Chapter 2
She opened the door and pulled out a carton of milk. Shaking the carton in Cora’s direction, she asked, “You don’t mind, do you?”
Cora grinned. “Knock yourself out.”
Fridah continued raiding Cora’s cupboards for the ground French roast Cora usually used with her regular coffee maker – and which was the only thing able to wake her up after a late night – and then pulled out the big ceramic mugs Cora’s mom gave her as a moving-out present. A few minutes later, the machine had completed its cleaning cycle – Cora didn’t even know it had one – and Fridah had made sure it was still fully functional. Cora was already impressed, but she held out for the second run. She was determined not to say anything before there was actual coffee.
Once Fridah was finished, she turned around with a flourish, holding the two mugs in her hands triumphantly. “Et voilà,” she said. “Here’s your cappuccino.”
“Et voilà? Not that I pride myself on my language abilities or anything, but isn’t cappuccino Italian?” Cora asked, taking the cup before Fridah could snatch it away.
Fridah just rolled her eyes. “It was made with French roast. I’d say the authenticity boat already sailed. Now shut up and drink your coffee.”
Cora did – and it was good, hot, flavorful and with a cap of delicious foam on top.
“That’s some decent coffee,” she conceded and Fridah grinned, wiping some foam from her chin.
“Yeah,” Fridah agreed. “Thank God you had some quality coffee powder. Although it would be even better with whole beans freshly ground. And, a roast that’s, you know, actually Italian.”
In spite of the high-quality coffee, Cora couldn’t resist teasing her a little. “So, the situation is that bad at the strip clubs? You have to moonlight as baristas these days?”
Fridah snorted. “I would be offended, but coming from an author and English lit teacher who can’t even read the instructions to get a simple coffee maker to work, somehow, it doesn’t sting so much.”
Cora gaped at her, but then had to laugh. “Hey!” Fridah wasn’t really behaving like this was an interview where Cora was the one supposedly calling the shots. It was more fun this way, Cora had to admit. Before she could come up with a smart comeback, Fridah beat her to it. “You know, I’ll up my bid for the room right now and tell you that I can screw in light bulbs and hammer nails into walls, too. I have a feeling you could really use someone practical around the house.”
“Said the chick who dances on poles for a living,” Cora shook her head. “I don’t even believe it.”
“The world’s a strange place,” Fridah agreed, taking another sip, “but at least there’s coffee.”
They made a few minutes of small talk as they finish their mugs before Fridah got up. She put her cup into the sink and gave it a quick rinse, then she turned to Cora, who stood up as well, and extended her hand.
“Cora, it was good meeting you, really. I think I’d like to move in here – and not just for the coffee.”
“Yeah,” Cora replied easily as they head towards the door, “my plasma TV is awesome, too.”
“Exactly,” Fridah showed two rows of perfect white teeth as she smiled. “You have my number and everything, so …” She shrugged. “Bye.”
“Have a good one,” Cora said before closing the door behind Fridah.
As she turned back towards the kitchen, she had short flashbacks of snake girl, trampoline woman, animal rights guy and Aidan the BDSM carpenter. She thought about the one other applicant she hadn’t seen yet, a history lecturer who wasn’t even sure she could make it this weekend and told Cora she’d give her another call later.
The truth was, she liked Fridah. She was surprisingly fun, easy to talk to, seemed clean enough, but not antiseptic – and she made great coffee. Not to mention the fact that she was into Halo.
Quickly, Cora opened the door and peeked down the stairwell. She didn’t see a hand on the handrail, but there was some movement a couple of floors beneath her, so she shouted out, “Fridah?”
*****
Fridah moved in on a Saturday, a couple of her friends were there to help carry her furniture and moving boxes. Since Cora was home anyway and six flights of stairs with no elevator aren’t fun for anyone, she decided to join in and help. At least Fridah was clever enough to bring two big coolers with bottled water and cans of soda to keep her helpers hydrated.
After the bed, desk and several bookcases were set up in Fridah’s room and all her boxes were stacked in one corner, Fridah ordered pizza for everyone, Cora included. Cora recommended a delivery service a few blocks south that had amazing tomato sauce and free cheesy bread, but since Fridah’s helpers look like they could use some food right about now, she also got a bowl and two bags of nachos from the pantry. Turned out she even had a big jar of salsa in there.
“Thank you,” Fridah said, smiling warmly. “You really didn’t have to.”
“No problem,” said Cora, and got a few bottles of cold beer from the fridge.
It was a long day, though, and with some of Fridah’s friends having to drive all the way out to Long Island, everyone left soon after the pizza boxes were emptied.
Before bed, Cora offered Fridah another beer.
*****
Paolo woke up with a start from a dream he was glad he couldn’t really remember. Apart from the cold sweat currently making him shiver that was. He moved to the side of his bed, dropping his leg to the carpeted floor and resting his head in his hands. It was just three weeks since his father retired, leaving their multimillion dollar business primarily in his hands. It hadn’t been entirely unexpected.
He wasn’t the eldest child, but he was the one with the most experience. His brother’s…issues…with alcoholism had caused him to check out for quite a few years. Years during which Paolo finished his degree at Yale, fostered an American merger with Firenze electronics, catapulting Gio Capitalia into one of the richest Italian multinationals currently in existence. Those of his family who didn’t actively hate and envy him and wish he was dead, had elevated him onto this pedestal where he was the golden child of the family. The man with the midas touch. Of course his father had put the business in his hands. Thirty five years old and he had to be the youngest CEO in his circles. His black greasy hair fell over his forehead, hampering his vision. He really should cut it; it was getting embarrassing. But he just couldn’t be bothered. Worlds to conquer, money to be made, family to placate. It was three full time jobs.
He stood up with a sigh and padded to the bathroom, studying his reflection in the mirror. He looked into his black eyes, that seemed far older than his years; his hook nose, a legacy from his father gave him an intimidating air that made up for the softness of his mouth. He ran a hand down his cheek, tracing the pockmarks. It was a nervous habit he’d developed when he was a teenager and realized that he was stuck with the olive complexion and the pits on his face. The fact that women seemed to like to do the same thing; ran their hands over his scars, only reinforced the notion that money made anything sexy. And all women were gold diggers. It was why he liked to stick to the strippers.
His phone rang, startling him. He turned to peer at it and then turned back to the mirror, picking up his shaving cream.
“Sorry, I’ll just get that,” Marisol, his assistant said as she rushed into his bedroom and picked up his phone. Paolo made no reply and barely listened as she answered the phone with her customary, “Mr. Agnelli’s direct line. How may I help you?”