Espresso Shot

“It’s smart. She obviously wants you to give fidelity a try.”

Matt frowned. “That wasn’t part of our deal.”

“What deal? This is supposed to be a marriage.”

“Monogamy’s retro. Brea

“Yeah, well, I don’t care what she said. I think, deep down, Brea

He waved me off. “You don’t know Brea

“No. You don’t know women as well as you think you do.”

Matt and I could usually communicate with very few words. At the moment, I felt as though we were talking two different languages. I sat in silence for a moment.

“Tell me, truthfully,” I finally said. “What is it that you love about Brea

This question seemed to baffle the groom. (Not a good sign.) I waited as he searched the bedroom ceiling, finally he met my eyes.

“I… I guess I love my life with her,” he said quietly. “It’s always fun to be with Bree, you know, exciting. She can always find a party, no matter what city she’s in. Man, that woman loves to party. And seeing Rome, Paris, Tokyo with her… it was great. It’s always the best with her: limos, top hotels, the finest restaurants.”

“So it’s her money you love?”

“No…” Matt frowned. “Honestly, it’s what we enjoy together, Clare. I mean, Bree loves that life-the traveling, the networking with new people-and when I’m with her, she arranges everything, makes life easy. I don’t have to sweat the small stuff. It’s kind of a relief. She doesn’t mind taking care of things and taking care of me, too-like she did when I broke my arm last fall.”

Like a mom, I thought. It made sense, their relationship. With Brea

“Brea

Matt’s expression softened. “I guess I love her for things like that, too.” A hint of a smile moved across his features. “And I guess… I guess I do love Brea

“Then, uh, maybe you should marry her. But I mean really marry her, Matt. Try being a real husband for a change. That might just be an adventure, too.”

Matt studied my face. “You and I weren’t a total disaster, were we?”

“One look at our daughter will answer how I feel about that.”

Matt sighed. “Okay, Clare. I heard everything you said, and I’ll think about it…”

It was the exact same response Brea

“So the wedding’s on?” I pressed. “You’ll marry Brea

Before Matt could answer, the phone on the nightstand warbled. I picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Clare?” It was the harsh, clipped tone of a woman who wasted no time with pleasantries.

“Yes,” I said.

“I gather things didn’t go well with Nunzio, or you wouldn’t be home alone right now.”

Here we go: the return of bridezilla. “Actually, Brea

I heard a sharp breath on the other end of the line. She began speaking again, but I put my hand over the receiver and turned to my ex-husband.

“Listen to me, Matt, I have something important to tell you…”

I spilled the beans about Brea

“Brea

I listened to Matt’s end of the conversation for the next few minutes. I heard more than one “I’m sorry” and “Your forgiven” before things got really mushy. Then I slipped out of the room, deciding to table my discussion of the Brea

The way Matt was cooing to his fiancée, I was certain of one thing: Saturday’s wedding was definitely back on, which meant I had to get Nunzio’s fountain to the Met!

THIRTY-TWO

ON most evenings, taxis ran fairly regularly up Hudson Street. Chic residents of uptown neighborhoods knew downtown was the hottest Manhattan scene, so cabbies routinely spent the night transporting the clubbing set to bars and restaurants in Soho and Tribeca, then reversing course to go back uptown for a new load of trendily clothed forms to ferry.

I’d just missed one yellow cab. It swerved for the fare across the road. In the glow of the streetlamp, the silhouette of a man in a trench coat and ball cap climbed into its backseat. But another cab rolled up a moment later, and I snagged the ride.

Traffic was still pretty light, and we traveled from Greenwich Village to the Upper East Side without any major snarls. As the cab circled the block at Eighty-sixth Street and doubled back down Fifth, another taxi hugged its bumper. I saw the flash of a

“Damn tailgater,” he muttered.

Soon the floodlit walls of the Metropolitan Museum of Art loomed into view. Bordering Central Park, the massive museum occupied five full city blocks, its interior crammed with a stultifying array of irreplaceable artifacts. The paintings included many of the world’s masterpieces; the sculptures dated back to ancient Greece and Rome. There were historical displays of furniture, jewelry, arms and armor, vases, tapestries, photographs, ancient mummies, and even an entire Egyptian temple, removed from the banks of the Nile River and transported to the New World. Soon one more treasure would be added to that list, albeit temporarily: the Italian sculptor Nunzio’s Lover’s Spring.

By now, the museum’s visiting hours were over. But for Brea

I exited the taxi at the corner of Eighty-fourth Street, right in front of the ma

The guard helped me roll the heavy suitcase down the steep concrete ramp and through the employees’ entrance to the second security checkpoint inside the museum. I showed the guard my pass, and he admitted me to the museum proper.

Pulling the fountain behind me, I crossed a wide loading dock and followed a gloomy hallway to the holding area. I unlocked the storage unit, rolled the fountain inside, and locked it up again. Mission accomplished!

Too bad, Nunzio. Better luck with the next barista…

My virtue secured, along with the fountain, I headed out.

It was after eleven when I left the museum and trudged up the shadowy ramp back to the street. The storm had passed, but the air was still damp, and the temperature was dropping, too. I shivered under my flimsy sweater. The wrap dress was starting to chafe, and I’d been wearing the same wedge platform sandals for ten hours now. They’d been comfortable most of the day, but by now my feet were throbbing with each step.

I waved good-bye to the guards inside the booth and walked uptown. There was an M3 East Village bus stop at the corner of Eighty-fifth Street, right in front of a fenced-in children’s playground that was part of Central Park. There was a streetlight nearby, but much of its glow was blocked by tree branches. Traffic was light on Fifth, and there wasn’t a cab in sight, so I was relieved to see a bus rolling toward me, though it was still several blocks away.