by S. W. Frank
He coughed after the hearty laugh and Alanda did not stir. The tryst tired her, unlike Shanda whose stamina equaled his and the succulent kisses from her lips were nirvana.
Giuseppe slipped out of bed and took his cell into the next room. Shanda’s father was the polizei but he had to discover why she affected him in this way. A night and day together was not enough to know someone. He wanted more time with her. Perhaps, he should fly to America and apologize for what he said. She did appear upset and on the verge of tears.
He pressed the screen and the number rang then went to voicemail. The automated voice on the other end said it was the number to a Margaret.
Merda!
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Saturday evening arrived and Carmen smiled taking the brush once more through Maria’s shoulder length curly locks, then pinning it up with silver hair clips in the shape of stars. Maria stared at her reflection. The soft make-up, she loved, however Carmen insisted on doing a smoky eye effect and Maria thought that may be too much for a woman her age, but Carmen hushed her protests. “You look beautiful, classy and sexy hermana. Do not think too much.”
Maria rose, smoothing down the lovely dress black dress caressed her womanly form and showed off her full breasts. She had not worn clothes this revealing in years and she felt awkward flaunting herself so shamelessly. On her first date she wore a simple dress and fewer adornments to her face and thought that was enough. However, tonight was different. The opera was a formal affair. The women there were certain to have on beautiful clothes and jewelry and she did not want Bruno embarrassed by his date.
“Thanks, Carmen. I better hurry downstairs before he wonders if I fell into the sink.”
“Manuel is keeping him company. Take a deep breath…relax…” Carmen held up a finger then raced to her kitchen. Maria heard clinking and soon she returned handing her a drink. “Sip, go ahead.”
Maria drank and her eyes widened at the taste, “Carmen, rum?”
“Damn straight. You’ll relax very soon.” Then she took off again and returned with minty mouthwash, “Here gargle.”
Maria passed Carmen the glass back and took the green bottle and took a sip, swooshed the oral freshener around in her mouth then hurried to the bathroom to spit.
“Okay, I have to go,” she said and headed to the door of the apartment and started down the stairs.
Bruno stood when Maria appeared. His eyes smiled as he soaked in her sexy appearance. The woman was spectacular, “You are beautiful, magnifico.”
Her nephew smiled. “You do look nice Aunt Maria.”
“Thank you…both,” she said and went to fetch her silver clutch. Inside were her ever handy rosary beads. She could never leave her home without them.
She lifted her cashmere shawl from the bed, took one long breath for courage and returned to the handsome man waiting for his date.
“Bye, have fun!” Carmen waved from the top of the stairs as Bruno escorted her by the waist to the limousine parked at the curb.
The nervousness lessened as a result of the rum. Carmen was right, she felt light and almost giddy. Too happy…too…tingly… in places… forbidden.
****
Erect.
Chin thrust forward.
Black hair trimmed and barbered.
Immaculate from head to polished footwear.
Black tailored tux, designed with his signature trim of blue on the edge of the sleeve and black bow-tie, he stood waiting.
Waiting for her to come downstairs.
Excited as a boy on his first date.
Anxious, because he liked the girl so damn much.
Uncertain but hopeful about how the night might end.
Determined to win her love and consummate it with kisses.
Thrilled because she liked him too and she’d become his lover, his friend.
Alfonzo could not believe how damn nervous he felt. A date with the mother of his children. His ex-wife and the woman he wanted to impress had him ill at ease. The first time he had similar jitters was on the day he knew he loved the girl. Today seeing her coming downstairs in the gorgeous black formal gown and upswept hair, she moved with the grace of a woman, a dynamic awesome woman. A shiver came from the gut, screaming ‘she’s the one…no doubt…this is the woman I want.’
He heard it when troubled times brewed and it led him back to her door.
Selange wasn’t mafia or hood or any of the labels people assign. He’d known from the moment he loved her she was an anomaly. She didn’t fit into anybody’s box. What made her different was she didn’t try to assimilate; she was content in her own skin. She wasn’t a mafia woman; she wasn’t born into the lifestyle nor have aspirations of such. Selange was a Brooklyn girl who went to college, became a teacher and never envisioned she’d end up here. Yet, the girl from the BK fell in love with a fucked-up dude with more problems than a trigonometry book. And when the gory details of what lay ahead for him were laid bare, she decided to hang in there when other women would have fled.
He saw years of happiness ahead in her eyes. The place in his heart where passionate love dwelled was reserved for Selange. The feeling gripping him he never felt for another woman. She came into his life and resuscitated a corpse. The streets had him barren inside and extremely lost. Cristo, this woman saved him. Nobody knows the desolation which existed in his thuggish soul.
He was killing people way before he knew of his mafia family and without knowing it; she gave him a reason to live.
The phrase, ride or die chick is bull-shit. It’s an overused phrase by thugs who toss the words around about their women like saying it makes it true. They think bad-ass is a vulgar mouth rough chick that rides in your whip, spends your money on dumb shit and visits you in prison and sends you commissary.
He wasn’t looking for a chick eager to start shit. He’d known enough of those types of girls and seen them in cars with their ghetto ways, hanging around the major players for their money and street cred but once the dude got locked up, shot up or put in a wheelchair or fell in rank, those so-called ride or die chicas bounced. They were in it for the money and the thrill of the game. Selange’s motive had to be love, because she had the money, she had a choice to leave but she didn’t, she stayed and fought when he’d given up. See, that’s a ride or die chick. A woman who fights for you when you stopped fighting for yourself and a woman who inspires goodness and doesn’t romanticize about the illegal activity because she knows it’s wrong. She stands with you but it’s really you she’s fighting for…she’s light in a precarious life…not darkness…but hope. Selange saved a hopeless man and restored humanity to his soul!
Her hand clasped his and she smiled. “Hi guapo, I do love the way you compliment that tux.”
He was speechless.
No, he could not say anything. Words failed to form. He was a grateful irascible man. The former thug who was deep in crime and birthed a mafia son, found a woman who saw Alfonzo, the man. In her eyes he wasn’t a label, he wasn’t dollar signs or intimidating. He was her man. A person she accepted before she knew anything about the mob and before Alfonzo discovered who he was.
He pulled her close, put his forehead to hers and listened to the silence, shutting out everything except the voice within. He understood what loving her cost but at the very beginning of their love affair he assumed the risk when he held on to an innocent girl and refused to let her go. She’d become his weakness; yet made him strong. His life was a paradox, which made them a perfect fit. The gut and the heart were in tune. It sang her name. It said the truth in the darkness. It restrained his raging hand from striking during the storm. It brought him low to remember in love must come forgiveness. It violated his tough nature to soften parts once stone.
It screamed her out and dared a
nyone turn against her; for they were one and he’d feel the injury.
‘She’s my rib; my heaven in this hellish life!’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
New York City and the lights of Lincoln Center are something to behold at night. The building is one glow of sophistication complimented by the pristine architecture surrounding the expansive building. The limos and medallion cabs streamed to the front of the structure and doors were held ajar by suited chauffeurs or gallant men.
The well-dressed couples floated through the doors, images of style and class unimaginable by those without. The rich have tastes which set them apart from the poorer men. Illusions of sophistication exists, when some were once poor and acquired certain loves simply to fit in.
Alfonzo held Selange’s waist proudly, she was far classier than the women. Her love of the opera was not pretentious; she enjoyed the horrible music as a project girl from Brooklyn. The money only gave her access to experience its effect in places like these, where the acoustics are superb and her ass isn’t chafed by uncomfortable seats.
He promised to smile and enjoy the screeching sounds. They had a dinner reservation at eight at the Russian Tea Room he’d heavily greased two palms for and later…hopefully…she’d take pity on his dick.
In their private booth overlooking the stage they sat and throughout the performance the sheer pleasure on her face for the wailing climatic music never ceased to amaze him. Oh, he tried to love it as much but it wasn’t happening. This was her thing, solely hers.
He scanned the booths with discretion, making sport at the stiff postures and wrinkled faces of some who were so enthralled with the high pitched shrieks they appeared about to convulse. He gazed down and right and the amusement wore off.
There in the velvet red seats sat Bruno Demarco and his mom.
Coño!
After the sighting he watched them all evening, his jaw clenched and anxious to intercept the bastard once the performance was done. It took forever for the show to conclude. If he were asked about the costumes or the lead, he’d have no answer because he didn’t see or hear anything other than the murderous howl in his head and the color red.
With fast paced steps he maneuvered through the sea of black and pale faces anxious to get to the mezzanine. Selange’s eyes were questioning but she didn’t ask the nature of the emergency as he moved her along. She had no idea his mood change and the urgency had nothing to do with physical danger but were actions of an overzealous son.
They were out of the crowd, on the wide stairs leading to the main street when he slowed and he stepped aside with her watching the doors.
She spoke, “What’s up, who are you looking for?”
Before he answered a distinguished couple emerged from the polished glass doors, arm and arm and she got her answer.
They were deeply entrenched in conversation and did not spot Alfonzo and Selange until Alfonzo blocked their path and said, “Holá mama.”
“Alfonzo hi,” she smiled then greeted Selange, “hello Sela, you two look very nice.”
“So do you Maria. Wow!” Selange exclaimed. Alfonzo’s mom looked wonderful.
“How are you young man?” Bruno asked.
“I’m good and you old man?” Alfonzo retorted.
“Alfonzo!” His mother admonished.
“No, it’s okay Maria. I am not offended by your brash son. I have young sons who at times lack manners.”
Selange grimaced. This entire scene was awkward.
“Except I am not your son.”
“True.” Bruno’s teeth glistened under the lights and people walking by glanced at the couples and smiled as if they were celebrities out for the night.
Maria tightened her cashmere wrap around her shoulders to ward off the chill and with disappointment addressed Alfonzo. “I reared you better than your manners reflect hijo. Do not sour my evening with your nonsense. Bruno and I would like to continue to enjoy our evening, if you don’t mind.”
Selange’s eyes widened a tad. Oh, shucks. Maria was about to get her groove on. Hot damn!
The chivalrous Bruno extended an invitation, “Please why don’t you two join us. I have a table reserved at The Companiero downtown. There’s a performance by José Guetta. I will love for you to join us.”
Selange gripped Alfonzo’s hand and was about to decline, “Thanks, but…”
“We’d love to. I know where it is, we’ll meet you there.” He said cutting her off.
He turned with Selange and they descended the stairs.
“Alfonzo, what about our dinner plans?”
“Change of plans babe.”
“We shouldn’t go. Let your mom enjoy her date. Don’t you want her to be happy?”
Lou held open the door and they slid in the car. “Seven Twenty-Three, Third Avenue!” Alfonzo recited to the driver as Lou settled upfront in the passenger seat.
Selange turned to gaze out the window. The evening had suddenly dropped from a ten to a zero. When it came to Alfonzo’s mother, he was worse than a father protecting his daughter’s virtue. She prayed he didn’t start a commotion. Sheesh!
****
Dinner was uncomfortable. The cold looks from Alfonzo to Bruno, the tongue in cheek conversation became a disastrous dinner for Maria. Selange managed to mediate like a pro but Alfonzo was unrelenting. Finally, Maria had enough, “Come Bruno, let’s dance!”
Alfonzo frowned, “I’ll dance with you mama.”
Maria cut him an angry look, “Sit and eat. Silencio!”
Bruno smirked at Alfonzo and pushed back from his seat and in exaggerated manners held Maria’s chair, extended his arm and gestured toward the dance floor.
Alfonzo stopped eating, “Do you see that shit babe?”
Selange’s questioning brow as she poured another glass of champagne indicated he was acting a fool. “See what?”
“That motherfucking player is hitting on my mom!”
“Ummm.” She emptied her glass.
“I should bust his ass.”
“Go ahead, Alfonzo, kick his ass for liking your mom and kill her happiness. Freddie took my mom and your Uncle’s happiness with a bullet and I was selfish and petty just like you hours before he did it. So, go ahead…do what the hell you want!”
Taken aback by the terse remark his eyes flicked from her face to the half empty bottle. “You alright babe?”
“I was until you started sulking and ruining everything. Maria looks soooo pretty and she’s smiling goddammit but you-”
Alfonzo threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Whoa, chill out babe. I get what you’re saying…I’ll back off…don’t go there mujer…don’t bring that shit up.”
Selange abruptly pushed back her seat and stood. She marched straight to the bar leaving her purse and Alfonzo at the table. He sighed as he stared after the woman, damn she was right. He was behaving like an ass.
He eventually joined Selange at the bar and placed her gem studded purse down on the smooth wood surface. She didn’t look at him. Her thoughts were far away in the distant past, on her mother and Al.
This was the broken Selange, the person he sometimes forgot lie beneath the sweet shell. The girl who cried for help existed underneath, warring with the strong woman within. He felt bad and tried to salvage the night.
His voice was tender, drawing her out like she’d done for him on numerous occasions. He kept his tone light, “You’re going to need money if you plan on buying a drink.”
“I didn’t bring any money.”
“How do you expec
t to pay the bar tab?”
“That’s why I haven’t ordered.”
“Then you’re taking up stool space.”
She sighed, “I don’t care.”
“Did you want a drink?”
“I want a tattoo.”
The famous Latin crooner continued belting his slow romantic ballad and Alfonzo couldn’t help but glance over at his mother who was being tightly held by the Italian Don Juan. “For real?”
“I’m going for it.” She slapped the bar, “Liquid courage. There’s a tattoo parlor a few blocks away. We passed it on the way here. I’m doing it, I always wanted one. Yep!”
Alfonzo peered over her shoulder. Bruno was caressing his mother’s arm.
Coño!
“Um-hum, right near my pussy.”
Alfonzo blinked at her announcement, totally shocked, “Yeah?”
“Um-hum.”
A chuckle emanated from his throat and his mood quickly changed, “That’s going to be one painful tattoo, babe.”
“I won’t feel a thing when I’m drunk.”
“Oh yes, you will. It’s a sensitive area with lots of nerve endings.”
“No, it’ll be on the side, real close to the inner thigh and not on it.”
“Oh sí, mujer you’ll still feel that shit.”
“Let’s make a bet that it won’t hurt and if I win; you have to stay out of your mom’s love-life.”
“And if you lose?”
“You still have to butt-out, but...” she giggled and it was cute, “I’ll butter you up real good tonight.”
“Ah shit, it’s on.”
“First I have to numb myself. You’re paying.”
“Don’t I always?”
“Ha…ha…funny.” She nudged him with her shoulder, “And no, you don’t!”
“What type of tattoo are you getting…a little girly flower?”
“It’s a surprise.” Then she slapped the bar again, “Service!”
Entertained by the display of bad etiquette from Miss Manners, he waited for the bartender. He liked women mixologists and this one looked like she knew her shit and that’s a plus. “What’s your name?” Alfonzo asked.
