Chapter 20
Vivi was anxious as Anthony’s black Pathfinder rolled to a stop in front of his house. The first thing she’d noticed when Anthony had come to pick her up was that his wedding ring was gone. But his home was new territory.
His block was nice, the house typical for Bensonhurst—small, brick, with a wrought iron front gate and a tiny front yard. Some of the homes had paved front yards used as parking spaces. Anthony’s, however, had a statue of the Virgin Mary on the front lawn.
Seeing Vivi stare at the statue, Anthony explained, “It belonged to my mom.” He closed the car door behind her. “In fact, I grew up in this house. I just haven’t had the heart to get rid of it.” Sweet, Vivi thought, and wonderful the house was still in the family.
Anthony thrust his head forward with a squint, then walked over to the statue, plucking what looked like a piece of paper from the plaster hands pressed together in prayer. “Holy Hanna,” he muttered to himself as he shoved it into his coat pocket. “Can I catch a break here?”
“Is everything all right?”
“Fine.” His mouth twisted into a frown. “There’s a disturbed person nearby who likes to leave notes of, uh, petition, in the statue’s hand. She’s been doing it for years. It’s not a biggie.”
Not a biggie. That was a good phrase to add to her growing vocabulary list.
“Entres vous.”
Vivi smiled appreciatively at Anthony’s French as he ushered her through his front door and flicked on the lights. They were standing in a small entry hall, a flight of stairs directly in front of them, a closet to the left.
“Here, let me take your jacket.” Anthony helped her off with her coat. Vivi rubbed her arms vigorously to ward off cold. Obviously he kept the thermostat down since he wasn’t home during the day, or most of the night, either. He opened the closet, first hanging Vivi’s coat, then his own. Vivi glanced absently at the closet and away, but then something caught her eye, and she looked back. Hanging alongside Anthony’s many jackets was a policewoman’s jacket.
“I’m sure you want to see the kitchen first,” Anthony teased.
“Guilty.”
Anthony paused to raise the temperature on the thermostat, and then took Vivi’s hand, leading her toward the back of the house. Along the way, Vivi caught fleeting glimpses of the many framed photos gracing the walls. Pictures of a large extended family. Pictures of two little boys who clearly were Anthony and his brother. And then, Anthony and Angie’s wedding picture, the bride looking radiant and more attractive than Vivi had imagined, Anthony’s face transformed by joy. Vivi found herself burning with curiosity; she wanted to stand in front of the wedding picture studying it, trying to get a sense of who this woman was, but Anthony was eagerly steering her into the kitchen.
“What do you think?” Anthony asked as he turned on the lights and the marble and glass kitchen shimmered to life. It was a beautiful space, with state-of-the-art appliances and more counter space than one cook could ever hope for.
“It’s beautiful,” Vivi marveled.
“Yeah, I fixed it up pretty good,” Anthony said proudly. “My parents had kept it the same for years, but when I got married, I redid it. For me, mostly. Angie couldn’t even fry an egg.”
“Well, that’s exactly what I’m going to do for you tomorrow morning—fry you some eggs,” Vivi declared, picturing herself in front of the stove. “And some bacon, if you have it.”
“Of course I have bacon.”
“You never know. Americans have such a terror of fat.”
“I’m a chef, remember? I love fat. I adore it.”
Vivi laughed.
“Can I get you a glass of wine?”
“Oui. That would be wonderful.” A glass of wine was just what she needed. It would take the edge off her nerves, help her relax.
Anthony strode toward the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Beaujolais, holding it up to her. “Is this okay?”
“More than okay. You have good taste in wine for an Italian,” she teased.
Anthony laughed as he fetched two glasses from the cabinet and poured.
“Here you go.”
He handed Vivi her wine, and with his hand at the small of her back, guided her out into the living room. The room was small but cheery, with a big, plump couch just like hers, a lovely, shiny hardwood floor, and one entire wall lined from floor to ceiling with books, many of them cookbooks. Vivi immediately went for the right-hand corner of the couch, her favorite place to nestle, patting the empty space beside her for Anthony to come sit.
“Should I put on some music?” asked Anthony, leaning over to kiss her cheek.
Vivi smiled up at him contentedly. “Some music would be lovely.” She watched his broad strong back as he walked across the room to put on a CD. A smile spread across her face as she heard the opening notes of Nat King Cole’s “Unforgettable,” one of her father’s favorite tunes. Perhaps this was a good omen.
“You like the old classics?” Anthony asked, coming to sit beside her.
“Yes.” Vivi’s voice dropped seductively. “They’re very romantic, don’t you think?”
“Very,” Anthony agreed, putting his arm around her. He leaned into her, lifting a strand of her hair and kissing it. “I love when you wear your hair down, bella,” he murmured.
Bella. He was telling her she was beautiful. Vivi reached for her wine, taking a small sip. “You really have a lovely home.”
“Thanks, but I really can’t take credit for it. It was frozen in time until Angie moved in.”
“Frozen in what time?”
“The seventies. It was like walking into an Italian version of The Brady Bunch.”
Vivi cocked her head quizzically. “The…?”
“It was a popular TV show. It was the story of a lovely lady who was bringing up three very lovely girls. All of them had hair of gold, like their mother, the youngest one in curls.”
Vivi nodded. “It sounds very nice, actually.” Her eyes traveled the room. “Angie had good taste, both in decor and men.”
Anthony kissed her, a loving kiss full of tenderness and affection. She had his full attention. Vivi put down her wine on the end table, taking her hands in his. “Thank you for removing your wedding band, chere. I know that couldn’t have been easy for you.”
“It was time,” Anthony said quietly.
Vivi nodded, curiosity still nibbling away at her. Suddenly she felt she wanted to know more about the woman who had once occupied Anthony’s heart—not because she was jealous of there being someone before her, but because she wanted to know everything about Anthony, and Angie was a big piece of the puzzle.
“I noticed her police jacket in the coat closet.”
Anthony looked stricken. “Shit. I didn’t even think to—”
“Don’t fret.” Vivi put her hand on his arm. “It didn’t bother me.”
“You sure?”
“Of course.”
Anthony shook his head ruefully. “You know, it’s the only article of her clothing I saved. Everything else went to the Salvation Army. I gave her jewelry to her sisters. But her uniform, I don’t know…” He rolled his wineglass between his palms. “She loved being a cop so much. I just couldn’t let it go.”
“She must have been very brave,” Vivi ventured.
“Oh, she was brave, all right. A real tough little cookie. She hated those goddamn drug dealers peddling shit to kids. She couldn’t rest until she helped put as many of them as she could away.” He paused. “That’s what got her killed, you know. Some crackhead shot her.”
“Yes, I know,” Vivi said quietly. “Michael told me, remember?”
“That was always my big fear, her dying in the line of duty, but what can you do?” He shrugged with resignation. “When someone does a job they love, you can’t stand in their way, no matter how dangerous it is or how afraid you are of something happening to them.”
“I agree,” Vivi murmured, smoothing his hair. She was glad he wa
s opening up to her like this. It was true intimacy, the sharing of one’s past. “How did you meet her?”
Anthony smiled sadly. “She and her partner came into Dante’s one night after their shift. She ate a whole bowl of pasta and they ordered seconds on garlic bread. I thought, a girl who’s not afraid to eat is the one for me! Kinda like someone else I know,” he said, lifting her hand to his mouth and kissing it.
“And how soon after that were you married?”
Anthony looked up at the ceiling, clicking his tongue, trying to remember. “A year and a half, I think.”
“Where did you go on your honeymoon?”
“What’s with the twenty questions, Vivi?”
Vivi felt rebuked. “I’m just curious, that’s all. I want to know everything there is to know about you.”
“You will, over time,” he promised. “But for now, can we concentrate on the present?”
“Of course.” She snuggled closer to him, satisfied. She loved these first heady days of a relationship, when they couldn’t get enough of each other physically and emotionally. Looking at his handsome face, at the strong, hard body that fit so easily with her own, Vivi felt a small hum in the pit of her belly, the first stirrings of excitement. Anthony was obviously feeling the same way.
“C’mere,” he said, pulling her onto his lap. Vivi’s mouth curled into a feline smile as she wrapped her arms around his neck and crushed her mouth to his. There was fervor as he kissed her back, a hungriness that begged to be sated. Her desire rising, Vivi gave a deep, swooning sigh, which seemed to inflame Anthony even more. With an ease that surprised her, he shifted their bodies so he was lying atop her on the couch, taking her face in his hands as he kissed her passionately, almost brutally. He was staking claim to her body, and Vivi was more than willing to surrender as their long, drugging kiss continued.
Shifting his body weight slightly, he moved to tug up her shirt. Vivi arched up to meet him, wanting his mouth on her. He read her body language perfectly, impatiently shoving her shirt and bra out of the way with a groan and filling his mouth with her breasts.
Joy, pure joy. Feverish, Vivi pushed herself hard against him, throwing her head back in complete abandon. He was doing such amazing things with his lips and tongue that she had no doubt that if he wished he could bring her to orgasm here and now. But she wanted more. Was in fact aching for more. Taking hold of one of his hands, she moved it the length of her body, so he was cupping her between the legs. When he began moving his hand against her, tiny fault lines began appearing over the terrain of her body. When the explosion came, she knew she would crack apart, only to be put back together again so they could do it all again…
“Chere.” Her voice was guttural, rough with need as she lifted her head to look at him. “The bedroom, please. Please.” She wanted to be able to do this for hours, roll around with him, sprawl their bodies across one another and dip in and out of fevered sleep. Couches were fun, but they could be confining. She wanted freedom.
Anthony paused. For a split second Vivi thought he was going to protest, but then he pushed himself off her, pulling Vivi to her feet and lifting her up into his arms as if she were light as a cloud. Vivi was enchanted. No man had ever carried her off this way, like a knight rescuing a damsel. It was romantic. Intoxicating.
“Hurry,” she urged before crushing her mouth to his once again, her body quivering with the effort to contain herself. Such was his strength that she barely jolted in his arms as he took the steps two at a time, his stride forceful as he moved across the upstairs landing toward a closed door.
And then he put his hand on the doorknob, and it all stopped.
Vivi held her breath, waiting. Perhaps he was out of breath, needing to pause a moment before plunging inside. But agonizing seconds passed, and still nothing. “Anthony?” Vivi looked at him, alarmed. “What is it?”
Anthony shook his head, too overcome to speak. The passionate look in his eyes had faded; in its place was doubt. Vivi tensed as he sadly, slowly lowered her to her feet. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered to himself. He pressed his forehead against the closed door, shutting his eyes.
Vivi’s heart was pounding as she stared at him, unsure of what to do. He looked tormented. He wanted to focus on the present, or so he said. In the back of her mind, a voice was telling her to be patient and understanding, that maybe she had brought this on herself by asking him all those questions. But there was another voice, firmer and louder, that she couldn’t ignore—the one reminding her how humiliated she felt standing here right now, rejected by the man she loved.
“It’s her, isn’t it?”
The sharpness in her voice sounded like a slap. Anthony turned his head away.
“Angie,” Vivi continued, spitting out her name like a curse. “You say you’ve moved on, but that’s just self-deception!”
“No, it’s not.” Anthony looked at her with anguished eyes. “I don’t know why I can’t do this. I don’t. It’s like…this invisible barrier just sprang up. Christ…”
A dark silence fell as Vivi waited and waited for more of an explanation. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore.
“Say something!”
The fury in her voice was completely justified. Seeing him give a slight wince should have provided some satisfaction, but it didn’t. Instead, her humiliation over being rejected just kept growing.
“Vivi.” Hearing the pain in his voice, she tried not to give him a poisonous look, but it was hard. “I don’t know what to say, except that I’m completely embarrassed, baffled, and Christ knows what else.” He scrubbed his hands slowly over his face, his gaze tortured as he finally looked into her eyes. “If I thought this was going to happen, do you think I would have carried you up here?”
Vivi crossed her arms and looked down at the floor. Her heartbeat had returned to normal. In fact, it felt rather slow, a dull thud…thud…thud, reflecting her newly demoralized state.
“Let’s go downstairs and talk about this,” he suggested.
“I don’t want to talk. I want to go home.”
“Vivi—”
“Just take me home, Anthony, please. I need to get out of this—this—haunted house. I need to think.”
“It’s not a haunted house.”
“Oh, no? Then why do I feel the presence of a ghost?” In her mind, the subject was closed.
“Promise me we’ll talk about this.” Anthony moved to touch her hand and she jerked out of reach.
“What is there to say?”
“Everything!” he snapped.
The anger in his voice got her attention. “Fine, we’ll talk,” Vivi said in a pinched voice. “Now excuse me while I go call a cab.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Anthony scoffed. “I’ll run you home.”
“There’s no need.”
“Yeah, there is.” He licked his lips nervously. “Cab-drivers around here can be nuts. I want to make sure you get home safe and sound.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“Big deal. I’m taking you home.”
“Fine,” Vivi repeated. “But I do not want to talk about all this in the car. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Anthony muttered reluctantly. He took a step toward her, looking wounded when she again stepped back and out of reach. “Vivi, I’m really, really sorry about this.”
Vivi was too distraught to look at him as she started down the stairs. “So am I.”
“Holy shit! If this is what happens when you have insomnia, I hope you never sleep again!”
Anthony was silent as he finished unloading the bags of food he’d brought with him to Michael’s. After driving Vivi home—a drive made in stone cold, torturous silence—he was too wound up to sleep. Rather than pace, tear at his hair, or finish the open bottle of wine in a quest for temporary oblivion, he decided to put his restless energy into something more productive: cooking. He drove to Dante’s, and over the remainder of the long dark night, made two pans of lasagna and an olive oi
l cake, finishing up with a batch of almond cookies just as the sun started to peek over Brooklyn’s rooftops. After dealing with the early morning deliveries and sundry other tasks, he packed up the food and drove over to his brother’s. Theresa was at work, Dominica and Little Ant were at school, and baby Angelica was in her playpen, hypnotized by Teletubbies. It was just him, Michael, and a boatload of food in the kitchen.
Michael was still exulting over the tin trays spread out on the table. “This is fantastic. I won’t have to worry about making dinner for the kids for over a week.”
“You can’t give them lasagna every night. They’ll get sick of it.”
“Not my kids. Especially if I pay them to eat it.”
“Great parenting skills.” Anthony pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down. His lack of sleep was finally catching up with him; he felt as though he’d been lightly pummeled, his brain muzzy. “You got a beer or anything?”
“Anthony, it’s eight o’clock in the morning.”
“Oh. Right.” He grabbed an almond cookie, still warm, and popped it in his mouth.
Michael pulled up the chair next to him. “What’s going on?”
“I blew it with Vivi.”
“Whoa, hold on. You and Vivi finally…?” Anthony nodded glumly as Michael gave him a thumbs up. “Way to go, stud!”
Anthony made a disgusted face. “Do you always have to reduce everything to locker room clichés?”
“Excuse me. Perhaps if my only sibling bothered to tell me what was going on in his life, I wouldn’t blurt out the first thing that comes to my head. And P.S., I haven’t had my second cup of coffee yet, so I beg your friggin’ indulgence.” Michael reached for a cookie. “What happened, Ant?”
“Things were going fine, right? We had this passionate reunion when she got back from France, great sex, yadda yadda yadda. Then she wants to know when I’m going to take off my ring, which was okay, because it was time, you know?”
Just a Taste Page 21
