by J. Palma
If Lucina had trusted Dot, she would not have wasted her time hunting for her passport. Unsurprised, searching the bedroom upturned nothing significant, except for a pack of Marlboro Reds and a Zippo lighter. Will's, she presumed. His pathetic act of defiance. She rolled her thumb against the starter and a three-inch flame sprouted from it. She pocketed the Zippo, smokes, and two hundred dollar bills found atop Will's dresser in a change dish.
Next, she entered the bathroom, all marble and mirrors, undressed, and turned the faucet in the giant tub on. As the tub filled, she picked through Dot's bedroom-sized walk-in closet. Half full with all style and season of dresses, blouses, gowns, pants, exotic furs, and topcoats, she tried on whatever she wanted. A sky-blue evening dress caught her eye. Strapless with a slit up the left leg, she squirmed until she got it around her chest. Wincing in the mirror, she struggled to breathe, the bodice barely containing her bosom. She reached for the smokes she left on the vanity and she heard the dress fabric tear. In the reflection, a burst seam beneath her armpit smiled back with a sliver of skin. She giggled. Discouraged that nothing fit, she kicked off the dress. All the shoes looked out of the question. With the corkscrew, she opened the bottle and poured a full glass of wine.
She set the wine and smokes on the edge of the tub. She slipped in and smiled with terrific satisfaction. The water was steaming hot. She finished her glass of wine and poured another. When she finished half the bottle, she masturbated, rose from the tub, and toweled off.
At the vanity, she sat down heavily, her wine sloshing out of her glass onto the floor. She was still for a moment as she looked over the neat compartments with brands of mascara, lipstick, eyeliner, rouge. Brushes of different sizes and softness. She didn't know where to start. Other than lipstick and the occasional touch of rouge, she never had the money for makeup such as this.
A heavy pounding came from the locked bedroom door, interrupting her. Charles called out that he was hungry. She answered she was almost done.
"When is that?" he pressed, annoyed.
"When I'm done," she screamed. She composed herself again and continued applying her makeup.
Several attempts later, she had thick red lips, highlighted cheekbones, dark catlike eyes. After she blow-dried her hair, she teased it with generous amounts of hair spray until she coughed. Finished, she rubbed the small cleft in her chin with her thumb and thought with her giant mane, those eyebrows and nose, she resembled a lion.
Beneath the vanity she opened felt lined drawers housing mostly jewelry. Despite the diamonds and gold, she settled on a simple strand of pearls. Glistening at her neck, they made her feel rich.
Barefoot, she padded through the cold halls and rooms wrapped in just a towel. She had abandoned the wine and glass since she finished the bottle, but did not forget the corkscrew as she returned to her quarters. No question what she did next.
She remembered the haute couture dress from the other night and flung open the armoire doors to remove the dress from the garment bag. She held the sheer stylish number up and then quickly put it on. Unlike the others in Dot's closet, this fit, brandishing a lot of skin at her shoulders and legs. Her Mediterranean skin and coal black hair complimented the color of the dress. And here, in the light of her room, she gazed into the mirror and froze. Mesmerized by her own image, she was now a stranger. But isn't that what she wanted? To transform into something more than the peasant from her village? When she finally left her room, she marched to the boy's room confident, alive, and hungry. But his room was empty.
When Lucina entered the TV room, Charles, in his Batman outfit, jumped to his feet. Cartoons played on the giant screen. The molded black plastic Batman mask hid his face. She laughed playfully at him. His belly peaked from the bottom of his top.
"Come here. Let me fix you." He moved towards her slowly.
She pulled the shirt over the girth of his stomach.
Still, he remained silent.
"Can you even see out of that?"
He pushed the mask off his face revealing his wet eyes and cheeks becoming silvered with tears. “That dress belonged to Mother. It's the last thing I remember her wearing. She went to the opera that night with Father. I kissed her goodbye before they left. I can still see them. They were beautiful together. Father was in his tux and Mother was in that dress. She was wearing perfume. I heard the car pull away and Darlene told me to go to bed. That night, they came home late and I was asleep, and the next morning they got up early and went to the yacht club and on the way to the club was when the accident happened. I never saw her again."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
IN THE FORMAL dining room, the two dined on smoked salmon, a small container of Beluga caviar, a charcuterie of cured meats from Italy, slices of imported Serrano ham, a baguette with heaps of salted butter, a pineapple, fresh peaches, and Tahitian vanilla ice cream.
"You know, in a house with two stoves, two dishwashers, and two fridges, they only have one damn corkscrew." She plunged the corkscrew into the top of one of the two remaining wine bottles, turned the handle, and plucked the cork out with a pop. Lucina smiled as she poured herself a glass.
At the opposite end of the table, Charles appeared positively diminutive at his place at the head of the table, like a child-prince unaccustomed to the emperor's throne. The disbelief in his star-struck eyes further amused Lucina.
Finished eating, Charles used the Batman binoculars from his utility belt to spy on Lucina drinking her wine.
"Oh I almost forgot. Your birthday gift!"
"But you already got me the Batman outfit and belt."
"This is another one. Wait here."
She disappeared to the kitchen and returned with a box wrapped with paper that read, “Happy Birthday.”
"Is it a phone? Did you get me a phone?"
"Almost as good."
He tore off the wrapping paper and then ripped the lid off the gift box. A stack of Batman comics stared back at him. He didn't know what to make of his gift. He looked up at her, and then back at the comics. Excited, but unsure.
"What do I do with these?"
"You read them. You've never read comics before?"
"I wasn't allowed."
"Well now you are. Some of the Batman stories are so good they don't make them to the movies." His face lit up.
"When did you…"
"The toy store next to where we got ice cream. They sell comics behind the counter."
"Wow. This is great. Not as good as a phone, but still pretty cool. Can I go?"
"How do you ask?" She lit a cigarette with Will's Zippo, the heel of her thumb rubbing over the lines of the naked woman etched on the lighter.
Between the torn wrapping paper and half-eaten trays of food, the room was a festive mess. She laughed, her lips parted, a corner of her lips curled higher than the other, exposing a longer than average canine.
Charles gave her a big hug.
With her bare feet propped on the table, she said, "Would you like some wine?"
He shrugged.
"Where I come from, it is okay for little boys and girls to drink wine at special meals. And this is a very special meal. This is our first real meal together. We celebrate your birthday. The others, they no count." She pushed the glass towards him.
He eyed the glass and seemed nervous.
"People in my village said I was possessed. That I was bad luck. Go ahead. Take it."
"What does that mean?" He held the glass with two hands now.
"It means evil spirits entered my body and took over."
The boy half-laughed.
"Where I come from, sometimes when people see me they make the sign of the cross and pray. You don't believe in these things, do you?"
He shook his head no, staring at her over the edge of his glass.
"Good, such nonsense. These superstitions are rooted in ignorance."
The boy took a big gulp to impress her.
"Bravo!"
He wiped his mouth with his s
leeve. "How many rules have you broken?"
"Have we broken. We are a little team. Let's see." She lifted the sheet with two hands and said, "Hmmm. Rules Two, Three, Seven, and Eight have been broken. I need you to do something for me."
He put his wine glass down. He tried to stand still, but his body quivered.
"I need you to think of a dirty word. And I need you to yell this word, at the top of your lungs."
He collected his courage and yelled, "Shit!"
"What's this? You sound like a bird. A parrot. I need you to roar. Like a jaguar."
Charles repositioned his feet and screamed.
"Much better. Now, that was a two-for-one. You just broke rules Ten and Eleven. In case you have not memorized the rules, no yelling and no profanity." She laughed loudly at her own joke and smacked the table with the flat of her hand.
"You're going to be in big trouble." Charles looked sweaty and exhausted.
"Bah. We have plenty of time to clean before Dot returns. Do you remember eating in here? With your parents."
"Not really."
Lucina squeezed his hand. He wiggled his hand free.
"I think I ate too much. I don't feel so good." His hands held his stomach as he bolted from the room to the nearest toilet.
Lucina rose from her seat, a lit cigarette still in her mouth, and went outside to the terrace and sat on the low terrace wall facing the Sound, her feet dangling above a potted bougainvillea. The cool summer air reinvigorated her, and she was delighted at her turn of fate. She finished the rest of the wine and returned to her room after checking on Charles who was fast asleep in his bed. She lay down on her own bed and closed her eyes. The room spun and she was overcome with dizziness. When she opened her eyes, the room stopped spinning. She flung open the windows and a peaceful breeze eased her mind. A boat passed and she imagined she stood on the deck. Nothing was forever. She closed her eyes again until the spinning stopped and she drifted to sleep.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE NEXT TWO weeks looked the same. Mornings were reserved for exploration. Every day, Lucina and Charles rose early, ate a simple breakfast and went into the City. They took various car services to the Scarsdale train station and took the Metro in with the rest of the commuters. At first, the busy formations of similarly dressed commuters almost ran them over. But soon they learned to avoid the stampede of people rushing to work.
She spent the time with trips to different museums, the Statue of Liberty, the United Nations, and would often lunch in Central Park. All the tourist things. After lunch, they returned to the Larchmont home. His favorite museum so far was the Guggenheim. Charles said he wanted to take a skateboard the next time they visited.
Afternoons were for exercise. Charles, it was no secret, needed to improve his physical fitness. Each afternoon, she made him swim. At first, he disliked the chilly pool water, but with Lucina’s urging, sometimes profane, he found the water delightful. She taught him how to float, how to open his eyes underwater, and how to doggy paddle. But mostly she taught him how to relax and have fun. After a few days, when he had mastered the basics, she moved on to kicking and then some simple strokes. By the end of the first week, he had progressed enough that she remained on the patio, comfortable on a chaise lounge dishing out orders, sipping white wine, and smoking the occasional cigarette.
The idle time spent under the sun reminded her of brief moments of happiness when she would take the bus with Carlotta to the public pool in Casa di Mora. By the end of high school, she was the best swimmer at the pool. She wondered if it was that summer that instilled in her a love for the water.
Day was better than night, as her nights were empty and boring. After putting Charles to bed, there was no one else to talk to, nothing to do. With no one to call or text, she often fell asleep in the TV room. Several times she considered texting Carlotta. But just days before Lucina left, Carlotta openly confessed she didn't think Lucina had the stomach to cross the Atlantic. Lucina interpreted this act of jealousy as an unpardonable betrayal.
She liked to open her bedroom windows and fall asleep to the sound of the water lapping at the sea wall. One day she grew sad and missed her home and family. But that was a time and place she could never return to. She quickly realized this and never dwelled on it again. But she felt hopeful for her future. Sure, Charles still had his night terrors and he still lashed out, but the job wasn't that hard and she had grown quite fond of Charles.
The plane, a British Spitfire, circled its targets—a pair of stuffed rabbits—and swooped in for the kill. The pilot, Charles Howell, opened fire and made pretend gunfire, “Ratatatatat.” When he tired, he punted both rabbits with a single kick until they disappeared from sight. Though a fine toy that would serve well in any collection, it was boring. Cast iron and heavy, like many of his vintage toys, the plane was something so old it quite possibly came with the purchase of the house. Out of breath, he said, "This sucks." Lucina had forbade him from watching TV during daylight hours and even went to the trouble of hiding the TV remote.
When he knocked on Lucina's door looking for something to do, the door drifted open but sadly she was not there. His eyes lingered in the room. Closet doors hung wide open. Clothes were off hangers and piled on the bed. He was about to call out her name when he heard movement down the hall.
Slowly, he approached. Lucina moved quickly from a pile of clothes stacked at the foot of the closet, all on hangers, to the closet rod. She had already gone through the trouble of relocating the old nanny's shoes against the back-closet wall. She said unprompted, aware of his presence, "My room is like a room for abandoned things. Darlene, me, your…" She stopped suddenly. "Left alone, in this place, I feel abandoned too. I don't like living in a room where the dead keep their things."
"Why?" He took a seat cross-legged on the floor across from the closet.
"The dead might come back."
"For what?"
"Their things. If I move them here Darlene won't bother you or me."
Charles grew pale. "Like a ghost?"
Lucina nodded. Her eyes widened mockingly.
Lined with cedar, the closet had a rich aroma.
"Will you help? I left some of Darlene's things on my bed. Can you fetch them for me?"
"I don't want to."
"That's not very nice."
She continued to hang the deceased nanny's things with care, as if one day Darlene would return and question their condition and treatment.
"You know, they used to lock me in there."
"Is this true? Are you telling stories?"
"It's true. On the floor in the back, you can see where I wrote something in black marker."
With the last item put away, Lucina stooped and then dropped to her knees for a closer look. She read aloud from his familiar scribble, "I wish you were dead." She inspected the closet door lock. And he was right. It locked from the outside.
Sometimes Dot and Will had locked him in there for hours at a time until he calmed down, exhausting himself from screaming and crying. When the door finally opened, he would slink off to bed, defeated. A strange mix of dread and hatred overcame him whenever he found the closet door open. Like today.
She pushed herself up and returned to her chores. She said, "If you're not going to help, stay out of my way."
Like a small lap dog at her ankles, he followed her to her room.
She fetched the remaining two garment bags and hung them in the hall closet.
"Was that so hard?"
"Darlene had a lot of stuff."
"She did." Her eyes went high and then low, seemingly satisfied, she closed the closet door, forever. "What would you like to do? Perhaps a nice swim? We'll never have to go in there again, okay? And as long as I work here, that'll never happen to you. Okay? And Darlene can find her things neatly put away and arranged. Any fool, dead or alive, can find them."
"What about my mother?"
"I will find some place special for her dress."
&nb
sp; "Won't she come back too?"
"Mi principe! Look at you. You can swim! My little Batman can swim!"
He rested at the pool's edge, supporting himself on his forearms, his legs floating behind him. He smiled at her praise. His wet hair shimmered and looked darker in the sunlight.
"I'm bored."
Reclined on the chaise, she crossed her legs at her ankles, and said, "You want to go inside and play a game?”
"No, I mean, I'm bored of being here. We do the same things every day. Can we do something different?"
"How do you ask?"
"Please, Lucina, can we do something different?"
"Eh, you like boats? You want to break rule Five?"
"Can I go as Batman?"
"Why not?"
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE SAME DAY, they rang the doorbell again.
The original plan, according to Vincenzo, had them snatching the nanny and the boy off the street and absconding off to a remote area in Upstate New York. But after tailing them for about a week, the nanny and child were never alone. Vincenzo wanted the mission to be ultra clean. No witnesses or collateral damage. He decided they would take them at the Larchmont house and do the job there. But for the last week, the nanny and the boy were never home in the morning. Today, they decided to try the afternoon.
Two other men accompanied Nino and Vincenzo: Fat Mikey and Tony Pipes, both provided by James Rizzo, a Luitini family lieutenant. Tony Pipes, a lanky redhead with a pockmarked face, was the driver and lookout. He remained in the car with a walkie-talkie beside him. Fat Mikey, a big bald-headed monster with a boulder for a head, thought he was the leader of the group. Nino and Vincenzo noticed that Fat Mikey didn't seem to own a shirt with sleeves. But for today, they each dressed identically in blue jumpsuits with the words Long Island Electric embroidered on the back in yellow lettering. They rang the doorbell and waited.
