Mrs. Fitz wrapped a snow-white apron around her middle. “We can handle this. You go on upstairs and help Jake with the apartment. Sounds like he’s having a party up there.”
Berry looked at the ceiling. It did sound like a party upstairs. There was music blaring from a radio and the sound of at least a dozen feet scuffing around. She took the stairs two at a time and found her apartment filled with people. Mrs. Giovanni stood at the sink, up to her elbows in soapsuds. Several adult Lings were scrubbing walls and scouring floors. Ling children ran from bedroom to living room in a game of tag. A tall, rawboned man turned from a sparkling-clean front window. He held a bottle of glass cleaner and looked pleased. “They’re pretty clean, now. Now you can see Mama Giovanni’s geraniums when they bloom, and down the street my Caribe Restaurant.”
Berry caught Jake by the arm as he hauled a load of trash to the stairs. “What are all these people doing here?”
“They just showed up, one by one. You were right. This is a nice neighborhood.”
“They came to help me?”
“Mrs. Ling said you were the reason her daughter won her class spelling bee last month. Said you tutored her free for weeks before the contest. Mrs. Giovanni tells me you drove her to the hospital every day for almost a month this winter when her husband had a heart attack.”
“The tall man cleaning the windows,” she whispered. “I’ve never met him.”
“Apparently you’ve befriended his wife.”
Berry looked confused.
“Anne Marie.”
Berry’s eyes opened wide. “Anne Marie?” She burst out laughing. “Anne Marie is a six-foot-tall platinum blond who only speaks French. She gets lonely when her husband is at work, so she visits me. I speak English and make pizzas, and she sits on the stool, knitting and speaking French. Neither of us can understand anything the other says.”
Jake shook his head. “How can you find time to do all these things, run a business, and go to school?”
“I’ve eliminated sleeping and only eat once a day.”
Jake was serious. “What about time for Berry?”
“I like my life.”
“I think you’re running on empty. When you say you haven’t got time for naked men-you’re right.”
“Naked men do not play an important role in my life.”
Jake grinned down at her. “I intend to change that.”
“Good thing for you Mrs. Dugan stayed home to do the laundry. I’d tell her you were talking dirty to me.”
“That isn’t talking dirty.” He leaned forward and whispered some of his future intentions in her ear. He stepped back, grinning, enjoying the look of flustered embarrassment on her face. “Now that’s talking dirty.”
Mrs. Giovanni bustled past with a bottle of detergent in her hand. She shook her finger at Berry. “You got a nice young man there. You’re lucky to have a man like that to take care of you.”
Jake whispered in Berry’s ear. “See, even Mrs. Giovanni thinks I should take care of you.”
“I don’t need taking care of.”
“Of course you do.”
“Not the way you mean.”
“Especially the way I mean.”
Berry narrowed her eyes and put her fists on her hips. “I guess I know what I need and what I don’t need. And I don’t need what you think I need. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“I suppose you are-but it would be much more fun if we did it together.”
“I didn’t mean… you know perfectly well… oh, jeez.”
Jake handed her the bag of trash. “Here, this isn’t heavy. It’s scraps of wallpaper I scraped off the bedroom wall. You could take it downstairs for me. It’ll give you a chance to cool off.” He winked at Mrs. Giovanni. “Just being around me gets her all overheated.”
Berry took the bag and smacked Jake over the head with it.
Mrs. Fitz stood in the doorway of the Pizza Place and clicked her tongue at Berry. “You look like someone just stepped on your corns.”
“It’s that Jake Sawyer.”
“Isn’t he something? Um-hmmm.”
“The man has one thing on his mind.”
“You?”
“S-e-x.”
Mrs. Fitz looked at Berry. “Don’t underestimate him.”
Berry raised her eyebrows in question.
“He’s in love with you,” Mrs. Fitz said.
“We hardly know each other.”
“Sometimes your heart knows stuff your head hasn’t figured out yet.”
“He’s never told me.”
“Maybe he don’t know. Maybe he knows, but he’s afraid, like you.”
Berry squared her shoulders. “I’m not afraid.”
“Don’t tell fibs.”
“It’s just that I have this plan.”
“Bullshoot.”
“Mrs. Fitz! Such language.”
Mrs. Fitz laughed and slapped her thigh. “I know it. Aren’t I the ornery old lady, cussing like that?” She shook her head and returned to the caldron of pizza sauce bubbling on the stove. “You gotta be flexible, Lingonberry. Sometimes plans gotta change or you lose good opportunities. Isn’t every day a man like Jake Sawyer comes along. That man is fine.”
Miss Gaspich kneaded a huge wad of dough on the butcher-block table. A small smile hovered at her mouth. Her eyes twinkled. “And he’s got a great butt,” she added quietly.
Chapter Five
It was close to eleven o’clock and Berry’s street was dark. With the exception of the bar on the next block, this was an early-to-bed, early-to-rise neighborhood. Berry summoned her last ounce of strength and dragged herself out of the car. She glanced into the window of the Pizza Place, noticing that it was empty, except for Jake. Thank goodness. She didn’t have the energy to be nice to any more customers. She pushed through the heavy glass door, tossed the money bag onto the counter, and slumped into a chair. “Another day, another dollar.”
Jake gaped at her. “You look awful!”
Berry pointed to her wet ringlets and water-splattered shirt. “Water balloon.” She raised her leg to display torn jeans. “Dog.”
“Does this happen every night?”
“Some nights are worse than others. Where are the ladies?”
“I sent them home in a cab. They looked all done in.” He took her hands and pulled her to her feet. “You look even doner. Let’s go home.”
“I have to clean the ovens, the floor-”
Jake pointed vehemently. “To the car, woman!”
Berry was too tired to argue. She followed Jake to the car and sat beside him, remembering the way he’d said, Let’s go home, as if it really was her home, too. Wouldn’t that be nice, she thought, succumbing to the hypnotic drone of the engine. Imagine if that lovely Victorian house could actually be my home. It’s nice to see Mrs. Giovanni’s geraniums, but Jake’s house has trees and a real lawn. She closed her eyes and imagined what it would be like to be barefoot on that lawn. No responsibilities, no plan to follow… just bare toes and soft grass.
When Berry opened her eyes she was in the garage.
“Come on, sleepyhead,” Jake said. “We’re home.”
Berry looked at him drowsily. There was that word again. When Jake Sawyer said home, it took on spiritual proportions. Home was an ark: a refuge against flood, pestilence, and rude drivers; a haven for the harried; a cure for the sexually deprived.
Berry followed Jake into the kitchen and wondered what it was that made this house so homey. It was empty of furniture. Voices echoed in rooms not yet softened by curtains or carpets. By all standards the old building should have felt inhospitable. But it didn’t-it felt like a home. Berry could practically smell butterscotch pudding cooling on the counter.
Suddenly the ghosts of crushed dreams tugged at her heart. Dreams of towheaded children getting tucked into bed at night, dreams of a husband who nuzzled her neck in the kitchen and told her important things, like I took the car to get a new muffler today. She’d entered into marriage anticipating a family, fantasizing about a big old house that would be filled with noisy love and security taken for granted. What a dope she’d been to look for domestic bliss in a marriage to Allen. It had never really been a marriage at all. It had been a living arrangement. She’d expected so much, and she’d left with so little.