by Janet Leigh
The music changed to a softer melody, and Aint Azona was escorted to her seat on the left in the front row. She was a short, sturdy woman with dyed-red hair that almost matched her beaded purple suit. Slick Joey escorted an elderly lady to her seat on the right in the front row. I assumed it was the groom’s mother. She was dressed in black, as were all the guests from New York. It must be a tradition in the Northeast to wear black to weddings. In the South we only wear black to funerals and bank robberies.
That completed all the living children of Mahala, the Native American woman, and Jeremiah Cloud, the half-Cherokee cattle rancher. Missing were my grandfather, John Wolfe Cloud, who had passed away when my dad was young, Aint Elma, God rest her soul, and Uncle Ruppert, Aint Elma’s oldest brother, who died in prison. The family gossip was he accidentally (on purpose) killed his wife.
A man in white robes, whom I recognized as the local Baptist preacher, took his place at the front, followed by two very large men dressed in black tuxedos. They were both red-faced and kept dabbing at the beads of sweat running down the sides of their faces with the backs of their suit sleeves. Mom leaned over and told me they were the brothers of the groom. I wondered if they were real brothers or just “in the family” like Anthony.
Soon a shorter man in a tuxedo appeared. His hair was also slicked back. Jeez, what’s with all the grease? I recognized his face from the picture on the back of the fan. The groom. He looked sort of like Al Pacino and Sylvester Stallone rolled into one. His mouth was set in a firm line across his face, almost as if he were about to go to the dentist. The wedding march began to play.
A young girl with long dark hair came down the aisle flinging rose petals all over the guests.
Next up was Gertie. She looked nice in a dress, but pink was not her color. She was taller than I remembered but still a little plump. Her hair was darker but orange nonetheless. She caught me looking at her out of the corner of her eye. Pulling her bouquet up toward her face, she stuck her tongue out at me. A shiny metal stud glinted light off her tongue. My God, she had her tongue pierced. Ouch!
I heard the groom clear his throat, and Gertie straightened up and took her place at the front. She was followed by Aint Loretta Lynn, the matron of honor. Everyone stood for the entrance of the bride. Cousin Trish sashayed down the red carpet. Since Aint Azona’s husband had long ago flown the coop and it was Trish’s fourth wedding, she decided to float down the aisle by herself.
Trish wore a snow-white wedding dress. Seriously? The plunging neckline pushed her already huge boobs up for display. White lace followed her curves, belling out as it reached the ground, and a long, flirty train trailed behind her. The dress looked good on her. A bit over the top for my taste, but what I really wanted to see were the shoes. I heard Vinnie had commissioned Vera Wang to design her gown. Just as Trish passed me, she hooked her four-inch stiletto on the red carpet and started to twirl. I got a great view of the strappy heel. Stuart Weitzman, no doubt. They were fabulous. There was a gasp from the crowd, then she steadied herself and proceeded on down the aisle.
Vinnie stuck his arm out, and she stepped under the arch. Aint Loretta went around straightening Trish’s train; grabbing the ends, she popped it like a freshly laundered sheet, revealing that Cousin Trish had decided to go commando under her white wedding gown. The audience made another gasp. Vinnie turned around, eyeballing the crowd, and everyone hushed. The wedding proceeded without further ado.
After the preacher announced the union of Mr. and Mrs. Vincent Gambino, everyone stood as the happy couple walked down the aisle. Aint Mable dabbed her eyes with a tissue.
“I just loooove weddings, don’t you, Earl?” she asked her husband as she pushed past me to the buffet.
“Eh, pearl? No, I think he gave her a diamond ring, not pearl,” he responded, tagging along behind her.
A large white canopy tent had been set up, exposing a long table full of food. I was sure Vincent must have lots of money, because the food was catered. There wasn’t a casserole in sight. Instead there were silver warming trays filled with meatballs and little chicken strips. Mounds of cocktail shrimp heaped over silver trays, with a giant ice sculpture in the middle shaped like a fish. How in the hell they were keeping that thing frozen in the hundred-degree heat was beyond me.
Gertie found me and promptly cut in line. I heard some complaining behind me from the toothless twins.
“Kiss my ass!” she called back to them.
“We’d be here all night!” they responded in unison.
“Hey, Jen, what a wedding, huh?” Gertie said.
“I can’t believe you got your tongue pierced.”
“You saw, huh? Drives my new stepdad crazy.”
“Why do you want to drive him crazy?” I asked, putting some shrimp on my plate next to the fruit kabob.
“You know he works with the Mafia,” she said, lowering her voice as she piled her plate full of chicken.
“You’re kidding?”
“Nope, see that fish?” Gertie pointed at the sculpture. “Vinnie’s nickname is Vinnie the Fish.”
“Why?” I asked, wide-eyed. “Does he like to fish?”
“No, silly, many of his business partners end up down at the docks with the discarded fish.”
“Gross.”
“Tell me about it.” She piled her plate high with meatballs. “I’m on a special diet; you can only eat meat.”
Several round tables were set up under the tent. They were covered with white tablecloths. In the middle of each table were two glass fish dancing around a votive candle.
Gertie explained to me that she had to sit at the head table since she was in the wedding party, but she would come find me later. I located my parents, but Eli had found a spot at the Gambino girls’ table. They were swarming around him like honeybees, saying things like, “Oh, Eli, I love your accent,” and “Eli, your blue eyes are so dreamy.” Yuck! I sat down next to Uncle Earl.
“Hello there, youngun,” said Uncle Earl.
“How are you?” I asked.
“Wha’d she say?” he asked Aint Mable.
“She asked how you are,” Mable shouted.
“Oh…I’m better than a fat kid in a candy store.”
Wow, OK, great, I thought as I smiled politely and looked to my mom to help me out with this conversation.
“Uncle Earl, are you ninety-two or ninety-three?” my mom asked.
“Climb a tree?” he responded. “Naw, I can’t climb a tree, but I can sure chop one down.”
Good grief. Conversation with Uncle Earl was more work than I was into at sixteen.
“Can I be excused?” I asked my parents. In our house it was understood you had to ask permission to leave the table. Dad would look at Mom. Mom would either nod her head, which meant we could go, or she would purse her lips, which meant we needed to finish something on our plates. I looked over for the sign. Head nod. Great.
“Go ahead,” Dad said, but I was already gone.
After dinner the sun was a light crease on the horizon. Clear Christmas-tree lights were strung through the trees, and little lanterns hung from the branches, creating a very romantic atmosphere. A band began to play, and several people strolled toward the temporary dance floor laid out on the lawn. I saw Joey looking around the room and decided hiding would be a wise choice.
Making my way to the back of the yard, I was aching to walk through the beautiful gardens and return to the old willow tree. The hedges of Photinias were way overgrown compared to the last time I was here. Pushing back the branches, I revealed the old white gate. Aint Elma’s sign still hung in the same spot. Darkness enveloped the gardens lingering beyond the gate. I could really use a flashlight.
“Need one of these?” a voice asked. I pulled my head out of the bushes, and standing next to me holding a small light attached to a key chain was a very cute boy. I didn’t remember seeing him at the wedding, but I had been seated early, so maybe he was sitting in the back. He looked a little older than m
e, with blond hair that curled around his boyish face and a big dimple in his chin. I could tell he was of some relation to Vinnie because they had the same deep-set eyes. Unlike Vinnie, who had dark eyes that watched everything, this boy had ice-blue eyes tinted with a sadness that made my heart melt.
“Um, no, I thought I heard a cat,” I lied.
He raised a dark eyebrow, which sharply contrasted with his blond hair, reached around me, and pulled back the bushes, exposing the gate. Busted.
“I caught a reflection off the sign when I was looking around earlier. Let’s go check it out,” he said, leading the way.
I hesitated. I mean, he wasn’t family; was I supposed to take a stranger into the garden? It was too late to think about it, since he was already through the gate, holding it open for me to enter. I followed.
We slowly wound our way around the bushes, and although I could only see fractions of the remaining gardens, my stomach knotted up like a fist ready to throw a punch. What were once beautiful flowers and green bushes were now brown and lifeless.
“Looks like someone used to have a garden back here…must have dried up. I’m Marco, by the way.”
“Jen. Are you a cousin?”
“No, I’m a nephew.” He laughed. “Are you a cousin?”
I laughed, thinking my question must have sounded dumb. “As a matter of fact…I am a second cousin.”
We continued to walk and came upon the vegetable garden. Rotten watermelons lay wasted on the ground. Gone were the orderly rows Aint Elma had created. I held my breath as we passed the brown stalks of corn and turned the corner. The willow tree sat in the back. Its branches still wept like a waterfall.
“Could you shine the light up on that tree?” I asked. Marco pointed his flashlight toward the willow.
The tree looked tired, almost depressed. My heart ached. Marco must have felt my anguish, because he put a hand on my shoulder. I felt a warmth trickle down my arm. He immediately withdrew his hand.
“It was so beautiful. I can’t believe Trish didn’t take care of it.”
“Let’s go back,” he urged. “I think the fireworks are starting soon.”
We made our way out of the garden, or what was left of it. As we walked toward the side yard, everyone was sitting in the chairs waiting for the fireworks show.
I saw Gertie standing with Joey. I marched up to her, grabbed her by the arm, and jerked her around to face me.
“What happened to the garden?” I asked sharply.
“Ow.” Gertie looked surprised at my question, then jerking her arm free, she said, “We watered almost every day, but as soon as the outhouse was taken away, everything started to die.” She lowered her voice. “I always thought that thing was haunted.”
I suddenly realized why my backyard was becoming a green wonderland. The outhouse was my fertilizer.
Marco had been stopped by a family member but had finally caught up with me. I introduced him to Gertie. I found it funny they had not met, but Gertie explained Vinnie’s family was huge and there were several relatives who couldn’t even make it to the wedding. I listened as Gertie, Joey, and Marco made small talk about certain cousins they had seen recently. The outhouse kept coming back to my mind. Was it haunted like Gertie suggested?
The fireworks started exploding overhead. I could hear the oohs and aahs of my family and the wows of the Italians.
I felt Marco move closer to me.
“Look up,” he coaxed me.
I raised my eyes, and the fireworks were magnificent. I overheard my mom say Trish had hired a professional fireworks company for the wedding. Everyone seemed to be enchanted with the display. My mom and dad had arms around each other and were gazing upward. Even Uncle Earl had pulled a chair up next to Aint Mable and was whispering in her ear.
“Let’s lie down on the grass so we can see better,” Gertie suggested.
Marco and I, Gertie and Joey, the twins, and several other Gambinos and Clouds lay down together to watch fireworks light up the sky. After a short time, Marco eased his hand in mine as we watched together. A warm sensation flowed up my arm. He sat up on one elbow and ran his hand up my arm, caressing my shoulder. The warmth seemed to be emanating from his fingertips. He followed the outline of my collarbone with his index finger, pausing at the shallow in the base of my throat. I turned my face toward him, and he leaned over and kissed me. My first kiss. Fire spread through my body. I opened my mouth slightly for his tongue to enter, and I felt the heat go straight to my boy-howdy.
My sister had told me Diane Valdez down the street had gone to third base with her boyfriend. If first base was this good, I was definitely ready to steal home.
Marco pulled away.
“Wow, that was pretty amazing,” he said.
I put my hand up to his chest and followed his shirt up to his throat. Along the way, my hand passed over something hard, a necklace. I pulled the corner of his shirt back to reveal a familiar piece of metal. Mother Earth was formed out of a pale stone, and I saw something sparkle, but Marco pulled my hand away, then buttoned up his shirt.
“I’m sorry,” I said, sitting up. “I was just admiring your necklace.”
“Yeah,” he said, now completely sitting, hands resting on his knees. “It was a gift from my grandfather.”
“Is he here too?” I asked.
“No, he died recently.” He said it with such sorrow, I couldn’t find the words to offer condolence to this boy I had just met.
The fireworks had finished, and Marco got to his feet. “I should go, but maybe I’ll see you at the next family function.” He leaned in and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Um, OK. See you ‘round.”
He was gone.
The fireworks ended, and I stood up, along with Gertie and Joey.
“So, you like Marco?” Gertie asked.
“I barely know him.”
“Ya know, his father owns Ferrari,” Joey said.
“Like the car?” I asked.
“Yep, thatta be the one.”
“What does your father own?” Gertie asked Joey.
“A funeral home.”
“Geesh.”
Chapter 20
October 2013
Holy crap! I came out of my daze and realized what Marco had had around his neck. A key. Maybe he could help me get Gertie and my key. I ran downstairs to use the computer, which sat on the desk adjacent to the bookshelves that housed Gertie’s collection of biographies. I logged on to the Internet and googled Marco Ferrari. Seconds later my screen filled with clips about car races and brought up a picture of Marco Ferrari and the last Formula One car race he’d won. I didn’t realize he raced cars, but I never was a fan of the sport. I scrolled through a few articles and realized after each race there were pictures of Marco celebrating, and he was wearing the key.
I came across a few pictures of him out publicly; apparently he was quite the catch. He was the most eligible bachelor last year from People magazine and was pictured in various other publicity magazines. The gossip columns were full of what Marco was doing and whom he was dating or wasn’t dating anymore. Thinking back, I remembered he was definitely cute when I first met him, but he had certainly filled out his Levis, based on the pics I was seeing. I realized he was only wearing the key in the race photos, never in the social ones.
The last clip was from the Formula One website, stating Marco would begin training for the Grand Prix next weekend. There was a link to the local gossip guru’s website. I clicked on the link, and in the “Gossip of the Week” box was a blip about the marriage of pop star Liv Regalado to Marco’s team member Enzio Tortino at the home of Wheelen Motorsports’ number one sponsor, Mafuso Motors. I went slack-jawed. Could Marco be one of the Mafusos? He just didn’t seem as smarmy as the others, but things could change in ten years.
I needed to get to New York. Even if Marco did work with the Mafusos, maybe he would still help me, or at least swap me for Gertie. I debated calling Jake. No, he would never l
et me swap places with Gertie.
I came across an old article about the death of Marco’s grandfather. There was a family photo taken three weeks before the death. The caption under the photo explained that Giorgio Ferrari, pictured standing in the back row, left, tycoon and founder of Ferrari Motors, was murdered Friday night at his office. I scrolled back up and enlarged the picture. The grandfather was a handsome, silver-haired man with a long face, dimpled chin, and sophisticated features. Next to him stood a short Italian woman with a partial frown on her face. Seated in front of them was Marco’s father. He was similar in features to the older Ferrari, except his hair was dark and he wore the Italian woman’s scowl. He had the same dimple in his chin.
Marco’s mother, seated next to his father, was a beautiful blond woman with blue eyes and a slight smile. That explained Marco’s blond hair. Marco stood next to his mother. He looked about eighteen in the picture and wore a mischievous grin, which accentuated his adorable family dimple. A younger girl, probably about fifteen, stood in front of Marco. He had his hand on her shoulder, typical of family photos.
Marco wore a black suit, as did all the men in the photo. But where his father and grandfather had on ties, Marco had his shirt open at the neck, and peeking out between the V was the Mother Earth I remembered from the wedding. The article went on to explain Marco’s grandfather Giorgio Ferrari was found dead at his office. All information surrounding the death was under investigation.
I scrolled through a few more articles and found one that said the death of Giorgio Ferrari was determined to be a homicide. The murder weapon was never located, and an investigation was pending. I couldn’t find any more information regarding any suspects or arrests made concerning the crime. I realized the picture was taken a few months before Cousin Trish’s wedding. Marco’s grandfather died around the same time as Aint Elma.
I decided a change of clothes was needed. Ace wouldn’t like the fact that I put away the rockin’ miniskirt and the stilettos, but New York was cold this time of year, so I chose a white cashmere sweater, black Dior pants, and black leather Marc Jacobs boots. When Ace arrived the next morning, we would be going to breakfast at Tiffany’s.
