Next to him was Mimi, hiding under huge black Prada sunglasses and Arno’s white Sean John blazer, which was draped over her shoulders. Even though it was a stunningly warm spring afternoon, she had seemed to really want to wear his jacket. Since Monday, they had hooked up five times. That was two days ago, so they were getting to know each other pretty fast. Everyone who walked by them on Mott Street waved and giggled and wondered aloud if that was “really him.” A few of the girls put down their big white shopping bags and asked for Arno’s autograph. He was loving every minute of it. “Ah, for a little peace and quiet,” Arno said, after a few Florence underclassmen had finally left. He made a big fake yawning noise and stretched his arms over his head. “I know, baby,” she sighed, leaning over and snuggling him sympathetically. He couldn’t be sure, but she seemed not to have gotten that he was kidding. A car pulled up, and a balding guy in what looked like a safari jacket leaned out of the driver’s seat and started snapping pictures of them.
