Did you cry? asked Vince, the host, stepping up beside her. Theyd known each other since childhoodshe, Vince and Linda. Theyd gone through school together, inseparable. Now he was the best-looking maître d in South County. He was tall and slender, flawlessly groomed in an Armani suit and Gucci shoes. Rimless glasses highlighted his darkly-lashed eyes.
Of course I cried, Rosa said. Didnt you?
Maybe, he admitted with a fond smile in Lindas direction. A little. I love seeing her so happy.
Yeah. Me, too.
So thats two of us down, one to go, he said.
She rolled her eyes. Not you, too.
Butch has already been at you?
What do you two do, lie awake at night discussing my love life?
No, sweetie. Your lack of one.
Give me a break, okay? She spoke through a smile as a party of four left the restaurant. She and Vince had perfected the art of bickering while appearing utterly congenial.
Please come again, Vince said, his expression so warm that the two women did a double-take. Glancing down at the computer screen discreetly set beneath the surface of the podium, he checked the status of their tab. Three bottles of Antinori.
Rosa gave a blissful sigh. Sometimes I love this job.
You always love this job. Too much, if you ask me.
Youre not my analyst, Vince.
Ringrazi il cielo, he muttered. You couldnt pay me enough.
Hey.
Kidding, he assured her. Good night, folks, he said to a departing threesome. Thanks so much for coming.
Rosa surveyed her domain with a powerful but weary pride. Celestas-by-the-Sea was the place people came to fall in love. It was also Rosas own emotional landscape; it structured her days and weeks and years. She had poured all her energy into the restaurant, creating a place where people marked the most important events of their livesengagements, graduations, bar mitzvahs, anniversaries, promotions. They came to escape the rush and rigors of everyday life, never knowing that each subtle detail of the place, from the custom alabaster lampshades to the imported chenille chair covers, had been contrived to create an air of luxury and comfort, just for them.
Rosa knew such attention to detail, along with Butchs incomparable cuisine, had elevated her restaurant to one of the best in the county, perhaps in the entire state. The focal point of the place was a hammered steel bar, its edges fluted like waves. The bar, which shed commissioned from a local artisan, was backed by a sheet of blue glass lit from below. At its center was a nautilus seashell, the light flickering over and through the whorls and chambers. People seemed drawn to its mysterious iridescence, and often asked where it came from, and if it was real. Rosa knew the answer, but she never told.
She checked the time on the screen without being obvious. None of the servers wore watches and there was no clock in sight. People relaxing here shouldnt notice the passing of time. But the small computer screen indicated 10:00 p.m. She didnt expect too much more business, except perhaps in the bar.
She could tell, with a sweep of her gaze, that tonights till would be sky-high. Im so glad summers here, she said to Vince.
You know, for normal people, summer means vacation time. For us, it means our lives belong to Celestas.
This is normal. Hard work had never bothered Rosa. Outside the restaurant there was not much to her life, and she had convinced herself that she liked it that way. She had Pop, of course, who at sixty-five was as independent as ever, accusing her of fussing over him. Her brother Robert was in the navy, currently stationed with his family overseas. Her other brother, Sal, was also in the navy, a Catholic priest serving as chaplain. Her father and brothers, nieces and nephews, were her family.
But Celestas was her life.
She stole a glance at Jason and Linda, and fancied she could actually see stars in their eyes. Sometimes, when Rosa looked at the happy couples holding hands across the tables in her restaurant, she felt a bittersweet ache. And then she always pretended, even to herself, that it didnt matter.
I give you two months off every year, she pointed out to Vince.
Yeah, January and February.
Best time of year in Miami, she reminded him. Or are you and Butch ready to give up your condo there?
All right, all right. I get your point. I wouldnt have it any other
The sound of car doors slamming interrupted them. Rosa sent another discreet look at the slanted computer screen under the podium. Ten-fifteen.
She stepped back while Vince put on his trademark smile. So much for making an early night of it. The comment slipped between his teeth, while his expression indicated hed been waiting all his life for the next group of patrons.
Rosa recognized them instantly. Not by name, of course. The summer crowds at the shore were too huge for that. No, she recognized them because they were a type. Summer people. The women exuded patrician poise and beauty. The tallest one wore her perfectly straight golden-blond hair caught, seemingly without artifice, in a thin band. Her couture clothesa slim black skirt, silk blouse and narrow kid leather flatshad a subtle elegance. Her two friends were stylish clones of her, with uniformly sleek hair, pale makeup, sleeves artfully rolled back just so. They pulled off the look as only those to the manor born could.
Rosa and Vince had grown up sharing their summers with people like this. To the seasonal visitors, the locals existed for the sole purpose of serving those who belonged to the venerable old houses along the pristine, unspoiled shore just as their forebears had done a century before. They were the ones whose charity galas were covered by Town & Country magazine, whose weddings were announced in the New York Times. They were the ones who never thought about what life was like for the maid who changed their sheets, the fisherman who brought in the days catch, the cleaners who ironed their Sea Isle cotton shirts.
Vince nudged her behind the podium. Yachty. They practically scream Baileys Beach.
Rosa had to admit, the women would not look out of place at the exclusive private beach at the end of Newports cliff walk. Be nice, she cautioned him.
I was born nice.
The door opened and three men joined the women. Rosa offered the usual smile of greeting. Then her heart skipped a beat as her gaze fell upon a tall, sandy-haired man. No, it couldnt be, she told herself. She hopedprayedit was a trick of the light. But it wasnt, and her expression froze as recognition chilled her to the bone.
Big deal, she thought, trying not to hyperventilate. She was bound to run into him sooner or later.
Uh-oh, Vince muttered, assuming a stance that was now more protective than welcoming. Here come the Montagues.
Rosa struggled against panic, but she was losing the battle. Youre a grown woman, she reminded herself. Youre totally in control.
That was a lie. In the blink of an eye, she was eighteen again, aching and desperate over the boy whod broken her heart.
Ill tell them were closed, Vince said.
Youll do nothing of the sort, Rosa hissed at him.
Ill beat the crap out of him.
Youll offer them a table, and make it a good one. Straightening her shoulders, Rosa looked across the room and locked eyes with a man she hadnt seen in ten years, a man she hoped she would never see again.
Youll offer them a table, and make it a good one. Straightening her shoulders, Rosa looked across the room and locked eyes with a man she hadnt seen in ten years, a man she hoped she would never see again.
Two
You asked for it. As though flipping a switch, Vince turned on the charm, stepping forward to greet the latest arrivals. Welcome to Celestas, he said. Do you have a reservation?
No, we just want to drink, said one of the men, and the women snickered at his devastating wit.
Of course, said Vince, stepping back to gesture them toward the bar. Please seat yourself.
The men and their dates headed to the bar. Rosa thought about the nautilus shell, displayed like a museum artifact. Would he recognize it? Did she care?
Just when she thought shed survived the moment, she realized one man held back from the group. He was just standing there, watching her intently, with a look that made her shiver.
Her task, of course, was simple. She had to pretend he had no effect on her. This was easier said than done, though, because she had trouble keeping her feelings in. Long ago, shed resigned herself to the fact that she was a walking clichéa curly-haired, big-breasted, emotional Italian American.
However, cool disregard was the only message she wanted to send at the moment. She knew with painful certainty that the opposite of love was not hate, but indifference.
Hello, Alex, she said.
Rosa. He lifted the corner of his mouth in a half smile.
Hed been drinking. She wasnt sure how she knew. But her practiced eye took in the tousled sandy hair, the boyish face now etched with character, the sea-blue eyes settling a gaze on her that, even now, made her shiver. He looked fashionably rumpled in an Oxford shirt, chinos and Top-Siders.
She couldnt bear to see him again. And oh, she hated that about herself. She wasnt supposed to be this way. She was supposed to be the indomitable Rosa Capoletti, named last years Restaurateur of the Year by Condé Nast. Self-made Rosa Capoletti, the woman who had it alla successful business, wonderful friends, a loving family. She was strong and independent, liked and admired. Influential, even. She headed the merchants committee for the Winslow Chamber of Commerce.
But Rosa had a secret, a terrible secret she prayed no one would discover. She had never gotten over Alexander Montgomery.
Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, he walks into mine, she said. She pulled it off, too, with jaunty good humor.
You know each other? The woman with the Marcia Brady hair had come back to claim him.
He didnt take his eyes off Rosa. She refused to allow herself to look away.
We did, he said. A long time ago.
Rosa couldnt stand the tension, although she struggled to appear perfectly relaxed as she offered an impersonal smile. Enjoy your evening, she said, every bit the hostess.
He looked at her a moment longer. Then he said, Thanks. I will, and he stepped into the bar.
She held her smile in place as he and the others settled into an upholstered banquette. The women looked around the bar with surprised appreciation. The norm in these parts consisted of beach shacks, fried food, dated seaside kitsch. Celestas one-of-a-kind bar, the understated handsomeness of the furnishings and the unparalleled view created an ambience of rare luxury.
Alex took a seat at the end of the table. The tall woman flirted hard with him, leaning toward him and tossing her hair.
Over the years, Rosa had kept up with his life without really meaning to. It was hard to ignore him when she spotted his face smiling out from the pages of a newspaper or magazine. The thinking womans hunk, one society columnist dubbed him. Drives Formula One race cars and speaks fluent Japanese. He kept company with billionaires and politicians. He did good worksfunding a childrens hospital, underwriting loan programs for low-income people. Getting engaged.
Pharmaceutical heiress Portia van Deusen was the perfect match for him, according to the people-watchers. With a slight feeling of voyeuristic shame, Rosa had read the breathless raves of society columnists. Portia was always described as stunning and Alex as impeccable. Both of them had the social equivalent of champion bloodlines. Their wedding, of course, was going to be the event of the season.
Except that it never happened. The papers ceased to mention them as a couple. The engagement was off. Ordinary people were left to speculate about what had happened. There was a whisper that she had left him. And she appeared so quickly on the arm of a different manolder, perhaps even wealthierthat rumor had it shed found greener pastures.
Vince said he offered to beat the crap out of him, said Shelly, holding aloft a tray of desserts and espresso.
So much for privacy. In a place like Celestas, rumors zinged around like rubber bullets.
As if he could stand to have one hair out of place. In spite of herself, Rosa smiled, picturing Vince in a fight. The sentiment was touching, though. Like everyone who had seen the wreckage Alex had left in his wake, Vince was protective of Rosa.
Are you all right? Shelly asked.
Im fine. You can tell that to anyone whos wondering.
That would be everybody, Shelly said.
For Petes sake, we broke up eons ago, Rosa said. Im a big girl now. I can handle seeing a former boyfriend.
Good, Shelly said, because he just ordered a bottle of Cristal.
From the corner of her eye, Rosa saw the sommelier pop the cork of the bottle, listed at $300 on the menu. One of the women at Alexs tablethe flirtgiggled and leaned against him as he took a taste and nodded to Felix to pour. The six of them lifted their glasses, clinking them together.
Rosa turned away to say good-night to a departing couple. I hope you enjoyed your evening, she said.
We did, the woman assured her. I read about this place in the New York Times Escape section, and have always wanted to come here. Its even nicer than I expected.
Thank you, Rosa said, silently blessing the Times. Travel writers and food critics were a picky lot, as a whole. But her kitchen had proven itself, again and again.
Are you Celesta, then? the woman asked as she drew on a light cotton wrap.
No, Rosa said, her heart stumbling almost imperceptibly as she gestured at the lighted portrait that hung behind the podium next to the numerous awards. Celesta, in all her soft, hand-tinted beauty, gazed benevolently from the gilt frame. She was my mother.
The woman smiled gently. Its a wonderful place. Im sure well be back.
Wed love to have you.
When Rosa turned from the door, she used every bit of her willpower to keep from spying on Alex Montgomery. She knew he was watching her. She just knew it. She could feel his gaze like a phantom touch, finding her most vulnerable places.
They had said goodbye many years ago, and it was the sort of goodbye that was supposed to be permanent. She wondered what he was thinking, barging in on her like this.
May I have this dance? Jason Aspoll held out his hand to Rosa.
She smiled at him. It was a well-known fact that on most nights, near closing time, Rosa enjoyed getting out on the dance floor. It was good marketing. Show the public you like your place just as much as they do. Besides, Rosa did love dancing.