man in his sixties with a perpetually red face bustled up. He greeted me, kissing my cheeks, “Ah Miss Mia, the prettiest little girl in New York!”
I planted a big smack on his lips. “Howya doin’ Mr. Salvi?”
“Can’t complain, business is good and you’re here. Will you be joining your friends?”
I grinned back and winked. “Table for two, if you please.”
He nudged me in the ribs. “Nice young man, eh? Much better for a young lady, yes?”
I replied in an exaggerated stage whisper, “I’m inclined to agree with you.”
My companion cast a sidelong glance at me. All part of the show, but I was playing in earnest tonight. I’d actually forgotten Richard for a moment. Present company was beyond thrilling.
We made our way through the maze of crowded little tables. He helped me into my chair. Lovely manners, of course good manners were more common back then but his were always impeccable. When he took his seat he leaned over the table to me and said in a sort of low growl, “Am I being used, Miss Disantini?”
I grinned back. “You’re on to me Mr. Sinclair.” Oh, Mr. Sinclair with an accent on the sin.
“I saw your… friend, leaving with… the others.”
“His wife. Shocked?” This was nineteen fifty.
Didn’t even blink an eye. “I’m a man of the world, Miss Disantini. May I call you Maria?”
“No one ever called me that except for my dried up maiden aunt. Call me, Mia.”
An amazingly liquid smiled flowed over his lips. “Va bene, cara mia.”
I blinked, surprised he used the endearment my father did and even more that he pronounced it so beautifully. “You speak Italian?”
“I speak many languages.”
The waiter approached us to take our order.
“Hiya Mikey. What’s good tonight?”
He was one of those waiters who’s extremely competent but always looks like his dog just died. Never wrote anything down but never made a mistake either. “Calamari’s good; veal’s better.”
I took the safer option. One could never tell how a gentleman would react to a girl eating squid. “The veal, please.”
“And the gentleman?”
The smooth smile never left my companion’s face and frosty eyes never left mine. “Nothing thank you, I dined earlier. Please bring the young lady whatever she wants.”
“You’ll be sorry. Bring the lot Mikey! Mussels to start and a basket of bread, I’m starved. And the best red you’ve got. He’s paying!” I pointed to my amused date.
Mikey hurried away. My companion still had his eyes glued to me awaiting my next move, mouth twitching with unexpressed laughter. In spite of the hauteur, he had a sense of humor. “You’re very straightforward.”
“You’re rich, aren’t you?”
Didn’t miss a beat, leaning in to me, grinning in a wolfish way. “Fabulously.”
I continued on my merry way. “Music to my ears, listen you don’t have a wife do you?”
He laughed at my gaucherie. “No.”
Angels were singing somewhere. “You’re getting better by the minute. I can’t believe you’re single!”
“I was married once. She died long ago.”
Open mouth insert foot, Mia. “Sorry, didn’t mean to be so rude. I always say just what I think. It’s a bad habit.”
“Your candor is refreshing,” he said with a touch of world-weariness.
Ooh! What made him tick? Yet undiscovered levels to his character. Tres sophisticated. Our eyes met. Was my mouth watering?
The piano player started to play soft dinner music. Usually as the night wore on he’d play show tunes or Italian songs and guests would sing along.
“What’s your first name?”
“Ethan— Ethan Allen Sinclair.”
I actually sighed, “Ethan Allen Sinclair— sounds like a character from a book— can’t say I’ve ever met an Ethan before.”
“I’ve never met a Mia before. It’s a delicious experience.”
Oh, he was good, but it didn’t matter. I was falling anyway. I blushed.
“Where in the universe did you drop from?” If he’d said Alpha Centauri it wouldn’t have surprised me.
“Virginia.”
“Old money?”
A mysterious smile slid over his luscious mouth. “Very old.”
“You have that look. Why Ethan Allen, I mean, wasn’t he a Yankee?”
He chuckled. “My father asked my mother that same question the day I was born. She thought an unusual name lent distinction.”
“Why me?”
A puzzled look passed briefly over his face. “Whatever do you mean?”
I gestured to a colleague of mine, a tall, blonde gazelle of a girl. “Why not my friend Janie over there? She’s the real beauty.”
He paused for a moment, smiling. “You exceed her as much in beauty as the first of May doth the last of December.”
“Much Ado about Nothing. You know your Shakespeare.”
“I read extensively. I’m particularly fond of Shakespeare.”
“Not just a pretty face?”
“I