A Different Kind Of Forever Read Online Free PDF Page B

walked in to the restaurant. It was packed, as always on a Friday night, and the bar was full of patrons waiting for a table. She looked for Michael, but could not see him seated in the dining area. Her shoulders slumped. She fought her way to the front desk, where the maitre’d looked up expectantly.
    “I’m late. I was meeting somebody.” She paused. Would he have made the reservation under Mickey Flynn? Maybe not. The maitre’d looked at her closely.
    “Are you Diane?” he asked.
    “Yes,” she answered, surprised.
    “Come,” he said courteously, and led her through the bar.  
    Michael was sitting toward the back of the restaurant, at a small, corner table, an older man sitting across from him. They stood up as she approached, and Michael took her arm, kissing her lightly on the cheek.
    “Hello. Diane, this is my uncle, Marco Carlucci.”
    Diane held out her hand with a smile. “Of course, I’ve often seen you here. I love your food.” She turned to Michael. “A Grammy may be a big deal where you come from, but holding a table at Marco’s on a Friday night? Now I’m impressed.”
    Michael grinned and Marco bowed and kissed her hand. “That is the ultimate compliment. Please,” he held his chair for her and she sat down. “What would you like, my dear?”
    Diane thought “Vodka martini please. Straight up, with an olive.”
    Marco nodded graciously. “I’ll have it sent over. Michael usually trusts me with his meal, but would you like a menu?”
    “No. I’ll take my chances. I’m sure I’m in good hands.”
    “The best.” Marco bowed again and turned to Michael. “Tell Denise my Noelle will call her, yes?” Michael nodded, and Marco gave him a hug. “It was a pleasure meeting you. I’ll check in later,” he said graciously to Diane, then left.
    Michael sat down and smiled at Diane. “You look great.” He was wearing jeans, a button-down blue shirt and a gray linen blazer. His eyes looked very blue.  
    Diane stared at him. She had tried not to think about him during the week, and she was struck with again how attractive he was, not just the strong lines of his face, but the energy and charm.
    “Thanks,” she replied, faintly. “I’m sorry I’m late. I was afraid things would get hairy. Academics are a pain in the ass to deal with.” A drink was set down in front of her, and she murmured her thanks. She picked up her glass.
    “What shall we drink to?” she asked.
    Michael picked up his red wine. “How about being in good hands?”
    They clinked glasses gently and she took a healthy gulp, feeling the vodka immediately take the edge off the vague, nervous feeling she had had all day.  
    She looked across the table at Michael. He was watching her, a faint smile on his lips. “So, you’re Italian?” she asked.
    He sounded slightly defensive. “Yeah.”
    “It’s just that I am too, and I know that whole only son Italian thing. How the hell did you talk your father into letting you sing in a band?”
    He chuckled. “It was a tough sell, believe me. My sister Denise did the whole thing. That’s how she became our manager.”  
    “Okay, I’m confused. Your sister?”
    “Sorry. I just assume sometimes – I mean –.” He looked flustered. “It’s just that there’s been so much stuff written, and I’ve given so many interviews, well, I’m usually not talking to somebody who doesn’t know my whole life story. That sounds really arrogant. I’m sorry.”  
    “Don’t apologize. I’m just not used to having dinner with famous personages.”
    He blushed faintly. “I’m not a famous - .” He saw the look on her face. “Okay. So, are you going to bust me all night? Can’t we pretend I’m, say, a nice bus driver?”
    “Like Ralph Kramden?” she asked.
    “Who? No, wait, I know who he is. Okay, like Ralph Kramden.”
      “Fine, but if somebody asks for an autograph, I may get suspicious.”
    “Deal. So, what do you want to know? I’ll be happy to tell you