I take it so she can stop poking me. A black and white dog-eared shot of a young girl in an ankle length skirt sitting at the lip of a grotto. I don’t know why, but the picture makes me long to go back to that time. To sit there in that grotto with her and ask her things. Things like…well I don’t really know.
Nana Lu stands over me wiping her face with a cotton napkin. “Why don’t you believe in magic, Stori? Don’t you believe?”
“I’m not a little girl anymore Nana Lu. Tell me more about this guy Cosimo.”
“Oh, I don’t believe Cosimo’s here in the Valley. If he were it would mean death for us all. But something must be done soon to ensure that wherever he is, he won’t get his hands on that crown. We…” she points to Concettina. “who still have the ancient magic to keep the Night’s Council at bay. When we have all passed then Cosimo just might find it. My dear, my dear. What will you poor children do when we are all gone?”
The word gone sets an awful aching inside me. Not gone. Not gone. “Nana Lu. Have my flyers dried yet?”
The rain seems to have let up a little. I better get back out there.
She glances into the kitchen. “Of course. They’re only but paper. You’re in a rush. I understand. I’ll fix you something to go.” She gets up and returns to the kitchen.
Before I follow her I look at Arty, sensing he has more to tell.
He lowers his voice so it doesn’t reach the kitchen. “Just ask Miss Beppy down the street. How come she can’t walk no more. There’s a war out there Putzarella. An ugly one that nobody can see. At least not for now.”
Back in the cold wet night, the rain’s picked up again, coming down hard.
Rising waters stream down into the gutters. I see one of my father’s flyers sail by. Then another. I bite back a scream. Oh no. Here comes the dark side of me. With a mighty thrust of my arm I fling the rest of them out onto the sidewalk. Stomping right over them I march my way south in the direction of the abandoned warehouse.
The Cage isn’t for everyone. I would never want my sister down here. Or my mother or my best friend, Ernestine. But for me the Cage is just fine. I like it. The forbidden pleasure of being somewhere illegal. The blare from the crowd. The shouting is so loud I can’t hear my own voice. I love that feeling—of speaking and no one can hear me, not even myself. Thoughts get drowned out too. The only thing that matters is the diamond in the center of the room.
I like to see the blood when they’re fighting. If skin doesn’t break what’s the point? The more bloodied and battered they are the better satisfied I become. Sometimes I get lucky. Sometimes there’s another girl who wants to fight. If the ref checks her out and weighs her and deems her a good match, he’ll give us a couple rounds.
Tony Carp is sitting with a few girls, some of his black friends from the Hills and Richie Ramera, that asshole. When Tony spots me talking with the ref he stands.
The ref’s got a girl, he tells me. “You got your gear?” he asks.
I heft the bag at my side. Replacing my textbooks and my doll Amanda are my sneakers, mouthpiece, gym shorts and a tank.
The ref turns and looks up to the booth. “Put her on the list,” he shouts. “Putzarella.”
My name goes up on the screen by the booth. Stori Putzarella vs. Christina Dexter.
Tommy Tapparelli’s boys are in the corner taking bets. It’s not an official business. They don’t make too much money off it. They just do it for fun.
On my way to the locker room Tony grabs my arm. “What are you doing?”
I wheel around to face him and the tears are already falling down my face. “What does she look like?”
I told him I loved him at the New Year’s Ball at school. Right in the middle of the dance floor I said, “I want you to be the first to kiss me, Tony. I love you.”
He looked at me like I had hurt his feelings or something and said, “I can’t Stori. I’m sorry. My heart belongs to another.”
It can’t be. Don’t you think if I could just get him to see how my heart beats only for him that I could make him love me?
“Please Stori. Don’t.”
“Who is she Tony? Is she prettier than me?”
“That’s not fair. You can’t do that.”
“Just tell me.”
“Okay. Okay fine. It’s Desma.”
I’m crushed. Desma is one of the prettiest girls in the Valley.
I wrench myself free of him in utter disgust. “Typical. Going for the bimbo with no brains. I hope she gives you an STD.”
Tony never reacts to my anger. That’s part of the reason why I love him. “Don’t fight tonight,” he pleads gently. “You’re not a boy Stori.”
I like that he doesn’t want me fight. It shows that he cares. But I’m still raging with jealousy over the thought of him being with Desma. “Don’t tell me what to do. You’re not a man.”
As I walk away he shouts. “You’re not made for this. Trust me. You’re made for something better.”
When my name is finally called and I’m inside the diamond I step forward and face my opponent. The ref goes over the rules but I’m not listening because I’ve done this already. Plus I’m not a rule breaker like that. I never play dirty. But I will beat her. This much I know. It’s not that I’m cocky or anything. It’s just that I understand what it takes to win a fight. Fearlessness and Crazy. I got plenty of both.
Someone is shouting, “Cat fight! Cat Fight!”
Tony stands and turns. “Yo! Shut the fuck up man!”
I don’t have time to think about him anymore. All that matters now is the adrenaline. It’s pulsing through my veins. Filling me to the brim. I’m bouncing and getting ready to make my first strike. She starts to move. She’s sizing me up. Her form is tight. Head tucked. She’s been formally trained. She knows technique. But I know the beast. And there’s no formal training for the beast.
I take a good jab to the ear and a foot to the calf. The first ones always sting. I like to take a few hits just to get numb anyways and what’s more I’ve got this thing about never being the first one to strike. Another one to the ear again and then a combo to the midsection.
That’s when I let the beast go and take a sound body shot. I hear the breath go out of her in a deep grunt. She backs up.
It’s good I took a pill this morning. I’ve decided I’ll start the pills again. I’ll get the crazy right out of me. Get a little disinterested. Disinterest is great for fighting. I don’t want to know you. I don’t need to know you. I just need to overcome you. I need you to submit.
I land a good one to her nose and she falls. She’s wide open on her back and I drop over her, straddling her tight. I pound and pound and pound and the noise gets louder. I don’t know how to stop myself. Once the pounding starts, I can’t quit.
The ref comes between us and shouts. “That’s it! That’s it!”
I stand and look up. People are cheering. Whistling. Howling. Tony Carp is out there somewhere but I can’t see him anymore. I only see the light. A different one than that which edged the barefoot girl standing on wet cobblestone. It’s the cold fluorescent glare above my head. I imagine myself just being born. Coming out of my mother’s womb. Bloodied and triumphant and filled with a screaming that has a very life of its own I look up and the first thing I see is the beautiful fluorescent light.
3: Priscilla
Not in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine this. I had no idea, the night I decided to stuff a single dress and a tracksuit into a duffle bag in that hellhole of a trailer park I once called home, that I would end up here in the city of glittering lights dining in a snug corner of a five star restaurant with Redemption’s Most Eligible Bachelor.
Nate is seventh generation aristocracy. His family has their legacy in oil.
I occasionally reflect on the girl I was before I met him and find myself snickering. I used to order prime rib at Applebees twice a month and shop at Target for my underwear. But that wasn’t my fault. Back in Erie I was a total ignoramus. I didn’t
know there was another life out there. A better life. Until Nate stepped in and showed me.
This Friday evening we are dining at our favorite revolving rooftop restaurant, Le Chíc, perched high above downtown Redemption. It’s always packed here, with a fast table turnover and a happening lounge where a DJ spins every Friday and Saturday night. The kitchen serves a combination of mainstream and exotic fare. Nate and I are friends with the owner, Tyler. He went to NYU with Nate. Tyler came up with the name in his junior year on one of his trips abroad. Le Chíc. Doesn’t it just sound young, hip and brand spanking new?
The clientele here are what Nate and his dad call Newbies (or New Money). Flashy business men and women who like to spend their money as soon as they get it. (And make sure all of upper class society is nearby to see.) They’re predominantly young, white and attractive. Like Trish over there, standing with the hostess, whispering something in her ear. She’s a natural red head with pretty long legs and well turned ankles. She’s a model. She got the contract for that massive billboard hanging over the I-95 expressway. It features her with a bubbly champagne glass in one palm and a pair of dice in the other. Neck craned, mouth parted, she’s staring straight ahead with a sickening little satisfaction on her face. Casino chips shower around her. Above her are the words: FUTURE FORWARD. STRIVE FOR BETTER AT STRIVE CASINO. Yes, Trish is a dish and everyone knows it. But she’s too thin if you ask me. If she’s so sure being a stick is hot then why do I catch her nervously eyeing my ass every time I walk by? My ass screams WOMAN. Take a bite of this, it says. Nate loves my ass. And so do I. There are lots of things I love about myself. You know, the me that always was. The me that was me when I was just a nobody packing up a duffle bag in Erie. I’d like to think that as far as I’ve come I’ve kept that girl with me.
“I started a new case today,” I tell him over the new age techno pumping softly from the surround sound. “In the Valley of course.”
“Slumming it again?” he asks grimly.
“Uh huh.”
“God. Can’t they assign you to some boring domestic dispute in the Ridges? Get you away from those third class heathens?”
“They could. But I’m good at what I do. And they need me down in the trenches.”
“I guess.” Nate is looking particularly handsome tonight, wearing a periwinkle button-down and skinny jeans. “So what’s this one all about?”
“An Italian family with two young girls.”
Nate lifts a fork of linguine, dripping with white clam sauce, into his mouth. He listens blankly as he chews. Nate has no patience for the people I deal with at work. He calls them The Walking Dead. I try not to bring up my cases with him, but I can’t shake the Putzarella one; it’s been keeping me up at night. “The father took off and the mom stopped working because she’s so upset.”
“Deadbeat,” Nate manages through a bite of sourdough baguette.
“I’ll have to remove the two daughters from the house.” Just saying it gives me a dreadful feeling in my gut.
“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Nate comments passively.
“But the oldest daughter, Stori, swears he was kidnapped. Some of the neighbors do too.”
“Mob?”
“No. Cosimo the Corpse.”
Nate looks confused. “Cosimo the What? Who the hell is that?”
“I never told you about Cosimo the Corpse?” I can’t help but laugh a little at the absurdity of such a notion.
“No. You missed that one. But do tell.”
“He was in the Medici Family. They say he’s undead and he’s hiding in our fine city of Redemption, and has evil plans to take over one day. They’re all afraid.”
“You sound like you’ve taken stock in this Corpse, my love.”
“Oh no. Of course I haven’t.”
“So the father’s not a deadbeat. He’s just been kidnapped by a dead guy from the Renaissance? Poor baby.”
“I know. It’s absurd.”
“I gotta tell you. Those people sure have some inventive ways in making excuses for their degenerate proclivities.”
I only half agree with him because I used to be one of those people—a degenerate. My family was very similar to the Putzarellas and I know how hard it is to rise up out of scum. Nate doesn’t know that about me. He thinks I came from Buttress, a quaint town just outside of Erie. He thinks my parents were schoolteachers and we lived in a modest raised ranch behind a white picket fence. I will die before I let him know I lived in a trailer park with an unemployed, Jesus-freak mother and a compulsive gambler lush of a father. I reach a hand over the table and caress the smooth skin on his knuckles. “Trust me. I know.”
“And only ignoramuses would believe in someone named Cosimo the Corpse,” he adds through another mouthful. Nate is a glutton when it comes to food....and sex...and money...and me. The me part makes me smile. “You’re sexy,” I tell him. “I hope I say it enough. That I think you’re incredibly sexy.”
Nate winks and wipes his mouth with his linen napkin. He places it back in his lap. After a sip of ice water he says, “So if you think the father’s gone off with this dead guy, close the case, get it off your desk. And get it off your mind. So we can get back to planning our amazing future. You know too much stress will give you wrinkles in that perfect skin of yours.”
Nate has always told me how beautiful I am. God, I thank my lucky stars for being pretty. It was the golden ticket that sold me out of the dump I came from. God was merciful to me, and I try to remember to thank Him.
“I don’t want to stress, baby. But something is holding me back from closing this one. I mean, there’s definitely serious neglect and the entire family is loony. But there’s also...” I’m not sure exactly what it is, so I think on it. “There’s also love there. The oldest daughter is going around the neighborhood putting up his picture everywhere. She said she won’t give up until she finds him. That’s some serious love.”
“Love,” Nate repeats robotically, opening his mouth so I can see what he’s chewing.
“Don’t be gross, grossy.”
We both get quiet. I can’t shake all the thoughts about Cosimo and bad fathers and love and Nate doesn’t want to deal with it.
“Listen, Pris. I know you’re an emotional person and that’s one of the reasons why I fell in love with you, but let me give you some advice, okay?”
“Okay.”
“The Valley is hopeless and the mayor needs to expedite his plans on razing all those old houses and shoving those backward people out of the city.”
“But the Valley is all they have. And so many of those people helped build Redemption.”
“Who cares? What I’ve learned in business is that in order to climb the ladder to the top, one can never look down. Ever. I mean, isn’t the city’s new Declaration and booming economy proof positive of that same sentiment? Future Forward. Free From the Past. If they want help, let them get on the ladder just like I did and climb.”
I’m not sure how much climbing was actually involved in Nate’s success, seeing how he’s been heir to a fortune since birth; but that’s not to say he’s not super ambitious, educated and always looking for ways to improve himself.
Anyways, he’s right about the Valley. I’m going to close the Putzarella case as soon as possible. People like that shouldn’t be allowed to even have children. The girls would be better off in a home. “You’re right,” I concede. “Everybody can help themselves.”
He frowns and my heart flutters. Damnit. Why did I upset him like that? “I’m sorry, babe. Look at me, not even appreciating this wonderful meal, letting my soup get cold.”
“You know you don’t have to work anymore, Pris. I’ve got us. Don’t you trust me?”
“Of course, babe. But I like my job. And it’s good for me to stay busy.” I can’t tell him the whole truth. That I’m scared of being dependent on him. What if I fuck up? What would happen then? I’d have only a duffle bag and a ticket back to Erie to fall back on.
Or worse—what if he fucks up? I can’t even bear the thought.
But what if the rumors are true? The ones about Nate still being in love with Trish. I catch her glance over at me with those icy blue eyes. She smiles and waves as if she’s only noticing me now. Then she mouths something to the hostess and they both have a nice giggle. Skinny bitch. Stay your flat ass away from my man.
“Keep it then,” he says. “If that’s what you want. You don’t have to do anything anymore, Priscilla, that you don’t want to.”
Nate has a knack for relaxing me. I lean back and take a healthy sip of wine anticipating a nice buzz to kick in soon. “Life is good,” I say to no one in particular.
Just then, I catch a bright blur of something in the corner of my eye. A flurry of movement draws my gaze across the room to silver white hair, thicker and longer than Trish’s, sprawling over both sides of a white ermine cape. The cape is full length, draping almost all the way to the floor and is fastened around her neck in braided red velvet. She’s entered from a side entrance. A door just beside the small bar at the cocktail lounge. I stifle a gasp, unable to explain the sensation that I’ve just witnessed a ghost in motion.
Nate twists in his chair. “Well I’ll be damned.”
The woman makes her way across the room, escorted by Tyler himself. Four busboys trot past them carrying a table for four, a single chair and all the accoutrements necessary for civilized dining. Before she even reaches the west window, her table is plopped down close to the glass; it’s draped in white linen and plated in a flash. A chair is pulled out for her and waiting.
“A queen,” I say involuntarily.
I want to be that woman with every ounce of my being. As she passes our table she doesn’t look our way, but Nate and I are openly oogling her. She looks to be in her early forties. Her face is not pretty, yet it possesses a kind of triumph that makes her stunning. Statuesque and fluid in her movements, she’s quite possibly the most elegant thing I’ve ever seen.
When she reaches her table she unfastens the velvet to let her fur fall into the hands of an eagerly awaiting busboy. He hurries off with his treasure with a terrified expression on his face, as if he’s carrying a bomb seconds from detonating.
The Book, the Key and the Crown (Secrets of the Emerald Tablet Book 1) Page 3
