From Julie...
As writers we have stories we have to tell. I had to tell the
story of Laurel and Gino, two
50-something Manhattanites, who find love again later in life. It’s a second
chances story – one I hope for myself. One many of us hope for!
Gino’s a widower, and Laurel’s divorced. Although they’re way
out of dating-game practice – because
they’re out of practice – they decide to trade favors: Gino agrees to go to
Laurel’s 35th college reunion, in exchange for Laurel going to cancer
benefit events with him and running interference on the socialites chasing him.
I love creating characters and then seeing what they have to
say to one another, finding that moment when they click. In Love After All I needed to craft
believable getting-to-know-you occasions between two people with a lot of life
experience. I wanted to let their attraction develop and mature. Their story is
so different from those in my Forest Breeze trilogy where the attraction
between the sets of characters is instantaneous!
If you’re a fan of Nancy Meyers films – like Something’s Gotta Give and It’s Complicated – give Love After All a try.
For the next four months Love
After All is available on Kindle for $0.99.
Chapter One
LAUREL
I hear my phone ping in my purse. I’m dying to read the
message, since I can guess who it’s from. I resist the temptation to look,
because I make a point of never being on my phone when our doorman is doing his
duty.
As the door opens for me I say, “Hello, Randall.”
“Hello, Dean Jennings,” he replies with the hint of a
wink.
Randall is adorable. He’s also a tease. He’s been at the
Brevoort East about fifteen years now. Over this time he’s taken pleasure in
acknowledging me by my ever more impressive titles: Associate Professor, Full
Professor, Dean of the Humanities. There was even a year I had to endure him addressing
me as President Jennings, given my post at the helm of the American Studies
Association.
Because the end of my term is now in sight I can say, “The
deanship is only for a few more months. Then it’s back to plain old Professor
Jennings.”
With a slight bow he says gravely, “You’ll never be
plain.”
I shake my head and counter, “When June thirtieth comes,
my carriage turns into a pumpkin. Then some other lucky Cinderella will be
dancing at the dean’s ball.”
“The job is that great?” he wonders. His expression is
sly.
“I’ve loved every minute,” I lie, “but I can’t hog all the
fun.”
He gives me a cheeky thumbs up.
I smile and move along. I’m eager to get to my phone, so I
plop myself down at the nearest bench in the lobby and dive into my purse. I read
the text. Emotions whirl through me, too swift and complex to sort and so
reflexive I’m not aware of my groan.
It must have been a loud groan – too loud, evidently. The
next thing I know a man is standing in front of me, looking down at me with
concern.
“Do you need help?” he asks.
The first thing I register is his voice. It’s deep and
kind. He’s about my age, mid-fifties, give or take. I recognize him by his
distinctive silver and black hair, which I’ve glimpsed from afar in the
building and in the neighborhood in recent years. My impression of him has
always been that he’s nicely tailored. Up close I can see he’s very nicely tailored. Otherwise he’s
nothing extraordinary. Average height. Average looking.
Do I need help? Yes, in fact, I do. I didn’t rise through
the ranks of university administration without making quick executive
decisions. I make one now, although what I need is far from professional, and I
really, really know I should not do what I’m about to do.
I stand up and hold out my hand. “Hi, I’m Laurel.”
He takes my hand. His grip is firm. “Gino.”
“I teach English around the corner at NYU.”
He puts his hand to his chest and says, “Restaurateur.”
His occupation surprises me. “Oh! Any restaurants I’d
know?”
"Of the ones in the Village the closest is Otto’s.”
“On Eighth, of course. I love Otto’s. I go there all the
time – mostly lunch, you know, since it’s so crowded in the evenings.” I’m
about to expand on this subject but put a stop to possible chatter. I come to
my point. “The help I need is to find a date for my college reunion the third
weekend in April. I’d pay the plane fare, separate room, and registration.”
I see from the look of dawning horror on his face I’ve
made the horrible mistake I knew, deep down, it was. To correct the worst of it
I plunge on, “I don’t mean you, no, no, no! I thought maybe you’d know of
someone. In your line of work you must know lots of people – chefs, bartenders,
waiters….”
Worse and worse and still he says nothing – or maybe I
don’t give him a chance, because a split second later I reach down to grab my
purse, sling the strap on my shoulder, and hold up my hands in a backing-off
gesture.
“Don’t give it another thought! I don’t know what came
over me.”
"I'm mortified. I see myself as he must see me: the sad, lonely, slightly crazy woman I swore I'd never be. I turn to go, adding, "But thanks for showing concern." As if thanking him will mend matters.
Before I’ve fully turned, he says, “Maybe I can help you.”
By now my gut is a jangly mess. I hope my face is not
completely red. I pull myself together and turn back toward him. “You can?”
His smile is slight. “I think I understand what you’re
asking.”
You do?
“I propose we discuss it on Friday evening, if you’re
free.”
The poetry reading I’m supposed to attend fades in my
mind. I’m stunned into saying, “I’m free.”
“Then meet me at Otto’s between 7:00 and 7:30. I’ll be
around there somewhere, so just come to the hostess stand and tell Janie your
name and that I’m expecting you. She’ll seat you and let me know you’re there.”
“Okay,” I say. I blink several times. “Thank you.”
At that moment his phone rings. While undoing the top
buttons of his overcoat, he nods at me then reaches into his suit coat.
I smile and nod in return. As I walk away I hear him
quietly speaking. I move through the lobby, around the adjacent sitting area,
and get to the bank of elevators as fast as I can. I punch the Up button
several times. I glance nervously down the corridor toward the sitting area,
hoping I can get on an elevator before he’s off the phone. I think he was
coming into the building rather than going out.
Elevator doors open. I step in and press Fourteen. Doors
close. Phew. Now I can collect myself.
* Thank you for being my guest today, Julie! Your books sounds like an amazing read!
** Be sure to check out Julie's blog for her around-the-world adventure updates! You can find it here: Julie's blog!
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