The Grand Finale

shy. You know how women are.”

Mrs. Fitz got her sweater and her purse. “She’s a ninny,” she mumbled to Harry. “Don’t know opportunity when it comes knocking,”

Harry smiled. “I bet you don’t pass up any opportunities, Lena.”

“Not if I can help it. Trouble is, opportunities don’t come along often enough.”

Harry held the door for her and winked at Jake. “Don’t wait up.”

Berry narrowed her eyes. “What did he mean by that?”

“He meant they’re going to have an enjoyable evening at the movies, and we shouldn’t wait up.”

“That dirty old man has designs on Mrs. Fitz,” Berry said.

“I don’t believe this. You’re doing a Mrs. Dugan.”

“If anything happens to that dear, sweet old lady, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m worried about Harry.”

Berry took several pizzas from the oven and shoveled them into boxes. “Is he a really good friend? How long have you known him?”

Jake looked at his watch. “Forty-five minutes.”

“What?”

“I met him in the supermarket. Actually, I had him lined up for Mrs. Dugan. Guess I’ll have to go back to prowling the frozen food section tomorrow. Frozen food is a good place to meet old guys.”

“You purveyor!” she sputtered, wide-eyed and furious. “I know what you’re up to. I’m not stupid. You’re getting rid of my ladies. You’re getting them out of the house so you can talk about soap!”

“Yup.”

“You admit it?”

“Yup.”

“That’s despicable.”

He slouched casually against the counter, hands in his pockets. “Mrs. Fitz and Mrs. Dugan and Miss Gaspich are three terrific ladies. They’re bright and lively and lonely. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that they’d like some male companionship once in a while. And it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that I’d have to be Houdini to get you into bed with Mrs. Dugan around. I think I’ve reached a creative solution to everyone’s problem.”

Berry turned on him. “It’s not the ladies who are the problem. You’re the problem. You’re ruining my plan. I don’t want a relationship. I don’t want your tuna salad. I was doing just fine until you came along. For the first time in my life I knew where I was going. I had goals, direction, purpose. I had self- esteem. Now I don’t know what I have. Now I have hot flashes and uncomfortable cravings.”

Jake looked outrageously pleased at that. “Really?”

“I don’t need uncomfortable cravings. I need to study my art history. You can understand that, can’t you?” Berry pleaded.

Jake took a step toward her. “What sort of cravings?”

“None of your business.”

“Ah, but it is my business.” He stood so close Berry could feel the warmth from his body swirl around her. “I feel an obligation to take care of these uncomfortable cravings.”

He didn’t understand, Berry thought sadly. She had plenty of the type of cravings he was referring to, but they weren’t the ones that scared her. It was the pudding cravings, and the baby cravings, that turned her stomach into a churning turmoil. It was the way she felt when she did his laundry and found herself fondling his clean white sweat socks, worrying if they were soft enough, white enough.

“Right now I’m going to take care of the food craving,” Berry said, digging in to her salad.

“It’s a start,” Jake said.

Rain slashed down the plate-glass windows of the Pizza Place, casting the small shop in funereal shadow. The ovens were warm against Berry’s back, but the fluorescent lighting did nothing to dispel the gloom of cold April showers.

The front door swung open and two bedraggled men entered, stomping the rain off their sneakered feet. Their first reaction was to sniff the air and smile appreciatively.

“Lady, if I were you, I’d move my bed down here. The pizza smells great.”

Berry handed them each a slice on a paper plate. “Are you done? Is my carpet all installed?”

“Yeah. Boy, I was never so glad to be done with a job in my life. Nothing personal, but your apartment really stinks.”

“There was a fire,” Berry said. “And it’s just been painted.”

“What kind of paint did you use? That place smells like old socks.”

The second man shook his head. “Worse than old socks. That place smells like dead socks.”

Berry looked at Miss Gaspich and Mrs. Fitz. “Maybe I’d better go investigate.”

She and Jake had checked on it this morning, and it had definitely had a strong paint odor. She hadn’t been able to open the windows because of the rain, but she’d assumed the fumes would have dissipated by now.

When she reached the top of the stairs her eyes began to sting. Paint, new carpet, dead socks. They were right. It smelled bad, really bad. Worse than this morning. The walls were eggshell white, and the insurance had paid for not the best but not the worst grade of beige wall-to-wall carpet. The windows were sparkling clean. There was insurance money for new curtains and a new couch but no time to shop for them.

She turned at the sound of footsteps on the stairs and smiled at Jake before he pulled her to him and kissed her hello. Just as he always did. As if they belonged to each other, she thought. Casual husbandly kisses. Hello, good night, good morning.

Jake wrinkled his nose. “What’s that smell?”

“It’s my apartment,” she said, moaning. “How am I going to live in this?”

“Don’t worry. It’s probably just a combination of fresh paint and new carpet. It’ll be better in a few days.”

Berry felt like screaming. In a few days she’d be a babbling, drooling idiot. She needed to get away from Jake Sawyer. She needed to get out of his bed, out of his house, away from his shower. Especially his shower. A morning shower used to be a wake-up ritual. Now it was an erotic experience that brought her to the breakfast table cracking her knuckles, wondering if Jake was really as good with soapsuds as he claimed.

Jake looked down at her. “You have a peculiar expression on your face. Sort of desperate.”

Desperate. The perfect word. She turned from him so he wouldn’t see the fib. “Not desperate. Just disappointed. I’d hoped to move in tonight.”

“Obviously that’s out of the question. Looks like you’re destined to stay with me a little longer,” he said cheerfully.

“Maybe it’ll smell better tomorrow.”

“I doubt it. Not if it keeps raining, and you can’t open the windows.”

“You seem awfully pleased about all of this.”

“I like having you in my bed… even if I’m not there with you.”

Berry was sure her heart stopped beating. It went thud and then there was nothing but singing. Julie Andrews singing that song from The Sound of Music. Plus the Hallelujah Chorus. Sometimes Jake Sawyer said things that knocked Berry off her feet. And truth was, Berry liked being in his bed, too. She liked imagining him next to her, his arm possessively curled across her chest, his lips pressed against her shoulder.

“Admit it,” Jake said. “You like being in my bed.”

“It’s very comfy.”

“And what else?”

“Nice sheets.”

“What about me? Don’t you wonder what it would be like to have me in bed next to you?”

“Never. Absolutely never. And stop grinning like that.”

“Sometimes you’re such a goose,” he said, draping his arm around her, ushering her down the stairs. “So, how are you and Mrs. Dugan doing today? Selling lots of pizzas?”

“Mrs. Dugan isn’t working today. Miss Gaspich is working today.”