*
Carlotta was skittish as Chris made her a Vodka tonic with a new bottle of cold Chopin, she noted. The man certainly had taste, she thought, as she looked around his apartment. A loft in Soho, once an art gallery, Chris explained, but now his home. Carlotta wandered about the large space made warm by the red brick, bookshelves, and the rugs on the floorboards. Everything was made for Alexia’s ease and comfort. She noted the lowered countertops and door handles, the widened passage way, and the extra large bathroom.
‘You have a lot of books,’ she said, and then regretted it. What a stupid comment, only a bimbo would say that. She should have asked him what he was reading. ‘Read anything good lately?’ she asked.
‘Nope,’ said Chris as he came towards her with her drink and one for himself. ‘You?’
‘No, I have kinda been caught up,’ said Carlotta, and a shadow crossed her face briefly.
Alexia wheeled herself into the living room. ‘Pizza, Dad?’
‘Really? Pizza?’
Alexia made a face. ‘Dad is such a pain in the ass about eating right. He cooks most nights for me, and pizza is such a treat.’
‘You cook?’ asked Carlotta.
‘I do,’ he said as he leafed through the takeaway menus. He handed one to Alexia. ‘You order, honey.’
Alexia dialled the number and ordered and Carlotta felt nervous again.
‘Where are your placemats, cutlery?’ she said, trying to give herself a task.
‘In the side board,’ Chris said as he slipped off his shoes and socks and padded about the floorboards.
Alexia wheeled herself to the table and started to grill Carlotta about riding. The two sat and talked about horses while Chris busied himself in the kitchen getting plates and making noise. When the pizza arrived, he answered the door and brought in the pizza boxes. Carlotta and Alexia didn’t even acknowledge him, so absorbed were they in their discussion about horses.
Chris walked out again, holding a tray of hot garlic bread while wearing lobster oven mitts. The sight of him, this small man, in a beautiful silk polo shirt, dark jeans, bare feet and the ridiculous oven mitts made Carlotta laugh.
‘What?’ asked Chris, pretending to be insulted.
‘Those oven mitts!’ Carlotta kept laughing. It felt good.
‘You like?’ asked Chris, and pretended to snap at her and started to nip at her arms. ‘You like zee lobster?’ he said in a mock French accent.
‘They are so bad.’
‘I know,’ said Alexia. ‘He loves them. It’s sad really.’
‘Noooo… they are fabulous – and heat resistant,’ he said.
Dinner was casual and fun and Carlotta felt the best she had felt in ages, even before Birdie’s injury. After much cajoling Chris managed to get Alexia off to her room to do her homework, although with much protestation. ‘You will come and see me again?’ asked Alexia.
‘Of course.’
‘Dad never brings anyone home. Ever. You are the first. Please don’t be afraid of him. He’s really very nice.’
‘I’m beginning to see that,’ said Carlotta with a wink at Alexia.
‘Can I have your number?’ asked Alexia, bringing out her cell phone.
‘Sure, and give me yours.’
‘Really? You want my number?’
‘Yes. Who else am I going to talk horses with?’ laughed Carlotta.
They swapped numbers and Alexia went to her room.
