sign over her chest. “I’m very good at taking notes.”

“I can see that.” Angie sighed. Carlita was going to kill her but she had no choice. She could either let Valerie tag along behind her for a couple of days or take her home and put her in the curio cabinet with her kokeshi and matryoshka dolls, safe from harm. She was out of room in her curio  cabinet…“Sure. I’ll be your mentor.”

“Yay!” Valerie dropped the pen and notebook in her lap and clapped her hands. “When do we start?”

“How about tomorrow morning? Do you live here in AC? What time is good for you to come in?”

“I live at my dads’ place in Cherry Hill. I can get here when you open in the morning.”

“That’s seven o’clock.”

“Oh, well,” Valerie scrunched up her nose, creating the faintest of lines in her smooth, young skin. “It’s, like, over a forty-five minute drive…” Valerie bit her lip.

“Why don’t you come in at nine? That’s what time I usually get in.”

“Great!” Valerie picked up her notepad and wrote for what seemed to be a long time to Angie. “There, now I know to go into work at nine o’clock every day.”

“Excuse me, Ange,” Crosby said through the intercom.

Angie hit the speaker button. “Yes?”

“Your, um, Giada Pulsoni is here to see you.”

Angie almost squeezed her forehead again. Instead, she rubbed the line in her skin, as if trying to erase any evidence that she’d already broken Devi’s rule. “Oh, um, I’ll come out to see her,” she said and stood.

“Wait a minute,” Valerie held her hand out. “When. Someone. Comes. To see yooouu,” she said while writing. “Go out. To the.” She looked at Angie. “Where are you going?”

“Out front.”

“Out front.” Valerie said and wrote.

They left and met Giada together.

 

“Hey there,” Angie said to Giada, as if they were BFFs. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

“Yeah, well I thought I’d pop over to see if maybe you’d like to go out for a drink after work.”

“Pop over? Do you live nearby?” Angie asked.

“Just across the bridge in Barnegat.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Angie caught the sight of Crosby reaching for the computer mouse to update Giada’s file.

“Nice,” Angie said. “And I appreciate the invite, but—”

“She can’t go,” Valerie finished for her.

Giada and Angie both shot their eyes in the younger woman’s direction.

“Look at her. She’s not wearing any makeup.” Valerie held a hand beside her mouth and continued in a loud whisper. “Just had a facial. She shouldn’t be seen in public like this.”

“Right,” Angie pressed her fingers into her forehead, trying not to squeeze. As much as she’d like to slap Valerie right now, she had a point. “Besides, I am scheduled to be here ‘til eight tonight.”

“Really?” Valerie gripped Angie’s arm. “Is that, like, normal?”

“No, not normal,” Angie smiled as she shook free. “I’ve just been out a lot lately. I’m a little behind and need to get caught up.”

Valerie set her notebook on Crosby’s counter and focused on scribbling, presumably, what Angie had just said.

“Yeah, I thought you looked a little pale,” Giada said and shrugged. “Whatever.” She pulled her keys out of her purse.

“Some other time, maybe?” Angie reached over Crosby’s counter, grabbed a business card and a pen. She had to get to the bottom of whatever it was Giada was trying to do. “Here’s my cell.” She wrote the number on the reverse. “Why don’t you give me a call next time you’re free?”

 

Crosby left for the evening at five o’clock and was replaced by Jenna, who was just as discrete and detail oriented. Before Angie left for the evening, Jenna confirmed Giada’s previous marriage and added she thought she remembered Giada used to live in the Philadelphia area.

Angie called Lucy again while she drove to her townhome on the bay.

“I hope you’re not mad at me,” Lucy answered. “I know I haven’t returned your calls. I just had the craziest of days. We lost a senior at the center.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Had he been sick? Or was it a she?” Angie asked, turning into her street.

“It’s a he, and is still a he. I meant we lost him, literally. Something spooked him and he went into hiding in a storage closet. Found him taking a nap in there just a few minutes ago. I’m getting ready to take him home since his ride already left. Can I call you later?”

“Ha!” Angie laughed. “Actually, can we do lunch tomorrow? I need your opinion on something.” They made it a date and hung up.

As Angie neared her townhome, she saw a dark, hulking body hunched over on her front stoop. The person was obviously finagling her door knob. She slowed her car while her heart rate picked up. Fear pricked at her fingertips. But then she saw Rick’s car parked across the street. She stopped, put her car in reverse and backed up to her home.

Indeed, Rick was standing on her stoop.

“Jesus! What the hell are you doing?” she yelled when she got out of her car. “You scared the crap out of me. Why were you hunched over like that? I thought someone was breaking into my house.”

“Sorry about that.” He laughed and kissed her cheek. “Your light’s out and I couldn’t see the keyhole.”

“Next time use your phone for a light.”

“I couldn’t. My hands are full of food, see?” he held up a plastic bag. “As promised.”

She let him in and then excused herself to run upstairs to change into yoga pants and a large T-shirt while he set up dinner. By the time she met him in the kitchen, she was calm and centered again.

She lit a candle on the table.

“Just a little ambiance for this gourmet meal,” she grinned.

“I don’t know about gourmet, but I think the United Nations would approve.” He’d brought a vegetable pakora from Royal Albert’s Palace for her and an Italian hoagie from the White House sub shop for himself.

She laughed and sat across from him, allowing herself to enjoy, in silence, looking at his handsome chiseled face while he poured them wine. When she’d met his mother, the older woman had explained he was the color of Latino chocolate. Angie had agreed, and tonight she thought he looked exceptionally delicious.

While they ate, she filled him in on how her father was under the impression Giada had never married.

“And you’re sure Crosby was right?” Rick asked when she was done.

“Absolutely. Verified it this evening.”

He scratched the back of his head. “That’s pretty interesting, but I’m not sure if it means anything.”

“Do you think her husband knows she’d been married before?” she asked. “Is it possible she was married to one of my father’s enemies and is trying to keep it secret? She did live in Philly after all. That would be an innocent explanation, right?”

“Your father would probably know her, then.” Rick sipped his wine. “And maybe there’s no innocent explanation.”

“Don’t think I haven’t already been obsessing about that.” Angie re-filled their glasses. “You have no idea how much trouble I’ve had trying to concentrate on work today. How can I find out if her first husband died in a mysterious accident? Do you have contacts who could track that down? Do you know if he drowned? Maybe that’s why she says she doesn’t like boats. You know, to keep people from suspecting she shoved him overboard.”

“How do you know she doesn’t like boats?”

“It’s in my database.”

“What else is in there?”

“Basic stuff. But it doesn’t have her first husband’s name. That was erased when she married Anthony. I’m going to have to change that policy. We should keep track of all love interests, don’t you think?”

“I think your policy scares the hell out of me. I’m not sure it’s legal even, so I’d prefer not knowing about it.” Rick took her hand over the table. “And your imagination is a little scary, too. But it does explain why you thought someone was breaking into your home tonight.”

“Yikes,” Angie grimaced. “You think I’m getting carried away?”

He squeezed her hand. “I’ll research her tomorrow and see what I can learn.”

“You’ll do that for me?” Angie stood and led him away from the table.

“Absolutely.”

“Are you buttering me up to sway me into doing your bidding?” she asked, settling down on the sofa.

“Actually, I made the offer because I want to make sure you won’t be in any danger. But, I’m now thinking maybe I do like the way your imagination works.”

A few minutes after nine on Thursday morning, Angie strolled through reception on her way to her office. She nodded hello to Crosby, smiled at Erika, cooed good morning to Marissa and Ashley in the hallway, and stopped cold in her tracks just inside her office. Perhaps she should have paused to get a briefing from Crosby before sailing through the building because there, behind her desk, in the ergonomically-designed chair, sat Valerie Mitchelson.

With her flaxen hair pulled tight in a ponytail and a pencil tucked neatly behind one ear, she sat, squeezing her forehead, as she looked over the advertising proofs.

“Ange!” she squealed and dropped the proofs. “You’re late. But I guess that’s okay since you’re the boss and all.” She stood. “I hope you don’t mind. I went ahead and got started without you.”

“Mind what?” Angie felt her stomach knot up as she approached her desk. “What have you done?”

“I’ve just been looking at this. It’s the only thing I understand. You’ll have to show me what to do with the other stuff.” Valerie waved her hand over the desk and knocked off the in-bin.

Angie insisted her mentee go get something to drink in the break room while she gathered up the papers and tried to re-organize her desk.

“Sorry about that,” Valerie announced when she returned. “But do you see what I mean? They, like, totally messed up that ad.”

Angie found the paper Valerie had been holding when she came in and studied it.

“I mean, it is an ad, right?” Valerie asked.

“Yes, yes, it’s an ad.” Angie saw nothing wrong with the layout.

“So, I’m, like, totally right, right?” Valerie asked.

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Look.” Valerie pointed to the photograph of a woman lying face-down on a massage table. A row of gray basalt rocks were lined up on her bare back. “Okay, so I know every spa uses a picture like that, but that’s not the way it’s done. It doesn’t even look comfortable. I mean, who would pay to have to lay still with a bunch of rocks perfectly lined up on their back? Doesn’t seem relaxing at all. The picture should have the masseuse’s hands rubbing the stones into the woman’s shoulder or something. And she should be smiling just a little. Right now she looks bored and maybe cold. She should also have her hair pulled up on top of her head, not just over to the side. And what’s with the flower in her hair anyway? That just looks stupid, like you’re trying to pretend you’re in the tropics not at the Jersey shore. And the last thing, they shouldn’t use gray in the background, it should be warmer colors. Oh and the last, last thing, the room should be dimmer.”

“Right, right, but if it were dimmer, the photograph might be too dark…” Angie said, though she knew Valerie was right, on all of it. “But good eye. I’ll alert the agency to make the changes.”

“You know what else?” Valerie used her hand to cover the text on the ad. “I think they should turn her around so that her face is pointing to the words, too. Right now the words are where her butt would be if the picture was bigger and that’s just not right.”

Angie stared at the ad, staggered by who delivered the information.

“Another very good idea,” she said. “We’ll let the ad agency know.”

Valerie ran to the opposite side of the desk, picked up her notebook and started writing. “Use an. Ad agency. To create.” She paused and chewed on her bottom lip. “What do you call that?” she pointed with her pencil.

“A promotional mailer,” Angie said and waited until Valerie spelled out the words.

“Okay then.” Valerie slammed the notebook down on the desk. “Let’s call them bastards.”

Angie sat in her chair and covered her mouth with her hand. “They’re, they’re not bastards,” she said when she regained her composure. “In fact, they’re a very good and easy company to work with.”

“Of course they are. Or you wouldn’t have hired them, right?” Valerie’s expectant face beamed over the desk.

“Right. We’ll call them later. There are more pieces to proof.”

“What do we do now?”

“Well, I’m a little behind—”

“Good thing I’m here to learn. I can help!”

“Yes. Yes, I suppose you can.” Angie squeezed her forehead. Valerie mimicked her. “Oh honey, please don’t do that,” Angie said. “You’ll give yourself frown lines before you truly deserve them.”

“Then why do you do it?”

“No one ever told me not to.”

“Interesting.” Valerie’s hand dropped to cradle her cheek. “I wonder if there are things people forgot to tell me, too.”

“I’m sure there are. That seems to be the way life works.” Angie pulled a file out of a desk drawer. “Right now, I need to take care of payroll.” She flipped open the file and sifted through the worksheets while Valerie scooted her chair around to sit next to her. “I have six full-time employees and fourteen part-time ones. They all get paid every two weeks. I pay myself once a month. This should be an easy payroll to do because we haven’t had any holidays where people get paid time-and-a-half, no one took any sick days, and—”

“Whoa, whoa whoa,” Valerie put her hand on Angie’s arm. “You’re talking too fast. Back up some.” She looked at her notes. “You can pick up after the word six.”

“You know,” Angie said. “Since I’m so late in doing this, I need to do it quickly. Why don’t you just watch this time around? Then next time it will be more familiar and hopefully I’ll have a chance to do it much further ahead of time and speak slower. Sound good?”

“Sure.” Valerie put her pad and pencil down and sat with her legs crossed.

Angie finished sorting the worksheets and plugged in the hours worked for each employee into a computer program. With her undivided attention, it only took her about forty-five minutes to complete payroll. When she was done and ready to print the checks, she leaned back and realized Valerie had nodded off. With eyes closed and chin on her chest, the young mentee breathed long and deep, like someone in peaceful slumber. Angie quietly pulled the checks out of a locked cabinet and loaded them into the printer.

She was signing the last couple of checks when her cell phone rang and Valerie woke up.

Angie didn’t recognize the local number, but as soon as she heard the voice at the other end, she realized she should have been able to guess who it would be.

“I was wondering, you working late again tonight?” Giada asked.

“I think I can probably do a normal day and end around five o’clock,” Angie said. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Valerie reach for her pad to notate the time to leave.

“Wanna catch a quick drink? Me and Tony are meeting a friend and his girl at the Trop. I thought maybe we could have a cocktail before that.”

“Sure.” They made arrangements to meet at five-fifteen, even though Angie was still behind in her work. Theories and ideas for why Giada was secretive about her previous marriage continued to run through her head like wildfire. She had kept Rick up late with wild speculations: maybe Giada was a former CIA agent and the marriage was a bogus cover. Maybe she was in the witness protection program and couldn’t ever abandon the fabulous service at the spa regardless of the potential danger of being recognized. Maybe she and Anthony were teaming up to overtake her father and a mob war was about to break out.

She hung up and turned to Valerie. The younger woman tried to rub her eyes without smearing her mascara.

“Is there anything in particular you want to learn?” she asked her

“About what?” Valerie asked in return.

“About running a spa.”

“Oh, um, well, I guess I should know exactly what you do and why.”

Angie ran through the litany of services and the therapeutic values of each one. She gave Valerie a behind-the-scenes tour and eventually they made it back to the office.

“You know, it’s lunchtime,” she said to Valerie. “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah. I think I should get some coffee, too.” Valerie stood up. “Do we eat in the break room?”

“We do if we brought lunch. If not, you can go out, or get something here in the hotel.”

“What time should I be back?”

“How about one o’clock?”

“Okay.” Valerie shoved her pencil and paper into her purse, her face looking as pensive as it was possible to look.

“Are you all right?” Angie asked.

“Yeah. Just, this seems kind of boring.” She slung her purse onto her shoulder. “Will it be more exciting after lunch? What will we be doing then?”

“Well, I have a bunch of invoices to go over and bills to pay—” She stopped at the sight of Valerie’s slack jaw. “You know, if you’ve had enough, you can go home.”

“No. Daddy would be disappointed.” The corners of her mouth turned down for a brief second before her face went blank again. “I heard him say to one of my sisters on the phone last night that he was worried I wouldn’t even make it through the day.”

“Ouch,” Angie winced. “That wasn’t nice.”

“Maybe not, but it’s true.”

“What about your sisters? You’re triplets, right? Do they work?” Angie asked.

“They’re both finishing up college. One for interior design and one for fashion design.” She shrugged. “We’re not completely identical. I was never good in school.”

“I wasn’t either.” Angie went around the desk and gave Valerie a hug. Her eyes cast down beyond the ponytail and she saw the remaining ad pieces waiting for her approval in the in-box. “But you know what? After lunch, why don’t you finish going over the advertising? You seem to have a knack for that.”

“Really?” Valerie’s eyes became happy blue saucers again. “That was a lot of fun. Great. I’ll get on it as soon as I get back.”

Angie met Lucy for lunch at their favorite place: Teplitzky’s Diner. While Angie tried to fill her head with a sense of danger or intrigue regarding the half-sister-in-law, Lucy just didn’t see it.

“I don’t know, Ange,” Lucy said. “It seems to me, if she had something sinister to hide, she wouldn’t come to your spa, would she?”

“Why wouldn’t she? Our clients don’t know the kinds of details we keep on them. She probably doesn’t know I know she was married before.”

“Your clients don’t know…oh my God, what does my file say?”

“That you’re Lucy, Angie’s sister. I’m never changing that.  It also says you don’t like the wax too hot and you’re a good tipper.”

“It’s the least I can do since I get services so cheaply.” Lucy sipped the last of her coffee. “But if you really think she’s evil—”

“I never said evil.”

“You suggested she might have axed her first husband. Would you call that angelic?”

“Under the right circumstances, maybe.”

Lucy laughed. “So what are you going to do?”

“Well, I want to know what motivated her to come to my spa out of her normal schedule and why she keeps trying to spend time with me. So I was thinking about dropping that secret marriage bomb on her and then holding it over her head to kind of blackmail her into telling me what she wants from me.”

“You’re scaring me, Ange, really.”

“You know, Rick said something similar last night.”

“Good to know. I’ll call him to schedule an intervention for you.” Lucy grinned as she pulled a credit card out of her wallet. She placed it over Angie’s on the check. “Listen, go easy on her. You just found out you’re related to some pretty tough people. Maybe she’s hoping she’s found a friend.”

“Maybe, but then why is she lying to my father?”

“I don’t know. But maybe she’ll tell you if you ask her nicely.”

As promised, as soon as Valerie returned from lunch, she tackled the ads and promo pieces lying in wait for attention. Angie set her up in the break room, where she had a large table and good lighting and then returned to her office to focus on the rest of her over-due, boring, duties. With Zen-like focus, she zeroed in on the paperwork to the point of losing track of time. Thankfully, Crosby buzzed her at four o’clock to let her know Rick was holding on line one.

“Why are you calling the office line?” she asked.

“Because you’re not answering your cell. I was getting worried.”

“What?” She pulled her phone out of her purse in the drawer and saw that she’d missed three of his calls. “Sorry. I guess I’ve been concentrating too deeply. I didn’t even hear it ring. Did you get my message?”

“You have a date with Giada at five fifteen at Cuba Libre.”

“Right. Did you find anything about her?”

“She was married to a Stan Leigh.”

“Stanly who?”

“That’s it. Stan Leigh. As in two words. Last name is spelled L-E-I-G-H.”

“No one is named Stan Leigh.”

“The ex-husband to your half-sister-in-law is.” He paused. “You’re right. There must be something else you can call her.”

“There is.” She laughed. “Giada.”

“You’re lucky you’re good looking. Anyway, I’m sure you’ll love this.” He paused. “He’s the head groundskeeper of a large cemetery in Philly.”

“A groundskeeper?” Angie squeezed her forehead. “Of a cemetery? Wow. That could be convenient. Don’t you think?”

“Depends on the kind of friends you have, I suppose.”

“Exactly!”

Rick laughed.

“What else you got?” she asked.

“That’s it, babe.”

“Honest? Come on. There must be an arrest record. Or a government agency watching her or Stan. Or a news report on mysterious graves appearing at the cemetery. Something, right?”

“No. That’s it. He still lives and works in Philly. Well, there is one thing.”

“What?”

“There was a domestic dispute call just days before she filed for divorce. Nothing ever came from it. They divorced due to irreconcilable differences.”

Angie took a long inhale and held it waiting for more. When she had to exhale, she spoke.

“That was pretty damned anticlimactic, Rick. That’s all, really?”

“Sorry I’m not all that exciting.”

“Well, work on it! There must be something juicy on her.”

He laughed again

“I’ll see what I can dig up and give you a full report at Cuba.”

“Dig up, ha.”

She reached for her cell to call Lucy, but saw it was close to four thirty and she remembered poor Valerie was in the break room probably wondering what to do next, if she was still awake.

Not only was Valerie awake, she was energized and vibrant as she tried to get Carlita to understand what she was doing with the ads.

“She was in here all afternoon?” Carlita asked Angie.

“Yes. She’s been working on the advertising.” Angie scanned the room. There was no evidence of damage.

“Hm,” Carlita pursed her lips and gave one nod of her head. “I guess I get normal pay for today. Good job, Chiquita.” She patted Valerie on the back and left.

“All right, let’s see what you got.” Angie sat at the table.

Valerie had all the promotion materials spread out before her. Each piece was covered with red ink: arrows, loopy handwriting, giant Xs and more scribbled over the pages. Valerie babbled on and on about each one while Angie listened and occasionally nodded her head.

“What do you think?” Valerie asked when she was done. She collected the pages and tapped their bottoms to line them up.

“I think you might have found your calling,” Angie said standing.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think running a spa is what you’re meant to do. I think you’re meant to do something in advertising.” She took the pages from Valerie’s hands and waited for the younger woman’s blank face to resume a happy expression. Instead, like the kokeshi dolls in the curio cabinet in Angie’s home, it remained impassive. The large round eyes peered at Angie without even hinting at thoughts bubbling behind them.

“What’s the matter?” Angie asked.

“I’m wondering why no one ever told me to do that before.” Valerie blinked. “I think I would have listened to them if they had. Do you know how much shopping I do? I’m always looking at ads. I’ve been looking at ads my whole life. I think I might have been born to look at ads.”

“Sometimes we need to tell ourselves things other people should have told us,” Angie replied and put her arm around Valerie. “When you come in tomorrow, we’ll see if we can meet up with my marketing woman. I’ll show her what you did here and maybe she’ll help guide you on what to do next.”

“Really?” Valerie perked up for a half minute before drooping again. “But, if I go into advertising, will I have to do payroll? That was really boring.”

“Not necessarily.” Angie gently shoved her toward the door. “Get going. It’s five o’clock and time for you to go home. Go tell your dad you’ve got your future all figured out.”

Angie walked over to the Cuba Libre in the Tropicana Resort and found Giada waiting with a barely-touched margarita on the table before her.

“Hey Ange,” she said as she stood to peck Angie’s cheek. “How was work today?”

“A little boring, but I got a lot done. How was, uh, your day?” Angie wasn’t sure to ask how her work went because she wasn’t sure whether the woman worked.

“About average,” she waived to a waiter. “What you drinking?”

“I’ll have the grilled pineapple mojito,” Angie told the waiter when he arrived and then as soon as he turned around, she went into attack mode, nice attack mode, in honor of Lucy.

“Crazy thing,” Angie said with a sweet smile. “When I first saw you, I thought I knew you and didn’t recognize the name. But it just hit me. You’ve been coming to my spa a long time. I think when you first started, you were married to someone else. Is that right?”

Giada raised her eyebrows and took a long sip of her margarita through the straw—a perfectly good waste of salt according to Angie. When she was done, she ran her green nails through the back of her dark hair before responding.

“Yeah, about that, Ange.” She scratched her temple. “Can we keep that just between me and you?”

“What do you mean?” Angie asked.

“I mean, well, you know.” Giada took another drink. “I don’t want to ever talk about that in front of Tony or his family. He, uh, well he doesn’t know I was married before.”

The waiter returned with Angie’s pineapple mojito. She let him set it on the table and leave before speaking. “How long have you been married to Tony?” she asked.

“Just over a year. And we were only together a year before that.”

“Wow. That’s fast.” Angie took the pineapple off the rim of her glass and chewed a bite of it. “But why doesn’t he know? I mean he’d been married before, right? What’s the big deal?”

“It’s not that simple.” Giada sighed and rolled her eyes. “See, when I met Tony, it was through this online dating site. I had checked single when I made my profile ‘cause I just didn’t want to think about being married, past, present or future, ever again. I never expected to find my dream man there. I just wanted to go out and live a little. But then, I fell in love with him so quickly and then it seemed like it was too late to come clean. Like maybe it would mess stuff up between us if I told him. You get it?”

Angie sipped her drink, thinking about how hard it would be for her to tell her father she’d never married. “Yes, I guess so. But isn’t it hard to keep up the lie?”

“Not at all. We lived over in Philly. My family’s all here at the shore. And they all hated Stan, my ex-. He killed Louboutin, one of my cats. My parents are cat breeders. It was an accident, but still. It shouldn’t have happened. So they prefer not ever thinking about him, too.”

“Oh, I see.” Angie wanted desperately to ask why and how he killed the cat, if he’d buried it in the cemetery where he worked, but Giada continued talking.

“Yeah, and I kinda lost touch with my girlfriends in Philly. They thought I overreacted about the cat when I called the police on Stan. So…” instead of finishing her sentence, she took a long drink of the margarita, this time directly from the glass.

“Angie,” Rick touched Angie’s back. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi!” She kissed him. “Um, Rick, this is my sister-in-law, I mean my half-sister-in-law—”

“I’m Giada Pulsoni,” she said and extended her hand.

“Rick Vargas,” he shook it, and put his arm around Angie.

“Sorry. What do you call me, Giada?” Angie asked.

The other woman drained her glass and set it down. “I call you Angie.”

Rick pretended to look for a waiter to hide his smile.

“Okay, well, I guess it’s time for me to meet up with Tony and the others,” Giada said. She threw some cash on the table and gave Angie a hug.

“You know, I could tell when I met you at Sal’s that you were a nice person. I’m so glad we can be friends. I mean, my other sister-in-laws, they’re like stuck in their own world of babies and stuff. I’m glad I got you.”

“Thanks,” Angie said, meeting Rick’s eyes behind Giada’s back. “I’m glad, too.”

“Yeah, and um, like, when I lived in Philly I was a nail technician. I want to get back into that again some day. Maybe if you have an opening or something at the spa?”

“Actually, I do,” Angie said. “At least for the summer season.”

“Great. I’ll call ya tomorrow. Thanks.” Giada turned and left the restaurant, entering into the mall.

Rick and Angie watched her leave their sight.

“Damn,” Angie said and took a long pull of her drink.

“Damn what?” Rick asked.

“Another anticlimactic moment. All she wanted was a job.”

“Sorry you’re disappointed, but, uh,” he put his hand on her chin to tilt her head toward his. “I’ve been planning all day on ways I could sway you into a climax.”