by Stone Kiss
She stopped cold. “Your father molested you?”
Donatti noticed that she had gone pale. This time, he had hit something potent. “No, my father used me for a punching bag. Joey Donatti—my adoptive father—he used me as his bitch.”
He looked away.
“My mother was Joey’s mistress. He was crazy about her. After she died, I was an orphan and Joey took me in. Probably a deathbed promise he made to her. I was almost fourteen… at that weird in-between stage… not yet in full-blown puberty. Full of pimples, gawky. I was tall but skinny. Lithe, actually. Waiting for the muscles to come. I had long blond hair at the time… down to my shoulders.” He brushed his deltoid with his fingertips. “The fashion of the day.”
He glanced down, into Rina’s eyes.
“I looked like my mother. Joey used to take me into a room, make me kneel in front of him.” A pause. “He had me perform oral sex on him while he ran his fingers through my hair.”
“Oh my God!”
“It went on for about a year, maybe a little longer. Then his wife finally caught on… gave him some choice words. Also, I became too much of a man for him to pretend. But even so, whenever he’d kiss me, he’d jam his tongue down my throat. I still kiss him that way. Only now, I jam my tongue down his throat. That’s not sex, Mrs. Decker; that’s a power position. He’s my bitch instead of the other way around.”
Rina’s eyes moistened. “The man who was responsible for the rape in my community… he molested my children… my younger son in particular. Ten years later and my son’s still suffering. I only found out about it a year ago. You can imagine my guilt.”
“Does your son hold it against you?”
“No, not at all. Do you hold it against your mother?”
“No.”
“My son tries to protect me. My poor baby.”
“How is he suffering?”
She stared into space. “Maybe suffering is too strong a word.”
But Donatti knew it wasn’t.
Rina said, “He’s better now. But he had some drug problems, probably acted out sexually, although he’d never tell me that.” She stopped, trying to rein in her feelings. “He’s so brilliant, Christopher. Brilliant and popular with boys as well as girls. He’s absolutely gorgeous. The girls just love him.” She studied Donatti’s face. “Maybe that’s not such a good thing.”
“It’s a double-edged sword.” Donatti paused. “Your son… does he look like you?”
Rina didn’t answer.
Donatti said, “Could be it was like Joey. That the bastard wanted you, but he took your son instead.” He laughed. “Bet you never thought we’d have anything in common, Mrs. Decker. What happened to him? The unnamed molester.”
“He spent time in prison. He’s been out on parole for three years.”
“Where is he now?”
“Somewhere in the Midwest.”
“Somewhere in the Midwest, huh?” Donatti laughed. “You’ve probably memorized his address, his phone number, and everything about him, including how many times a day he pees.”
“Two-one-five Kingsley Avenue, Medford, Indiana. And yes, I do know his phone number, as well as where he works, and what car he drives, and which church he attends. However, I don’t know how many times a day he goes to the bathroom.”
He smiled. “Okay. Now I know you’re for real. Has he bothered you?”
“No, he has not. But I don’t think it’s a coincidence that my son’s problems began around the same time he was released. Hold still, please.”
Rina continued on, grateful for his silence as she cleansed, swabbed, and dressed his sores. He managed to keep from squirming, even though she knew the procedures had to hurt. His eyes were wet with pain, but she wondered how much of it was physical discomfort, how much was emotional remnants of what he had just confessed. When she was done, she stood up. “You want me to put your shirt back on?”
“No thanks, Mrs. Decker, the thought of anything touching my skin raises my hackles.”
“I suppose this is the part where I thank you for saving my life.”
“Want to pay me back?”
“No sexual comments, please.”
“None. I’d like to draw you.”
“No.”
“I’ll behave both on the paper and off the paper. Nothing you wouldn’t like or approve of. Nothing you couldn’t show in public.”
“No.”
“You know, you’re in my place. I was gracious enough to talk to you. Not to mention the fact that I prevented your children from being motherless.”
She met his eyes with her own. “The last time you drew someone, you ended up in prison. Learn from experience, Christopher. Besides, I have to get back to Brooklyn to pick up my daughter. That’s your cue to let me out.”
“You mean, you don’t like the stench of rotten meat?” He unlocked the door and she walked into the open space. It felt as if she’d been released from jail. Suddenly, her head began to spin.
“You look pale,” Donatti said. “Maybe you should rest.”
Rina felt weak. “Maybe for just a few moments.” She fell into a chair, her head having exploded into a million pinpricks. She propped her feet on a box. “Gosh, I’m so dizzy!”
“It’s breathing in all that alcohol in confined quarters.”
“It didn’t bother you.”
“I’ve sucked up more chemicals than a laboratory hood. My brain’s used to it.” Donatti regarded her. “I could draw you just like that.”
Rina covered her face with her purse. “Go away! Go to sleep. I’ll let myself out.”
“Sure. In a minute.”
He waited a minute. In fact, he waited five minutes—the time it took for Rina to doze off. Fifteen minutes later, her sleep was deep. The purse, which had covered her face, had slid down to her chest and rested on her bosom, rising and falling with each breath she took. Donatti watched her slumber, his eyes studying her face and body. Even in repose, she maintained modesty, her legs crossed at the ankles, her dress pulled down to her knees.
He’d wake her in an hour. While he waited, he went to his art-supply cabinet and with great effort lugged out his charcoals and several pads of paper. Though he sketched Rina, his thoughts, as always, drifted to Terry. His longing for her was so all encompassing that his throat clogged. He wondered what she was doing, if she ever thought of him when they weren’t together.
Terry had been right about one thing. He wasn’t marriage material. Nor was he paternal material. Though he loved Gabriel on some egotistical level—something that had emanated from his debilitated loins—he purposely kept his distance. Maybe Gabe could live the life that fate had prevented him from having. But it wasn’t just karma that had turned him bad. Had Donatti been of stronger character, he could have pulled away. But he wasn’t that strong—and he was that lazy. Equally as important, his current life was a rush—exciting, unpredictable, a chemical and sexual high. He was too entrenched to go back. He, like Esau, was a natural hunter.
His eyes drifted onto Rina’s outline. He had told her he didn’t force women. And that was true. He didn’t force women—unless he wanted to. Rules were good until they weren’t good. Then he broke them. There was a time—not long ago at all—when he had thought about fucking her in every orifice, using every position known in the Kama Sutra while she begged him not to. Yeah, he’d force her at first. That was the thrill. Then, of course, she’d get into it. She’d start moaning and groaning and plead with him not to stop. She would buck under his weight, writhing in pleasure until she’d ultimately give way to orgasm. And then after she had come, after every cell in her body had been spent from climax, he’d pop her: a quick shot to the chest, exploding her heart. His final revenge on Decker because the motherfucker had taken Terry away from him.
But now as he sketched her, witnessing her sleep so pure, so complete, Rina had transformed in his mind into all that was chaste and good. Any sexual fantasy with her would be totally obscene—an act of incest. Any tho
ughts of harming her had been erased from his mind.
His own mother had died when he was fourteen.
Maybe this one would stick around a little longer.
His own Madonna.
The image sat well with him.
26
I was dead to the world, deep in REM, but my brain must have registered some autonomic signal. As I groped for the phone, I felt my heart banging in my chest; my head dipped in foggy consciousness. I must have said hello because she spoke, saying words that I couldn’t yet integrate. When I heard the word “lieutenant,” I came alive. The clock on my nightstand told me it was three-fifteen in the morning.
“I know who you are,” I told her. “Is your husband okay?”
“The lieutenant is fine,” she assured me. “I’m terribly sorry to wake you up like this, but I just came from your boyfriend’s place. He’s not feeling well. I thought you’d like to know.”
“My boyfriend?” I was agitated, not fully awake. My voice was heavy; my speech was clipped and confused. “I don’t have a boyfriend. Who are you talking about?”
“I’m not making myself clear,” she explained. “I’m not in Los Angeles, Terry. The lieutenant and I are in New York.”
New York.
Okay.
At least, I now knew whom she was talking about. She had the good sense not to use names. I often heard unexplained clicks on my phone. Not surprising considering who had fathered my son. “Is…” I was having trouble catching my breath. “Is the lieutenant having some kind of problem with him?”
“No, the lieutenant is fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. I only called because of your boyfriend. He really isn’t feeling well.”
Again my heartbeat soared. My first thoughts were concern for his actual welfare. Almost simultaneously, those thoughts blurred into what would happen to my son and me if he were permanently compromised. Not very noble, but survival was a very strong instinct. I had a child to care for. I had two years of medical school remaining. I had a severely damaged credit history, a very humble savings account, and no other means of support. His well-being dictated my own.
I’d been silent for a long time. “How sick is he?”
“He’ll be fine, but you might want to pay a visit. I’ve booked you and your son on a ten o’clock from O’Hare to La Guardia. If you’re not interested, I’ll cancel it.”
My head was awhirl with the logistics of the visit. Could I afford the plane fare? Could I afford a baby-sitter? Could I afford to miss school? Silly musings. In the end, I had no choice. “I’ll keep the reservation. But it’s better if I leave my son at home with a baby-sitter.”
“I’ll cancel his reservation then.”
“I can do it if you give me the particulars.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. Let me get a pencil and paper.”
She gave me the flight number and the locator letters.
“This took some work,” I told her. “Thank you very much.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Who’s paying for the ticket?”
“It’s been taken care of.”
“Boy… if he asked you to call me, he must be really sick.”
“No, he’s not really sick. I’m sure he’ll be fine. But I think he’d appreciate a visit. Actually, he doesn’t even know that I called you. That was my idea.”
“You aren’t paying for the ticket, are you?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I’ll pay you back—”
“Please, I mean it,” she insisted. “Not another moment’s thought. This will be our secret.”
“All right.” I thanked her again. “Please say hello to the lieutenant for me. Send him my fondest regards. Tell him things are going well.”
“I will. I’m glad to hear that.”
“Thank you.” The moments ticked on. “You’re a very lucky woman. Then again, I suppose the lieutenant’s a very lucky man.” I heard myself chuckling over the phone. “Of course, people do create their own luck, don’t they?”
“Some people get the breaks.”
“That’s nice of you to say, but I really do believe that people make choices. Of course, no one is doomed by one’s past mistakes. Instead of drowning in the flood, you might as well build a swimming pool.”
The Levines’ two-bedroom apartment was considered large by New York standards. Decker figured that “large” must have referred to height. While it was true that the ceilings were ten-feet plus, all that air didn’t add a toenail’s worth of square footage to the floor space. Jon and Raisie had been kind enough to put him up in the kids’ bedroom for privacy, moving their three small children to the living room on couches and futons. The kids’ quarters were all beds— bunk beds and a second twin abutting the lower bunk. Decker had slept, sprawled out over the two lower twins, using the upper berth for his suitcase because there was no room in the closet for his clothes. There was a small desk jammed into a corner, but it was piled so high with papers and supplies that it was in danger of avalanching.
Somehow he managed to squeeze his six-foot-four frame into the bathroom to shower. Using only a modicum of contortion, he shaved, dressed, and said his morning prayers. By ten, he owned the place. Raisie had gone out, first to walk the kids to school, then back to shiva, but she had shown ample consideration by leaving him a full pot of brewed coffee and the New York Times. Jonathan had left early, had taken the subway to work, leaving him the van.
He was on his second cup when his cellular rang. Rina was on the other end of the line. “How’s your face?”
“It’s still there.”
“Peter—”
“Swelling has gone down considerably. I feel a lot better.”
“That’s the Darvocet talking.” “Thank God for pharmaceuticals.” Decker put down the paper. “You sound rested.”
In fact, Rina hadn’t slept more than three hours in the last thirty. By the time she had made it into Orlando, it had been close to nine. Then it took another hour by car to get to the Deckers’, who lived outside of Gainesville. “I’m very happy to be here. I wish you were with me.”
“Soon, darlin’. How’s everybody treating you?”
“Wonderful. Hannah has already baked two batches of cookies.”
“Can I talk to her now?”
“She and your mother are out picking beets in the garden. Your mom is going to teach her how to pickle and can. Then they’re moving on to pie baking. Later on, Hannah and I may take a bike ride.”
“Weather must be a pleasure after New York.”
“It’s in the fifties right now, supposed to get up to the sixties. Full sun. Should be beautiful. Am I tempting you?”
“You jezebel.”
Rina stifled a yawn. “I really should see what they’re doing.” I really need to go to sleep. “Randy has been standing over my shoulder. He’s not pleased about your being there, either. He wants to talk to you.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Just a few salient details about the situation that you conveniently left out.”
“You’re making my life difficult.”
“That’s the idea. It’ll motivate you to get the heck out of there.”
“Put my brother on.”
She gave the receiver to Randy and mouthed that she was going to bed.
Randy nodded. Into the phone, he said. “How’s your face?”
His voice was serious—all cop. Decker said, “I’m fine. I’m sure Rina exaggerated.”
“I’m sure she didn’t. We’ve been talking, bro. I should get out the mustard cause someone’s been hotdoggin’.”
“I’m sitting at a table, reading the New York Times, drinking coffee. Does that sound like any Sam Spade you’re aware of?”
“We need to talk, Peter. Are you on a land phone?”
“I’ll call you back in two.” And he did. “I’m here. Are you calling just to blast me, or do yo
u have actual information?”
“You can dish it out, but you can’t take it.”
Randy was talking from concern, so Decker held his tongue. “What do you have for me?”
“Okay, here we go,” Randy said. “Okay. I ran Lieber through the channels in Miami-Dade County, and nothing pulled up. Nothing on Chaim Lieber, nothing on Ephraim Lieber, nothing on the old man. I keyworded Lieber on extended counties. Again zero. Ran them through NCIC. Zilch. There are other databases, but it’ll take time. Since you’re supposedly done with the case on Friday, I say why bother.”
“You’re right. Don’t bother.”
Randy hesitated. “So you really are coming Friday?”
“Yes, I really am coming Friday. I promised Rina. I promised Hannah. And now I’m promising you.”
“Good. In that case, I’ll tell you what I did find. I keyworded Quinton into our local system, expecting to find nothing. Instead, I found out that some of the people from there own places on the Gold Coast—Miami/Dade, Boca, and Fort Lauderdale. I also pulled up information on some of the Chasidic Jews from Quinton, mostly having to do with them embezzling funds for the religious-school systems. Do you know about this?”
“A little. Fill me in.”
“Several members of the Jewish community who were on the school board were indicted for commingling public-school funds with the bank accounts of their religious schools. There were also some allegations of inflated enrollments to get more money from the school district. Finally, something about welfare fraud and food stamps. You’re working with some real fine fellows up there.”
“Not most of them.”
“Enough of them to make it look bad.”
“You said several members. What are you talking about? Two, maybe three people? I’d say that’s less than par for the course in city politics.”
“Don’t get defensive.” A long pause. “You’re probably right, Pete. It’s just that they’re visible and hold themselves up to something better. Makes you fair game for getting shot.”
Decker conceded the point. “What can you do? People are people.”
“It feeds into the stereotype. If I didn’t know Rina, I would think you are absolutely out of your friggin’ mind to be associated with them. Even with Rina, I sometimes think you’ve gone overboard.”
