by Frank, S. W.
With leaden limbs she stood, sauntered to the crib, lift the vocal infant into her arms then took up residence in the rocking chair facing the window. There she could look out over the property and see the speckles of light in the distance wishing for one night of rest without a child’s siren as interruption.
Mechanically, Selange undid the bodice tie on the nightgown, repositioned the baby in her arms and reclined as the small mouth clamped down on her exposed breast then silence came. Honestly, she wanted to cry from fatigue and loneliness.
She watched the dark, wondering whether Alfonzo was sleeping alone. Probably not, she read the society magazines, saw the pretty women on his arm and grew jealous at the thought. He moved on. The notion brought a melancholy ache and a futile sigh. Of course, he wiped clean nearly nine years of marriage to seek affection from women eager to appease his enormous ego. For years she’d been a devoted and loyal wife, fighting in the trenches, holding him down with love’s weapon. He callously threw aside those times of unwavering loyalty, as if history didn’t matter. He didn’t weigh the decision fairly or make a pro con list, he didn’t care and gave up when she wanted to fight and save what they had. She almost begged to keep him, would have cut her heart out for him to see he was the fourth chamber, done anything to reconcile but his response was a swift divorce. Generous, by every legal standard and evidence of how anxious he was to be rid of her. He came by often for the children and she avoided him. She preferred civility and avoidance.
She glanced at the infant’s bald head with the soft dark hairs starting to sprout like new grass. Five weeks today is how old the twins were and it’s how long it’s been since she’d seen Nico. He’d come for their birth then traipsed out into the world with a promise, “I’ll call you and visit the babies as soon as I can.”
These were his words and the lullabies whispered in her ear at night. He did keep his promise and called three weeks later, but the conversation ended abruptly. He was at a distance, put there by circumstance. She suspected he tried to avoid a scene with Alfonzo, but unbeknownst to Selange Nico was summoned on assignment which took him to Bogota to eliminate a drug lord moving product into Palermo without authorization, and then from there he headed to Russia to execute a human smuggler luring underage girls into prostitution. The trafficker boldly opened a brothel in Calabria, once again, without permission from the Italian mob lords. The Italians were territorial; they wanted to keep their backyard clean of outside filth, so Nico was sent to sanitize it by Alberti.
Selange’s mouth twitched when the tiny lips went slack and Angie finally slept. She continued rocking, it relaxed her. It also made her feel old. Yes, she’d aged in such a short time; her joy was her children and the passionate woman she was prior to the infidelity, belonged to a shadow called youth.
Spurts of sadness grabbed her; it appeared without warning. There were random bouts of crying which ceased when her lacrimal glands failed to secrete anymore fluid. She visited the doctor about it and he suggested she may have the ‘baby blues’, but if the symptoms persisted then he’d order hormonal tests and address the possibility of post-partum depression. Anti-depressants were the recommended course of treatment if this was the case. Selange found it amusing. Doctors were funny, they believed medication cured everything. She scoffed; there were no pills to fix a broken heart. If there were she’d binge on them. Occasionally, the four children were overwhelming, yet she’d adjusted because she loved motherhood. She’d have a baseball team if she could and surround herself with the innocent laughter of children. Being an only child, she’d always longed for siblings. Alfonzo was also an only child and they planned to have a large family. Six to eight kids they jokingly agreed during passionate love-making. Funny, how things work out, isn’t it? She got one of her wishes and lost her dream. Sure, she felt worn down from a fussy infant, but it’s loneliness that wore her down most. Alfonzo was supposed to be here. They were meant to have a future together and now they traveled on different paths.
She went on with life, but dammit who wouldn’t be sad if they were in her shoes? The hormonal swings, a divorce she didn’t want, birthdays, anniversaries and holidays contributed to the gloom. Okay, she understood how horrible her actions were. She hurt a lot of people and disappointed many. Her intention wasn’t to injure anyone or get Vincent killed. It’s just that she needed Nico then, for whatever inexplicable reason, she wanted him like a crackhead needs a fix. Nico felt like an addiction, some kind of temporary insanity. It gripped her and wouldn’t let go. He warned her of the consequences, he told her and she didn’t heed his advice. God, she wanted him so much she didn’t care –but later, after sifting through the ashes and seeing the devastation, she realized she torched her entire home. It was surreal. Almost like she’d spent that time in a deep slumber, and then suddenly awakened. The affair was over, her marriage ended and remorse was what remained. She begged Alfonzo’s forgiveness, swore she’d do anything for him to come home. Seriously, how pitiful is that? His response to her infidelity was swift and merciless. Couples survived these things and worse. He could’ve agreed to counseling at least, it would’ve helped her transition, softened the split but he acted in haste. In her heart she believed they may have salvaged their marriage because they were Alfonzo and Selange, a dynamic team!
Selange pouted. Alfonzo reacted out of anger and his bullet bore a gaping hole in her heart. Her eyes watered, proof her tears ducts worked. Gosh, Alfonzo was ruthless. They survived every obstacle thrown in their way. They overcame every goddamn hurdle, she even killed a man, well almost, Giuseppe’s bullet did –but she organized the crew and got the deed done, didn’t she? Thanks to her, Frank Monticelli lay six feet under unable to strike at her family again. Did Alfonzo remember this, or how she saved his ass from jail last year? Hell, no!
The sacrifices meant nothing. She rubbed her wet cheek on her shoulder not wanting the tears to strike the baby’s scalp and pursed her lips tightly together to hold in the sound of despair trying to escape. The punishment caused pain. The loss of almost everyone she loved was the source of it. She clung to her baby, glad to have her children to bring her joy.
Goodness, Alfonzo hadn’t wasted time putting himself on the market. He frequented the clubs, traveled and rubbed her face in the shit. She stopped going on-line because there were pictures of him with women or high profile people everywhere she turned. Bastard! He didn’t appear to have a care in the world. Selange wondered, how he claimed to love her and say, “I can’t live without you,” or “you’re my world?” Then continue with his life without a care. Oh, bullshit, he was such a liar. Men say that lovey-dovey crap and then ‘boom,’ let something rock their boat and see what they do. Their behinds jump ship; swim to shore and they live just fine without the boat!
‘Ugh, I’m not the sum of my mistakes. He could’ve fought for me. We were a team; good or bad, we were supposed to be forever. Didn’t he see that? Did he ever really love me?’
She closed her eyes and reached to her mother once more, ‘Mother, I need you, please help me through this emotional crisis. When dad died you cried then you found the strength. I understand it was really hard for you. You were missing his touch and feeling his heart against yours at night. In womanhood, I see. Oh, mom, I had it, the love you felt for dad and Al, but I killed it. I sabotaged my happiness for a fleeting maybe. Help me mom, for the sake of your grandchildren, give me your wisdom, guide me through this and let me emerge a wiser woman!’
These were her private storms and loneliness stirred the tempest. They were intermittent lapses which got through her defenses and caused her to wish Alfonzo had shot her with live ammunition because the emotional wound refused to heal. When she called out to her mom during these moments, she experienced peace and a renewed purpose.
She rocked until the sun appeared. It brought warmth and the promise of a beautiful day. She lamented on the journey to get there, thinking, ‘My eyes have seen such tragedy. I wasn’t sure I wanted to open them agai
n. Sometimes I lay in bed; hoping for the end –but then the sun came out and it warmed my soul. It was another day and I survived the past. My todays and tomorrows began to blend. Soon, I emerged from the darkest place into light. I saw there were many things to live for and the loss of a man was survivable. Then, I began to rebuild from the inside out, slowly I have reclaimed my life.’
She rose with the baby and placed her in the crib. Alfonzo wasn’t coming home. He’d moved on and the time had come for her to do the same!
****
Music reverberated from the hidden speakers in Alfonzo’s bedroom. A throw-back jam bounced across the soundproof walls. ‘All I Want Is You,’ by Miguel crooned loudly as Alfonzo’s blue eyes followed the perky blonde’s descent. Her lips left a wet trail on his skin. The sloppy kisses failed to excite him. He boned her earlier, wrapped in plastic of course. He had a drawer full of condoms. They were his second religion. He refused to hear, “I’m pregnant,” by some random chica he cared nothing about.
Problem with this blonde is she wanted to go to the orchestra section and blow on the horn but he wasn’t feeling it anymore and wanted her gone. Her mouth wrapped around the tip of his shaft sucking it like a lollipop and he experienced a minor tingle. Her head started a frenzied motion, desperate to elicit movement from his limbs. Alfonzo remained immobile, watching with bored detachment, wondering why he continued with the farce. Last night, it was a redhead, the night before a brunette, prior to that an Asian with short cropped hair and each one he fucked hadn’t eradicated his ex-wife. He wanted Selange extracted from his blood but she was like a festering cancer that spread to his bones!
The lyrics didn’t improve his sullen mood; instead they stabbed at him like frozen steel with each smacking sound from the young woman’s lips.
‘I wonder sometimes,
I wonder if I was wrong,
Tryin’ do right by you got me here,
Now all I am is alone,
‘Cause those eyes,
And those hips and that ass,
Don't compare, at all –no,
And at best, all they do is distract me,
But now, deep down, when I face it,
All I want is you,
All I want is you, now,
All I want is you now,
Now that you're gone, gone, gone,
‘Cause being a friend was killing me softly,
Hear voices,
Wondering where I went wrong,
It was my fault, in the wrong time,
I wonder so often, regret get exhausted,
‘Cause her eyes,
And those hips,
And that ass,
Don't compare, at all –no,
And at best, all they do is distract me,
But now, deep down, when I face it,
All I want is you, hmm…
Now that you're gone, gone, gone, gone, gone,
Cause they don't smile,
Or smell like you,
No they don't make me laugh,
Or even cook like you,
And they don't photograph,
Nah, they don't sex like you,
Let's face it, I can't replace it,
That's why all I want is you now...’
Angered by his weakness for Selange, he sat forward abruptly. The pale blonde slid away with arms outstretched, hands pressed against his chest and rubbed the tattooed pectorals undeterred. She tried to soothe his irritability, hoping to gain his interest for another go round but she had no idea this annoyed him further. Every one of the chica’s paled in comparison to his ex-wife. Beyond Selange’s physical beauty existed a unique soul. With her, their souls merged and he became whole. Trying to live without her was harder than he imagined. The pretense of living was killing him slowly. He scowled at the blonde’s attempt at a kiss and her persistence bordered on pathetic. He pulled her hands off his body, disconnected his lips then stepped to the floor dragging her along, “Time to go.”
Her mouth opened in shock. “What?”
“It’s getting late. I’m tired.”
“But, I thought we were having a good time and we’d spend the night together.”
Of course she did once he screwed her, they all had similar thoughts. He was single, wealthy and in their eyes a prospective husband or baby-daddy. Some of the women had romantic fantasies dancing around in their vapid brains. He was a mobster and nobody’s potential mark. She shouldn’t be surprised at his abrasive behavior, especially when she eagerly hooked-up after two drinks. The complimentary bottle sent to her table was an official introduction and prelude to a mutual objective. Sex without attachment.
Now, it was over and what the hell did she expect, empty confessions on how great the sex was? Well, it served the purpose and frankly, it was ‘ah’, he had better. Anyway, he was kicking her sloppy ass out, case closed!
Alfonzo stood there as Mandy or was it Sandy hurriedly donned her cute little cocktail dress and high heels, grabbed her purse from the chaise then slammed out the bedroom.
“Bye, Mandy or whatever the hell your name is.” He growled at the door before going for a long shower. Fucking musical poetry killed his hard-on. The artist sang Alfonzo’s private thoughts and it’s true, all he wanted was Selange!
He scrubbed his skin as if he’d contacted with filth. He didn’t want another’s woman’s smell attached to his body. He only wanted a quick piece of ass, but many wanted more. These chicas wanted intimacy; tongue swapping kisses, hugs, sleep-overs and fake shit!
Many were gold-diggers, crumb-snatchers, tricksters, trap-stars and masters of illusion with their insincerity, body enhancements and everything in between. Sex didn’t equate to love and anyone who believed this, were either stupid or desperate!
Alfonzo scrubbed harder, he hadn’t lied to any of them. No commitment. No pretense. No small talk. No lies!
The minute he finished washing off the sex, he wrapped a towel around his waist and tore the sheets off the bed, tossing them to the floor. He didn’t want to inhale a woman’s perfume or dream because every goddamn one became images of his ex-wife. He marched to the touchpad screen near the entertainment center, scrolled down the playlist, and selected an old school hit by Big Pun. ‘I Don’t Wanna Be a Player No More,’ and other similar songs assembled into the cache.
No more romantic, depressing, sickening crap. He wanted the old Alfonzo to emerge and wondered, where the fuck did he go?
The classic lyrics from the Bronx native and fellow Puerto Rican seemed more appropriate. The first time he heard this rap he loved it. Too bad the dude died so young. Sort of like his marriage.
The song became Alfonzo’s mantra, he mumbled the bridge in Spanish, “I’m not a player, I just fuck a lot!”
Yeah, before Selange he loved a variety of candy then she entered his life and zap, he lost his sweet tooth and became a lovesick motherfucker!
His foul mood actually began days ago. Tonight, was only a culmination of days of sexual frustration. He’d gone to pick-up the kids from Selange’s place. When Anita told him Sal wasn’t coming, he’d gone upstairs to talk to the boy and came across Selange in the nursery. The babies were what…a month or so? They were cute clones of Allie and Sal.
Alfonzo dived on the mattress, put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling with dismay as he thought about how ironic Nico’s damn kids resembled his children. He considered for a moment the possibility the babies were his and quickly decided it was highly unlikely. There were no twins in his or her side of the family, however Nico, well, it’s obvious isn’t it?
‘…strawberry molasses, I don’t discriminate…you nasty beau…I don’t care,’ Big Pun’s suave voice crooned in the background.
Alfonzo replayed the day he passed the nursery and halted when he saw her in the rocking chair breastfeeding the infant. The adulterous woman appeared so beautiful during the private moment, and he sighed at the memory. She hadn’t noticed him and rocked as she sang a sweet lullaby. She was a goo
d mother, in spite of everything, a damn good mother!
Selange turned. Maybe, she felt his presence, whatever made her react caught him off-guard –but he didn’t look away. Why should he? He wasn’t ashamed. He never hid his adoration. Looking wasn’t a crime; if he’s guilty of anything it’s loving her too much. He’s a fool to think Nico was a friend.
He walked into the cutesy pink and blue room and looked down at the infant. The small face appeared content as she suckled hungrily from Selange’s nipple. Alfonzo hated to admit he envied the baby. Damn you Selange…thanks for killing me!
He blinked hard, his ex-wife was life, nurturing, woman, beauty and so sensual with her swollen breasts and innocent face that he got the urge to screw the hell out of her, right there. Believe it? After everything the cheating lying woman did and he couldn’t kill the yearning. It put a cramp in his sex-life. Thanks to Selange sex wasn’t pleasurable anymore, he was mechanically fucking and the blame lies at her door!
“Ah, maldita mujer!” He focused on the mosaic design overhead but it didn’t distract from the vivid image.
“How are you doing?” He remembered asking.
Selange’s eyes were tired, “I’m okay, thanks.” She answered, then took a deep breath and looked at the baby who’d fallen asleep with her lips still attached. Selange separated from the tiny lips, covered herself and the baby immediately awoke. The baby let out an ear-splitting wail and Alfonzo blinked. Holy shit, the mouth on that one!
“The tempered one?”
“Sal reincarnated.”
The baby’s eyes were a brilliant blue color. Most babies’ eyes are either gray or blue. Usually, the permanent color comes around the tenth week, so there was nothing odd in the genetic similarity. After-all, there weren’t any twins in his family and the chances of it were null.
“I’m taking Sal and Allie. You really need to get some rest.”
