Sweetie-Pie at the Italian Pie

 

“Mart! What on earth are you doing in Chicago?” the tall brunette exclaimed in shock as she noticed the man slumped on a park bench.

The supple, blond young man blinked at the sound of her voice. “Hey, Susan.” He spoke in return, acknowledging her presence. It was clear that he had been day-dreaming. If he hadn’t been hatless in the snowy cold, she never would have noticed him.

“Mart, I can’t believe you’re in Chicago,” she said, sitting next to the young man.

He sighed, and blinked his eyes. “I’m sorry, Susan. I’ve been so distracted I totally forgot to let you know I was going to be here for the next month.” He looked more closely at the cute brunette with the twinkling eyes. “It’s a good thing you noticed me, I never would have recognized you in that hat and coat.”

“Yeah, well, January is like that here. Speaking of which, where is your hat?”

“Oh, I forgot to pack it,” he admitted.

“Mart, what’s wrong? You’re acting like you’ve lost your best friend.”

“Maybe I have,” he mumbled, looking around. “It seems that lately I can’t do anything right.”

“Oh, come on, Mart. It can’t be that bad. Why don’t we go grab some coffee and you can tell me what you’re doing in Chicago?”

“Just coffee? Can’t we grab some lunch as well?”

“Mart Belden! Do you mean to tell me it’s after one o’clock and you haven’t eaten lunch?”

“No, trading over at the board doesn’t end until 1:15.”

“You’ve been at the Board of Trade?”

“Yeah, I guess there’s a lot to tell you. Let’s go find some food.”

“Mart, what exactly--”

“Susan!” he interrupted. “Please, I’m begging. Find me sustenance and I’ll explain everything.”

***

Twenty minutes later, Susan and Mart were ensconced in a corner booth at the local Italian Pie cafe. Mart had ordered a pizza, while Susan stuck with one of the café’s famous mugs of hot cocoa, laced with Amaretto.

“Okay, buddy – spill. What brings you to Chicago, and why are you so down in the dumps?”

“I’ve got to spend the next month here working at the Chicago Board of Trade. It’s part of my Master’s program. I decided on my Master’s in economic agriculture and part of it is an internship. I have to spend the next six weeks here in Chicago, interning at the Board of Trade.”

“You’re going to be here for six weeks!” she exclaimed. “Where are you staying? When did you get here? Oh, Mart – I can’t believe you’re going to be in town that long. That’s wonderful! You can meet my Mom finally, and you haven’t met Emma or--”

Susan stopped abruptly, noticing that Mart was struggling to conceal the look of abject misery on his face. “What? Come on Mart, dish it. What’s the real problem?”

“I can’t tell you my problem,” he muttered.

“Why not?” she demanded. “Aren’t we still friends?”

“Yes, but you’re my ex-girlfriend and I can’t talk to my ex-girlfriend about my current girlfriend.” He wouldn’t look at her.

“Mart – first, the only reason I’m your ex is because you wanted it that way. You broke up with me. Second, we agreed we would be friends and we meant it! Remember? Now, if I’m your friend -- and I’d venture -- probably your only friend in Chicago at the moment, then you had better learn to confide in me. You don’t want me telling everybody that we’re not friends, do you?” she asked frustration clear in her tone.

“Noooo,” he said slowly. “Susan, did we do the right thing, breaking it off?”

“Yes, we did. I’m never going to move to New York … and you’re never going to move to Chicago. Besides, we both know that while you’re attracted to me, Diana is your true love, your soul mate. She won’t ever haul off and clobber you for using too many poly-syllabic words like I will. She’s always going to think your tractor is sexy!”

Mart finally grinned. “Susan – I’m glad you’re sure, because all that just reminds me of why I didn’t want to call it off.”

“Well, just remember it was your idea, not mine,” she retorted, the twinkle back in her eyes.

“Maybe,” he sniffed. “But you can talk all you want about Diana being my soul mate, when you know good and well that supple red-head has you locked up and twisted around his little finger!”

“Jim?” she stammered.

“Jim?” his eyes narrowed in speculation. “I don’t know anything about you and Jim. Is there something I need to know?”

“No,” she answered hastily. “You said supple red-head.”

“I meant the older one,” he said, biting into the pizza.

“Regan?” she asked as her brow knitted, trying to think why on earth Mart thought that Regan was her soul mate.

Mart almost choked before he could answer her. “Hell no, I don’t mean Regan! What, exactly did you keep from me during those months we were together?”

“Well, I certainly wasn’t ever with Regan, if that’s what you’re implying!” Susan bristled; after all, he was the one who had mentioned a supple red head.

“I said the older one!”

“You don’t mean Matthew Wheeler?” she asked tentatively.

“Cripes, Susan – he’s married! Don’t tell me you put me on the back burner while you were hankering for a married man.”

“Of course not! Maybe you need to tell me exactly what supple red head you were referring to!” she suggested with a glare.

“That Grant fellow, the one that’s been hanging around lusting after you for years,” he spat out. “You and I both know we were never going to be together as long as he was around.”

“Oh, Mart! Get real. Riordan and I do not have that kind of relationship,” Susan answered with a roll of her eyes.

“Maybe you don’t, but he certainly wants that kind of relationship with you.” Mart insisted as he bit into the next piece of pizza.

“You’re crazy,” Susan mumbled. “I haven’t seen Riordan in simply ages. In fact, the last time I saw him, he was playing around with all his “back to the future” technology, trying to get me to go back with him to Victorian England and solve some silly mystery. You and I both know he needed Trixie for that, not me.”

“You’re wrong,” Mart disputed. “All you have to do is pick up a pen, or turn on the computer and he’s at your beck and call. He insists on being the star with you. He has to be your number one man. The rest of us will always do what Bob-Whites are supposed to do, but he’s the rogue. Your own mysterious bad-boy gone good. He’s yours, Susan. You know and I know it, and I strongly suspect he knows it as well!”

“Mart – are you here to complain about my relationship with Riordan Grant? Is that what has you down in the dumps? If that’s all it is, then say the word and --” Susan stopped to snap her fingers, “he’s history. If you’re willing to take his place and bend to my will – then I’ll be more than happy to replace him with you.”

“No, we both know that will never work. I’m too much me to do that. But Susan, if you’re willing to chuck it all in and follow me back to New York in five and a half weeks, live in Sleepyside and support me in the style to which I wish to become accustomed…” the blue eyes twinkled.

“Okay, okay, okay…. You know I’m not going to do that. How about if you tell me what has you so upset?”

“It’s my sweetie-pie,” Mart sighed.

“Diana?” she asked in surprise.

“Yeah, I haven’t been able to see her in forever,” he complained.

“Well, it’s only January. Didn’t you see her at Christmas?”

“No – she went with her family to Arizona. I had the best present all lined up and then my beautiful cupcake had to go and not come home.” For once, it looked like Mart not might be able to finish his pizza.

“For goodness sake, Mart! This is exactly why things didn’t work out between us. You get so melodramatic over the simplest thing. Give her the present the next time you see her.” Susan once again rolled her eyes. It was just like Mart to overcomplicate things.

“You don’t understand – I wanted to give her this!” Mart reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small blue Tiffany box and pushed it across to Susan.

She reached out and slowly picked it up, studying her miserable companion thoughtfully before she flicked the box open. “Oh my!” she gasped in amazement at the stunning ring. The sparkling amethyst was set in a solitaire style, obviously intended as an engagement ring. “Is that platinum?” she almost whispered, touching the shimmering metal band.

“Yep, I saved for almost a year. I wanted to get her a Tiffany diamond, but after I met with the jeweler and talked, we decided this was more my sugar dumpling’s style. I was going to propose to her at the clubhouse, with a fire in the stove, some champagne and chocolate covered strawberries.”

“Oh, Mart! You can do better than the stuffy clubhouse!” Susan protested.

“Well … she’s promised to come to New York next month and meet me for Valentine’s Day … and I’m going to do it then. But for the life of me, I can’t figure out how to do make it special for her.”

“Mart, you just don’t get it.” Susan answered, shaking her head.

“Oh, don’t you start too!” he snorted.

“Start what?” she protested innocently.

“Everyone says the only way to propose to a girl on Valentine’s Day in New York is to take her to the top of the Empire State Building and pop the question.”

“You know me better than that!” Susan replied.

“Yes, you know better, and I know better, but so many people won’t remember that my pumpkin gets dizzy with heights. She wouldn’t even go with us that night we took our friends from Iowa. So what can we do in New York that’s special for us?”

“Mart – this is exactly why things were never going to work out between us,” Susan told him, shaking her head. “It’s not about where you are – it’s about who you are!”

“Huh?”

“Mart – Diana won’t care if you propose to her in at the Sleepyside dump or on a subway in New York City. All she’s going to care about is that it’s you, Martin Belden, proposing to her.”

Mart stared at the beauty across the table and sighed. She’s beautiful when she’s mad at me, he thought. Why, oh why, couldn’t things work out between us?

“Because Di is your soul mate, silly!”

“How did you know what I was thinking?” he demanded, sitting up straight.

“The same way I know what Diana will be thinking when you propose, and what Honey thinks, and Trixie and Jim, and…”

“Okay, okay,” he muttered, “I get it!”

“But Susan, I want a proposal she can tell our grandchildren about. You have to help me.” He reached across and grabbed her hand, pushing the remainder of the pizza to one side.

Susan stared in astonishment. Ohmystars! He is desperate if he’s not going to finish that pizza.

“A blue-star proposal, huh?” she asked thoughtfully.

“Blue star?” he responded, puzzled.

“Nothing for you to worry about,” she said hastily. Good heavens! That’s the last thing he needs to know. If he knew about the ratings, none of us would ever get anything but red-star from his muse for the rest of time! She sighed, “Mart, it’s New York. You can’t go wrong. You can follow Bogart and do the 21 Club, or a hansom ride through Central Park, or --”

“But Susan, that’s the problem. All of those things have been done. My honey-bun needs her own thing, our own thing. She’s too good for me to copy someone else’s proposal.”

Susan nodded. “Then take her some place you know she loves and propose to her there. Good grief, it’s not like you can’t drive back to Sleepyside and propose in your clubhouse.”

“No – you were right; the clubhouse might be good for Honey, since she’s the one that wanted the club to begin with.” He pulled on his short blond curls, “Why is it so hard!” he groaned.

“Because you’re making it hard,” Susan advised. “Come on, Mart. It’s Diana, the love of your life, your soul mate. The answer is so obvious it’s staring you in the face. You just won’t see it.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, looking up hopefully.

“What does Diana love?” she hinted.

“Art, of course.”

“And what is New York full of?” she continued.

“Art museums?” he answered, sitting up straight.

“Exactly! Artists are the consummate romantics, Mart. Contact the Guggenheim or the Met and cook something up with them. They’d love to have a romantic tradition associated with the museum.” Susan peered into her now-empty mug, sighing because the rich chocolate beverage had somehow disappeared.

“Do you really think so?” he asked eagerly.

“Look, Mart. You are the only Bob-White I would say this to.” Susan paused as she scanned every nook and cranny of the cafe to be sure there wasn’t another one hiding in a corner of the small space. “But out of all the Bob-Whites, you are the only one that keeps me up at night. I’m always going to wonder … if I would have just left my family and attended Cornell with you like you wanted, if maybe you wouldn’t have forgotten Diana. Instead of an amethyst engagement ring, there would be something that was uniquely Susan in that little blue box.”

“We’ll never know,” he replied simply. “Look, Susan. We can’t change the past. And as sure as if you had followed me to Cornell, then I’m willing to bet this ring here that Grant fellow would have shown up as a visiting professor, teaching all the classes that you were required to take.”

Susan smiled. “Perhaps. But like you said, we’ll never know.”

“Susie, you do still love me, maybe just a little?” His voice was wistful as he gazed at her friendly face, lost in his own little “what if” game.

“Mart – you silly goose. Of course I do!” She smiled at him in a way that made his heart skip a beat.

“Hello, Susan.” The deep, husky voice interrupted the moment, much like an ice cold Gatorade bath would after a big win.

Mart scowled as he noticed the glow on Susan’s face.

“Oh! Hello, RG.” Susan’s voice suddenly held a seductive note.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your little friend?”

Mart’s hands tightened into fists and he glared at the older red-headed man.

“Riordan! You have to remember Martin! Trixie’s brother.”

“Oh, of course. My apologies, Mr. Belden. What brings you to our little part of the world this afternoon?”

Martin? Who does she think she’s fooling! Mart scowled again. It’s just like I told her -- Riordan Grant will always be the one to hold her heart.

“Just visiting with an old friend, Mr. Grant.” Mart’s reply was terse, and he stood, turning again to his former girlfriend. “Susan, I’ve got the check. It’s the least I can do for your help this afternoon. I’ll give you a call later.”

Susan nodded, and looked sadly after Mart’s retreating back. Could we have ever really made it together? She wondered.

“Susan, darling,” the red head drawled as he looked at the table. “What did you do to that young man? He’s actually left an uneaten pizza on the table!”

“Oh, RG!” she sighed. “Why do there have to be so many good-looking men?”

“Susan, you’re not lusting after that brash, young blond man again, are you?” he chastised as he sat down.

“No, not really. Just wondering what might have been,” she admitted.

“He’s not the one for you, Susan.” The voice was commanding and she glanced up at him sharply.

“How do you know?” her own voice was petulant. She did like Mart.

“Susan, you know how I know,” he reached across the table for her hand. “I’m the only one that Julie wanted for you.”

“Julie?” she asked, perplexed. She didn’t know any Julie.

“Susan – Julie sent me to you. She wanted me for you!”

“Riordan, I have no idea what you’re talking about!” She yanked her hand back.

“It’s there in book number 53. The Mysterious Incident in Ithaca. You know the story. Susan Sutherland moves to Ithaca and attends Cornell where she vies for the attentions of an energetic Martin Belden, much to the dismay of Diana and her friends. However, it turns out that a visiting professor woos her away, leaving a broken-hearted young man to be consoled by his true soul mate.”

Susan’s jaw dropped, “But she never wrote any past number six!”

“Ahhh, she never published any past number six. You and I know there is a big difference. Perhaps we should attempt an adventure to find the missing manuscripts.” He suggested, gazing at her fondly.

“The Mystery of the Missing Manuscripts?” she said weakly.

“Yes, you can add it to your list of adventures you’re writing.” He smiled as he spoke.

“But Riordan, I have to finish Cupid and Valley and you’re stuck in Victorian England part of the time, not to mention poor Jared--”

“Susan, write it and they will read it!” he commanded. “Until you find our book, Susan…” His voice began to fade away, and she blinked. He was fading away. He was sitting right there in front of her at Italian Pie and he was fading away. “RG – wait!” she cried.

***

Susan sat up sharply in bed, looking around the dark apartment. “Gleeps!” she muttered. “I’ve got to lay off the hot cocoa before bed.” She turned around and thumped her pillow before settling back down. “It was just a dream. Just a crazy dream! Riordan Grant, going around wanting me to write a story about the missing manuscripts.”

She turned over and yawned. “Really!”

In the dark, she didn’t notice the gold coin on the nightstand.