One Way or Another: A Novel Read Online Free PDF

without you, Mom. Perhaps it’s my own fault.
    Here’s how it began.
    *   *   *
    A month ago I was working as a hostess, a greeter at a well-known restaurant in Manhattan. Raised in Queens, I had traveled no farther than New York State in my life, never had the money, or perhaps even the ambition. Manhattan was it all, for me, and as an attractive young woman with my mane of red hair, always worn tied back when working, of course; a faintly freckled nose which I tried to cover with concealer; hazel eyes—greenish in some lights—and a slim, well-toned body from working out at the gym five mornings a week, I knew I looked good. No beauty, but certainly attractive enough to generate interest from diners at the expensive place that was really nothing but a glorified steakhouse faking out the menu with exotic French- and Italian-sounding dishes. Naturally, most people ordered the steak anyway, and the chunky fries. I could have written out their orders before they opened their mouths.
    Not that I was the one taking their orders. I merely showed them to their tables, handed out menus, indicated the specials and the better bottles on the wine list, made sure the candle was lit so the women looked younger, smiled my professional smile and was gone in minutes. Except when an interesting man showed up, especially if he showed up alone. Which is how I met Ahmet Ghulbian and sealed my fate.
    I was not the one actually to greet him; a coworker had that privilege, but I could tell right off he was important just from the way he strode into the place then stood silently taking in the softly lit room, the white linen tablecloths, the huge urn of flowers at the desk whose scent mingled with that of good food and excellent wine. He wore a dark suit I recognized was of European cut, narrow and fitted perfectly to his body, and he had the kind of thick dark hair I’d heard described as “luxuriant,” though it was conservatively cut; olive tan skin; clean shaven. Oddly, since this was a dark room, he wore tinted glasses which he kept on the entire time he was there.
    There was just something about him that attracted me immediately and when my coworker hurried off to place his drink order, I moved in. Smoothing my short black pencil skirt over my thighs, adjusting the collar of my white shirt, I drifted casually past, throwing him a smile as I went.
    “Everything okay?” I asked, hesitating for a moment, giving him an opportunity to eye me up and down, which of course he did.
    “Better now you are here” was his reply, making me laugh.
    “Corny,” I replied. “Hackneyed, if you want the truth. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that.”
    He was silent, though still looking at me. I felt uncomfortable and made to move on, but he said, “Wait.”
    I waited.
    “Is your hair naturally that color?”
    He could not have said anything that would have surprised me more. My hair was pulled straight back and firmly anchored with a clip, as per the rules of the house. No hairs in our food, no mane sweeping sexily over one shoulder, enticing men when you should have been selling them more wine. I said yes, cautiously, but with a professional smile, it was real. He was looking intently at me and I was uncomfortable. I wanted to leave but he said, again, to wait. He felt in the inside breast pocket of his jacket and took out a thin leather wallet from which he removed a card. He handed this to me.
    “I have connections in advertising,” he said. “I know there’s a shoot coming up in Turkey and Greece. The model has to have red hair, your color hair. Unfortunately today, the girl they wanted fell and broke her ribs and has had to back out. What they are looking for is that great mane, not that they can’t add to it with extensions, but this is an outdoor, sea and sand, wind-blowing deal. The hair must be right.”
    He paused, still looking at me. Out of the corner of my eye I caught my supervisor lifting a hand to call me