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¨Good Morning, Alex. Or is it afternoon?¨ I ignore him as his words do have a way of clinging to me.
“It’s almost noon.¨ He shrugs, folding his newspaper closed.
He’s wearing a modest champagne-colored shirt for a billionaire, yet his pair of designer shoes are nothing I’ve seen before. They’re caramel colored with scaley iridescent tones seen when the sun rays spill through the stained glass window.
I sit on the solo cushion booth across from him. This setup is too cute for the word quaint, sort of juvenile, but indeed elegant.
“There was that spot in Spanish Harlem you made me take you to for some remedy tea. Remember?” He sits back into a smile.
“I was grabbing it for a friend. She was sick.”
“Well, that’s my only memory of you and tea. But, Micola…do you partake?” He passes me the menu from in front of him.
“Always room for tea.” I scan the pompous selection before me.
“I’m up for a suggestion. Don’t need to think about tea. So, why are we really here?”
He beckons the waitress and puts in our orders. His leadership is instinct. Always has been. I was spoiled by it for the three years we were in love. And as a social introvert, I’ve always appreciated it.
“Well, Micola. I confess you’ve been crossing my mind a lot lately. And don’t worry, not in that regard.”
“Okay.” I laugh. I most certainly hope not.
The busboy pours us water. We thank him.
“I was in Milan three weeks ago for business. There’s a sculptor who I’m featuring at Carvel this summer from there. It didn’t take long to realize theentire art communityis run by Costa fans. That’s saying the least. I mention I’m from New York, and they bring up your uncles.”
I sigh, “I see.”
“Do you even know you have a third cousin in Hong Kong behind the art scene there?”
“Huh?” This is definitely news to me.
“Gio? Gio Costa? Giovanni?”
I laugh, “I have no idea who that is.”
“He’s related to you. He proudly mentioned your uncles.”
It’s always about the uncles. I roll my eyes, curious as to where this is going.
“The art community is driven by networking. Name-dropping is as popular behind art as it is acting.”
“Definitely don’t like hearing that.” A chill rushes through my body.
Alex shrinks his eyes out of contemplation. They zero in on me as the waitress places a gray cast iron teapot down with two cream teacups. Dainty yet made with great quality.
I watch her pour us our own cups. Alex still watches me. I don’t know why.
“Why are you staring at me like that? You look like a creep.”
The waitress struggles to contain her giggles before she scurries away.
“I do? Well, sorry, that is not my intention.”
“What’s the deal, Alex?” I bring the little cup to my face to sniff the tea’s aroma. Citrus with a bit of floral.
“What are your plans this summer? And, I promise this question is related.”
