“Whaddaya say, counselor? My treat.”

“Be right down.” Mary grabbed her purse.

She needed a friend, about now.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

M ary had been on so many blind dates that it was a pleasure to be with a man who had a medical excuse for not being attracted to her. She couldn’t pass or fail the date and she hadn’t even bothered freshening her makeup. No matter how hard she tried, Anthony wasn’t falling in love with anyone but the waiter.

“This is fun,” Mary said, and Anthony raised a glass.

“To Italian-American studies.”

“Cent’anni.” Mary raised her glass and they both sipped their wine, which tasted cold and great. She knew nothing about wines, but Anthony had selected it from a bewildering array on the leather-bound list. She said, “Nice choice, sir. That wine list was harder than the bar exam.”

“You could have picked a bottle. It’s not as difficult as people think.”

“Like the Freedom of Information Act.”

“Exactly. You answered all my questions on the way over.” Anthony grinned, his eyes crinkling photogenically. He had on a dark cashmere blazer with a white shirt and khaki slacks, and his smile was as warm and friendly as last night, if even handsomer in the candlelight, which lent his eyes the rich warmth of dark chocolate.

“Were you ever a model, Anthony?”

“No.” He grinned crookedly. “Why?”

“You’re so hot.”

“Thank you.” Anthony smiled, a little surprised.

Mary eyed the menu, feeling the wine affecting her, already. She hadn’t eaten all day and was always a cheap drunk. Giulia, Brinkley, and even Trish floated farther back in her mind. The restaurant, a casual bistro, was dark and uncrowded, and the menu was completely in French. She stumbled over the béarnaise and mumbled, “Why is the menu never in Latin?”

“What did you say?” Anthony leaned over his menu. “You like Latin food?”

“No, forget it.”

“I cook very good Cuban. I learned it in South Beach from a Cuban friend.”

“I feel inferior, with no Cuban friends. I know people from Jersey, however.”

Anthony laughed. “I even went to Havana with him. What a city. Very wild.”

“I’m sure. I saw The Godfather.”

“I memorized The Godfather. I even read the book.”

“That’s hardcore.” Mary smiled. “What’s your favorite line?”

“‘Leave the gun, take the cannoli.’”

“Good one. Mine’s ‘Fredo, you broke my heart.’” Mary smiled again. She was buzzed. Anthony was fun. Gay men were always fun. She wished suddenly that all men were gay. “So you’re a good cook?”

“Excellent. I love to cook. My idea of a perfect night is a wonderful dinner.”

“Me, too. You know, it’s too bad I didn’t know you in high school. The only boys I knew were the ones who needed tutoring.”

“Not me. I studied hard, I was a good boy. In fact, I was an altar boy.” Anthony smiled, and Mary laughed.

“You’re like the male version of me. It’s really too bad we didn’t know each other.” Her thoughts turned to Trish and the boy she did know in high school. Not a good boy, decidedly a bad boy.

“What?” Anthony asked. “Your face just fell.”

“It’s a long story.”

“So, tell me. The waiter’s never coming back anyway.”

“He’d better.” Mary checked her watch but it was too dark to see it. “I have to go back to work and this thing that’s exploding. If you saw the TV news today, you know that Trish Gambone is missing.”

“How do I know that name?” Anthony asked, with a slight frown.

“High school.” So Mary told him the story, and his expression darkened.

“It’s a terrible thing,” he said, after she had finished the story. “I don’t get some men.”

“Me, either.” Mary didn’t elaborate.

“Wait a minute. Why is this your problem? You and Trish weren’t friends, were you?” Anthony cocked his head. “She was so conceited in high school, and he was a dumb jock.”

“She came to me for help.”

“So she’s your client?”

“Not really.”

Anthony arched an eyebrow. “Then if you ask me, I think you did plenty. You found the diary and you told the police. This is their job now. Let them do it. They’ll go forward with their investigation, even though Giulia went on TV.”

Mary nodded. It was exactly what Judy would have said. “Still, I hate doing nothing.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s time for the police to take over. You’re not responsible for everyone from the neighborhood.”

Yet it was exactly how Mary felt. “But that’s what a community does. That’s what it is, to me. Take Dhiren for example, who lives next door to your mom.”

“I’ve seen him. Nice kid.” Anthony sipped his wine.

“He needs help, but I can’t find a psychologist who can test him because everybody’s too busy.” Mary knew that she had just divulged confidential information, but she was a little drunk, so it was permissible under the Tipsy Exception. “Nobody feels the remotest responsibility for others in this world. It’s all the bottom line and the schedule and it’s-not-my-table, and a little boy hangs in the balance. Even the cops have their issues between Homicide and Missing Persons, and Trish falls through the cracks.”

Anthony set down his glass. “You’re not a big drinker, are you?”

“Does it show?”

“Absolutely, but it’s cute.” Anthony smiled softly, and their eyes met over the cozy table, in the candlelight’s glow. It would have been a romantic moment, if not for that pesky homosexual part.

“So, tell me about you,” Mary said. “Do you have a partner?”

“What kind of partner? I teach.”

“You know, a partner. A lifemate. A lover.”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“No. Oh, no.” Anthony started to smile. “You’ve been talking to my mother.”

“Your mother? About what?”

“Oh, no.” Anthony laughed, covering his face with his hands. “This is so embarrassing.”

“What is?”

Anthony looked up from his hands. “You think I’m gay.”

“Aren’t you?”

“No! Oh my God, no. Not at all. I’m not gay.”

“What?” Mary asked, puzzled. “Your mother said you were.”

“She thinks I am, but I’m not. She was always fixing me and my brother up, and I would never like any of the girls. Each one was worse than the next.” Anthony couldn’t stop chuckling. “So she decided that I’m gay because I like wine, good food, and books. The books alone will convict you in the neighborhood.”

Mary reached for the wine, dumbfounded. “Why don’t you tell her you’re not gay?”

“Because she’ll start fixing me up again. My brother Dom wishes he had the same scam, but nobody would believe such a slob is gay. She never asked me if I am, so I never lied to her. It’s don’t-ask, don’t-tell, only I’m straight.”

Mary laughed, incredulous.

“Now, we have a running gag. Dom and my sisters are in on it, too. He gives me Cher and Celine Dion CDs for Christmas. My sister took me and my mother to the Barbra Streisand concert last year. They think it’s a riot. I did, too. Until now.”

Mary blinked. “What about when you bring home a girl? Someone you’re seeing?”

“I say they’re my friends, because they are, and she assumes it’s platonic.”

“And when it gets serious?”

“I haven’t met anyone I wanted to get serious about, yet.”

Mary tried to wrap her mind around it. “The funny thing is, I only went to dinner with you because I thought you were gay.”

“Oh no. Are you seeing someone?”

“No, but I’m really sick of fix-ups.”

“Perfect.” Anthony raised his glass, his easy smile returning. “To no more fix-ups.”

Mary took a big swig of wine, suddenly stiffening, and Anthony met her eye in the candlelight.

“So you didn’t know this was a date?” he asked softly.

“Uh, no.”

“It is, and I hope it’s not the last.”

Mary’s mouth went dry.

“Is that okay with you?”

No. Yes. No way. Sure. Mary felt a warm rush inside, but it had to be the alcohol. If Anthony was straight, her makeup needed freshening. She set down her glass. “Order for me, please,” she said, getting up and grabbing her bag just as her phone started ringing. She stepped away, dug in her bag for her cell, and slid it from its case while she fled to the ladies’ room.