The front of Bella’s mansion on East 78th Street was just as grand as I’d expected it to be. It had a limestone facade and arched, leaded-glass windows. I walked up five steps to a paneled oak door that had been buffed to a high sheen. There was a little button beside the door and a small black sign reading: “Please ring the bell.”
So I did.
A few seconds later the door was opened by a comfortable-looking, middle-aged Hispanic lady. “You must be Rafe.”
“Good morning, ma’am.”
She smiled and took a step backwards. “Miss Cranky is upstairs in her room. I will show you up.”
“Thank you.” I held up the bottle of juice. “I brought her some orange juice. Can I pour her a glass?”
Now she beamed. “Follow me.”
We went through a gleaming entryway, and then through a white-paneled sitting room. In the back was the most beautiful kitchen I’d ever seen in a New York City home. “Aquí están los vasos,” the housekeeper said. She opened a cabinet and brought out two juice glasses.
“Gracias.” I opened the bottle on the pristine stone countertop. “Grab another one, though, because this is really good juice. You should have some. My family makes it for our restaurant in Washington Heights.”
For a second the housekeeper just stared at me. Then her face broke open into an enormous smile. “Call me Maria. And I will try your juice.” She turned to get another glass, and I heard her mutter something in Spanish under her breath. Something like: at least one of my girls has good taste in men.
I filled three glasses. Then I lifted one toward Maria, the housekeeper. “Salud.”
She touched another glass to mine and then took a sip. “Perfecto.”
Smiling, I picked up Bella’s glass. “I’ll take this upstairs if you don’t mind.”
She pointed at a narrow doorway off the kitchen. “The back stairs are closest — just one flight up, and to your right. But I warn you, she is cranky. My Bella — always a happy child, except when she is sick. When she was a little thing, you see a grumpy look on her face? You go looking for the children’s Tylenol. That’s Bella. Not her sister — that child was unhappy for any number of reasons. But it takes a lot to make Bella miserable.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Recently, I’d seen Bella very miserable, but I wasn’t about to share that. Besides, I was pretty sure that the tide had turned.
“You look sick, too,” she said, patting my arm.
“Exams,” I explained. “Maybe we worked too hard.” Or maybe we spent a lot of time having sex instead of sleeping.
“I will bring you both soup later. Now go up to Miss Cranky.” She gave me a small shove toward the stairs.
I carried two glasses of juice up the little stairway. At the top, I turned right into a generous bedroom, where I found Bella. She sat surrounded by pillows on a queen-sized upholstered bed. Her nose was red, and she wore an oversized T-shirt that said: Huck Farvard. She was still the most beautiful girl I knew.
“Hey!” she said, pausing the TV. “You did bring me juice!”
“Of course, belleza.” I set the glasses down on the nightstand and kicked off my shoes. “Nice pad you got here.” There were gorgeous old windows that looked out over a brick patio, and a thick Oriental rug on the floor. All the upholstery was rose-colored. Comfortable, but a little girlier than I expected from Bella.
She took my hand and tugged me onto the bed. “I missed you.” She put her hands on either side of my face, but I only got a tiny peck on the lips. “I probably look disgusting.”
“No way.” I gave her a bigger kiss. “You look great. We only feel disgusting.”
“You too, huh?”
“Yeah, but I’ll survive.” I sat myself up against the headboard next to her. “Is this okay? Can I sit on your bed without breaking any rules?”
Bella snorted. “Oh, honey. They gave up on making rules for me a long time ago. My parents just went out of town anyway — to West Palm for a golf thing. My mother tried to get me to go with her, because she’s going to be bored out of her skull by a bunch of real estate people. I played the sick card, and I don’t think she blamed me at all.”
I handed her a glass of juice. “Drink up, belleza. What are we watching?”
“Let’s see…” She navigated to the Netflix menu. Then she turned to me with a little smile. “This is nice.” One of her bare feet found its way to mine. “Thank you for coming.”