I think I cursed myself on Friday by saying we hadn’t had any snow. We got hit with a few inches last night that forced me to cancel out of a book signing down in Princeton since all the major roads were at a dead halt. Then came the freezing rain and this morning, it’s gloomy, cold and raining again. Everything is icy and slick, which has me dreaming of being in Miami.
Of course, that mean’s that today’s Wicked Wednesday treat is a trip to South Beach to chase away the winter that has finally arrived in NYC. Today you’re going to meet Sylvia’s mom who was so interesting when she appeared in SEX AND THE SOUTH BEACH CHICAS that I knew I had to write more about her in the second book.
Hope you all have a safe and warm day!
What do you wear to meet a hero? Virginia Cooke considered as she flipped through one outfit after another as she contemplated her upcoming surprise visit to her daughter.
Sylvia apparently couldn’t make it to their usual Sunday gathering. Her daughter had been obtuse as to the reason why she couldn’t make it, but rumor had it that earlier in the week Carlos had come home with her from the hospital. Carlos, the man Virginia hadn’t heard anything about until her daughter’s tearful visit nearly a month earlier.
Even now the memory of that night still sent a chill through her. The late night buzz on the intercom and opening the door to find Sylvia there, her tear-stained face cut and bruised. The expensive designer gown she wore bloodstained and torn in spots.
She had opened her arms and taken her in, held her as Sylvia had cried for nearly an hour, explaining about what had happened and how she had nearly gotten a man killed. But not just any man, Virginia had known immediately. A man for whom Sylvia seemed to have some affection, not that her daughter would admit to such emotion.
Which was why Virginia now intended to surprise her daughter with this visit. Although she was glad that Sylvia might finally allow someone into her heart and stop being alone, she was perplexed. First that her daughter had suddenly decided to take him in — Sylvia had never been the nurturing type. And again there was the confusing bit about her daughter actually feeling something for this man other than distrust. For too much of her adult life, Sylvia had run away from any kind of emotional involvement with men. Not that Virginia would mind her daughter finally falling in love. She wanted what was best for Sylvia, which was yet another reason why she intended to visit.
She wanted to know for herself that this man was possibly the right one. The one who might finally make Sylvia happy.
Pulling out a dark blue suit, Virginia held it up against her body and examined herself in the full-length mirror along the back wall of the walk-in closet. So sorry for your loss, she thought since the suit was fine for either a business meeting or a funeral — which sometimes were not all that different.
Definitely not what to wear to meet Sylvia’s new man. She didn’t want her daughter thinking that she was regretting Carlos’s presence in her daughter’s home.
On the contrary, she was actually pleased about Sylvia’s surprising actions.
She slipped the suit back into the section of dark blues and blacks and moved to the next area. After scanning several more outfits, she pulled out a dress in a fire engine red and again perused herself in the mirror. Hello, good lookin’. I’m Sylvia’s hoochie mama.
She really should give this one away to the Salvation Army, it occurred to her and tossed the too-revealing outfit from Frederick’s of Hollywood into a corner of the closet. She had bought the dress during a Valentine’s Day moment of vulnerability. She normally wasn’t one to get overly sentimental or worse — remotely depressed — over the state of her love life. But for some reason it had hit her stronger than ever a few years back that beside Sylvia, no one was special enough in her life to rate a valentine. There hadn’t been anyone since . . .
She drove that thought away because it had produced a horrendous fashion disaster, namely a dress sure to make the wrong kind of man — well, at least make certain parts of the wrong kind of man — sit up and take notice.
Which was the last thing she wanted today, when she was finally going to meet the man who had not only saved her daughter’s life, but had somehow also tamed Sylvia’s shrew. That made him a hero in her book not once, but twice.
She rushed to select an outfit and be on her way because Virginia couldn’t wait to meet the man who Sylvia thought of as “nice”. Coming from Sylvia, that adjective was a sure sign of . . .
Trouble, Virginia thought as she swept out the door of her condo to head to her daughter’s South Beach home.
Copyright 2007 Caridad Pineiro Scordato www.caridad.com