Woman Named Red

by Stasia Black

  She nods, then glances back and forth between Kennedy and me. “Mmm hmm,” she says, one eyebrow arched. “Well, you’re fucking each other’s brains out, that’s obvious.”

  I choke on the sip of champagne I just took.

  Callie laughs and claps me on the back. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Vale’s always telling me I need to learn the art of polite bullshitting.”

  I laugh. “Oh no, please not on my account. I hate polite BS.” I lean in. “And you’re right. I am fucking his brains out. On the regular. But how could you tell?”

  “Are you kidding?” she laughs. “Sheesh, the two of you in a room together making those eyes at each other could start a four-alarm fire.” She starts fanning herself. “And hon, Lord knows I had myself my share of rough times in this life so I hope you know that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  She looks across the room at where Vale chats with Kennedy and her face—no, her entire body—softens.

  “But you gotta know, that even for girls like us who life’s taken a beating on—we can still get our happily ever after.”

  Um. Okay, I might like her and all. But she can’t be serious. Is this beautiful woman really going to stand here in her no-doubt designer gown, in this multi-million dollar mansion with her gorgeous fiancé and an adorable kid to boot—he must be out with a babysitter right now but I saw a picture of them all out on a green lawn grinning at the camera on a sunny day—and tell me she can relate to me?

  I keep a pleasant smile on my face but inside, I’m thinking, sure lady, I bet you’ve had some real hard times in your life. It must have been so stressful heading the cheer squad or being president of her sorority or whatever the hell problems she thinks she’s had. I hate it when people who have no clue what it’s really like out there try to freaking relate. Goddamn rich-ass liberals talking about the homeless problem from their eight million dollar mansions—

  “You think I’m full of shit, don’t you?” Callie laughs out loud. Vale looks over at us and smiles. Callie presses a kiss to her palm and waves at him, then turns back to me, amusement still dancing in her eyes.

  Which, you know, is pretty annoying. I really did like her when we first met, but I don’t stand for anyone laughing at me —

  “Look, hon,” she reaches out a hand to place on my elbow but then pulls back, probably seeing the unspoken expression on my face. The amusement leaves her eyes.

  “I don’t want to get into a war of who’s suffered worse in their lives,” she says, “but I was a desperate single mother for a bunch of years. I was shit poor and did things I’m not proud of to get out of the situation.”

  A single mother? My eyes shoot back to the picture on the mantle. So the little boy isn’t Vale’s. I look back over to him. He’s smiling affably with Kennedy. Everything about him says that he’s a man perfectly happy in his life.

  Again my gaze catches on Kennedy. He seems in his element with this wealthy man, drinking a dark amber-looking liquid out of a glass I’ll bet is real crystal. Again Vale laughs at something he says and I try to focus on the man who’s physically larger than Kennedy, even if not nearly as appealing to me.

  “How did you meet him?” I nod to Vale.

  She follows my gaze. I expect her to go soft again, but instead, I feel her body stiffen slightly.

  “I got a job working for his competitor a couple years ago. He was a very nasty man.” She knocks back her champagne glass and empties it in one long swallow.

  She closes her eyes and breathes out a long breath of air. Finally, she looks back at me after appearing to gather herself. “Vale started pursuing me because he wanted to save me.” She looks back at Vale and there it is again—the warmth, adoration, and absolute love. “In the end, we saved each other.”

  She smiles but it’s not a socialite’s smile.

  And damn. I’m starting to clue in that I was wrong. Way wrong. This is a chick who’s been through shit. Maybe even way worse shit than me. And survived.

  “I met Kennedy at a homeless shelter.” I just blurt it out. “And I wasn’t volunteering or anything.” I overheard Kennedy present it to his PA as if that’s what I’d been there for. But no, for whatever reason, I want this woman to know the truth. Or at least, some of it. I’m drowning in all my secrets.

  “I was there because I was homeless and hadn’t eaten in three days.”

  Francisco wanted me to seem ‘authentic.’ And it’s not like Enzo and I weren’t homeless before we approached the 12th Streeters. Two years we lived that way, summers and winters and everything in between. Sometimes we’d stay at shelters, but finding a bed at those places was like winning the damn lottery, and God, even when we did…

  I shudder thinking about what Enzo learned from the other boys there. That just reminds me of that last night, the night where we hit rock bottom, the one that made me so desperate I set out on this insane path.

  So no, no homeless shelters. It was better when it was just the two of us.

  Callie just nods. “I worried about that sometimes. I was only able to keep up on rent because my sister moved in with me. My baby slept in my room when he was small. If she hadn’t come through for us, though…” Callie shakes her head. “I was waitressing, living on tips, but I worried all the time. What if I got a major illness or got in some kind of accident? It’s not like waitresses get sick leave.”

  “Bingo,” I say sadly, pointing both fingers at her like she won the jackpot.

  “Oh shit.” Her face falls. “What was it?”

  I shift a little uncomfortably. “I don’t usually talk about it with people I just meet.”

  “Oh.” She pulls back. “Sorry if I’m being a nosy fuck. If it’s none of my business, just tell me to fuck off—”

  “No, no,” I hurry to say. “It’s just, sometimes people don’t know how to react to me after I tell them.” I shrug, a little embarrassed. “I’m just ‘cancer girl.’ Or you know, ‘homeless girl.’” I laugh one of those awkward laughs.

  Scarlet’s face has that look I hate—pity. Or at least that’s what I think until she start’s talking.

  “We just can’t let those labels stick, you know? From anyone else or even just in our own heads. Fucking well-meaning people would have us stay victims our whole life. I say fuck them.” She waves her hands. “I might be a gang-rape survivor, but am I gonna let that shit define the rest of my life? Fuck no!”

  For a second I’m speechless, but then I force myself to get over it. The last thing I want to do is give her the face in return. “Fuck no,” I say back, though it’s more of a whisper.

  “Fuck no,” she exclaims.

  Kennedy looks over at us, but Vale doesn’t even break stride in whatever he’s saying. Apparently he’s used to the way his kick-ass girl talks.

  So she’s seriously been through shit. And yeah, she’s completely kick-ass. In fact, she’s my new hero.

  “You ever face any of that shit on the street?” She’s gone laser-focused on me, her expression total mother hen.

  I shake my head and hope I can convey through my eyes my devastation that she had that experience. I feel again how miraculous it is that I’ve never been violated in that way, especially considering the way Enzo and I were forced to live sometimes. I was beaten up one night at a women’s shelter, but never violated. I hope she can see that I don’t pity her, but feel pain for her pain. I’ve seen the aftermath of plenty who weren’t as lucky as me.

  “Came close once.” I leave it at that. I always wrapped my breasts and wore overalls with a hoody to cover my hair, even in summer. I was tall enough I could pass for a boy with my brother. But two skinny teenagers were just what the three men who attacked us one night last year in our sleep were looking for. “We got away.”

  This time it’s me who drinks down my champagne. God, I’ll never forget the terror of that night. Waking up to men grabbing my legs and hearing Enzo’s terrified shouts. We’d picked up some steel pipes from a construction project downtown
and we always slept with them by our sides. We’d only ever threatened people with them before but I grabbed mine and started swinging blindly.

  The three guys were strung out and thought we’d be easy targets. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I just lay on the ground waving the pipe crazily around me. If I’d been alone, that night would have ended much differently.

  But Enzo…he just went crazy. He wasn’t only defending himself—he went on the attack. The guy who’d put hands on him went down quick, then Enzo started on the one who’d grabbed me. The third ran away as soon as Enzo landed a head-cracking blow that took the second guy down.

  “We?” Callie asks.

  “Oh.” I blink as I look back up at her. “Me and my brother.”

  Crap, I didn’t mean to mention him. So much for honesty. I look out the window toward the inner garden courtyard. “I sent him down south to do some seasonal work. When he gets back, I hope to be on my feet. Get him and me out of this city. Go somewhere cheaper where we can actually make a go of it.” A breeze sweeps through the garden and rustles the leaves of a tree that overhangs the small pond at the center of the courtyard.

  “He’ll go to college and I’ll get a steady job so I can take care of us…”

  And I can see it, too. Maybe Arizona or New Mexico? We’ll go live in the desert where no one else wants to live. That means it’ll be cheap. But we’ll have to settle near a university. Enzo just turned fifteen. He shouldn’t have a problem going back to school. I made a point of never letting him slack off on his studies.

  The past two years we regularly cleaned up enough to go to the library without too many odd looks. Enzo should be almost at-grade-level in all subjects. He’s not going to grow up knowing only useless skills like how to cook the perfect manicotti.

  He’s going to study math and science. Hell, he can even come back to Silicon Valley if he wants to—but as one of those techies typing away on their laptops, thinking up the next great app that teenagers can’t live without. He’s tinkered with that kind of stuff in the past whenever I could get him computer time at the library—programming and stuff. He’s good at it. He has a future. A bright future. I’m going to make sure of it.

  “You sure there’s nothing you’ll miss back here?” Callie asks, nodding toward Kennedy. He’s laughing at something Vale just said, head slightly thrown back, barrel chest moving up and down. His full-throated laugh echoes through the room and seeps into every aching chamber of my chest.

  I shrug, moving to the side table so I can pour myself some more champagne. Then I look at Callie levelly. “You and I live in the real world.”

  Her eyes soften. “Like I said—” This time when she reaches out to squeeze my hand, I let her. “Even the girls like us can get our happily ever after. Kennedy seems like one of the good ones.”

  A little bell rings and Vale comes toward us. “Dinner’s ready.”

  Kennedy looks my way, appearing for all the world like a besotted suitor as his eyes fall on me. I think about what Callie said.

  Kennedy? One of the good ones? He’s handsome, charismatic, and has appeared nothing but kind to me.

  But I, of all people, know just how deceiving looks can be.

  * * *

  Dinner is excellent, all delicious authentic Guatemalan food. I stuff myself on the chile relleno casserole, and the dessert, spiced-coconut coffee is to die for. The men talk some about their business ventures but toward the end of the meal, Callie mentions her and Vale’s recent vacation across southern Europe. I can’t stop myself from peppering her with questions about it. I’ve always wanted to visit.

  “So then where did you go?” I ask Callie, watching with fascination the looks of love and affection that pass between her and her fiancé.

  “Next was Italy, and oh my God,” Callie puts a hand to her stomach, looking at Vale. “I swear I gained ten pounds there.”

  Vale rolls his eyes and scoots his chair closer to hers. Then he wraps his arm around her waist and pinches her stomach. “More for me to love.”

  She swats at him and jumps away. “You are so dead, soon-to-be Mr. Calliope Cruise.”

  He holds his hands up in surrender. “Every inch of you is beautiful and always has been. That’s all I’m trying to say, soon-to-be Mrs. Jackson Vale.” Then he grins at her and a dimple I hadn’t noticed before appears on his cheek.

  Callie looks back at him and wowsa, she mentioned electricity in the air between me and Kennedy, but sheesh, talk about sizzle.

  Then her cheeks pinken as she looks back at me and Kennedy. “I’m sorry. You have to forgive us. We’re still in that disgustingly gooey period.” She scoots her chair a little further away from Vale, but he just scoots his chair close again. She shoots him a look but he only grins unrepentantly and slings an arm around the back of her chair.

  “So, Italy.” Callie looks back to me, cheeks still prettily flushed. Vale hasn’t turned his attention back to us—he’s just watching his fiancée, looking absolutely captivated. It makes something in my throat choke up, because watching them together…just, wow. I mean, I didn’t think love like that actually existed.

  Like she said, maybe it’s just the gooey lovey period. But she said she met him two years ago. And still they look at each other like they’ve just discovered the answer to the meaning of life in the other’s presence.

  “The food was amazing. We holed up at this little cottage in Naples and— What?” Callie tilts her head sideways and her eyebrows narrow at me. I must have reacted when she mentioned Naples without even realizing it.

  “Nothing,” I try to wave it away. “That’s just where my grandmother was from. She always talked about it when I was growing up.” I shrug, a little embarrassed. “I’ve dreamed of visiting one day.”

  Callie’s eyes go soft. “You will. You’ll see it.”

  I smile at her. I’m glad she got her happily ever after, I really am. But surely she’s not that far removed from all that she went through to remember that it rarely works out like that?

  She breathes out and narrows her eyes good-naturedly at me. “You’re going to be a tough nut to crack, aren’t you?”

  I laugh. “Optimism’s not my forte.”

  “Your grandmother,” Kennedy interrupts, and when I turn, I see that his focus is lasered in on me. “Is she the one who taught you to cook so well?” He looks at Callie and Vale. “I’ve never had such authentic, amazing Italian food before. Scarlet is a master but she’s had no formal training.” He turns back to me and smiles, but I see the question behind it. He’s trying to puzzle me out. “So is that your secret? You’ve been hiding a Napolitano grandmother from me this whole time?”

  “You got me,” I say, holding my hands up. “Grandma Scarlatti gave me lessons every day after school.”

  It’s not entirely a lie. Grandma worked in the kitchens at Bianchi’s until the day she died. Thinking of Nonna only makes me think of Dad and the restaurant, though, which just brings up the confusing mix of feelings I’ve been fighting all week.

  I push my plate away from me. “So what are you doing with your time now?” I ask Callie and try to force a smile. It’s definitely time for a topic switch.

  Callie goes with my less than smooth convo transition without question. “Jackson and I are working away at CubeThink’s next genius project. It’s all hush-hush, of course, but it’s exciting to see the product built from the very beginning design stages up.”

  “And don’t forget to mention you’ve been volunteering on the board of several important charity committees,” Vale puts in, eyes only for his fiancée.

  Callie’s face brightens. “Oh that’s right.” She looks back and forth between Kennedy and me. “Of course you two have to come to this year’s Bay Area Benefit for Cancer Research. You’ll hear so many other stories from fellow survivors and it’s such a great—”

  “What’s she talking about?” Kennedy’s sharp voice cuts Callie off and his chair scrapes on the tiled floor as he turns hi
s whole body to look at me. “Cancer? Fellow survivors?”

  I can feel all eyes on me.

  “Oh shit,” Callie says under her breath. “I just assumed you had told…aaaaaaaannnd I’ll stop talking now.”

  “You had cancer?” Kennedy’s voice is like a whip. He looks pissed. All his features have gone hard. “When? What kind? When was the last time you had a check-up?”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “Three-and-a-half years ago. Stage two melanoma. And six months ago at the free clinic. Any other questions? Because I love being interrogated in the middle of a dinner party.” I gesture over at Callie and Vale who sit silently watching us, eyes going back and forth like observers at a tennis match.

  “Yeah, I’ve got about a thousand more questions.” Kennedy moves in closer, completely ignoring Vale and Callie. “But first and foremost—how sick were you and why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because it was none of your business.” I push my chair back and slap my napkin on the table beside my empty plate. I’m glad I finished eating before we got on this line of questioning. It would have ruined what was truly a fabulous meal.

  “Where’s the restroom?” I stand up.

  “Down that hallway.” Callie gestures toward a corridor at the back of the room beyond the kitchen. “Last door on the left.”

  I nod with a tight smile and all but make a run for the hallway she mentioned.

  And a second later I hear Kennedy’s footsteps behind me.

  Oh my God. We’re at the house of one of his investment partners and he’s still going to come and make a goddamn scene?

  When I get to the bathroom, I try to close the door in his face, but his foot blocks me from shutting it.

  “Bastard,” I hiss under my breath.

  “Let me in, Scarlet.” His voice is low and dangerous.

  I step back and fling open the door. “I’m the one who had cancer.” I toss up my hands. “Why the hell do you get to be angry about this?”