“They’ve been like that since he was little!” Teresa complained an hour later. “They think he’s an angel.”
“Of course that’s what your mother wants to think! And your father? Who knows? Like father like son? I don’t even want to think about it.”
Teresa sat at the table of her oldest friend, Bernie D’Armelio. She knew she was in for a talking to when she got home after stealing away from church while her parents and the aunts went to Communion. She was sure some variation of “it’s a sin” would be awaiting her, but she didn’t care.
“We’ve known each other since we were two,” Bernie said. She took a deep drag from her cigarette and exhaled. “You always complain about how the boys get to do any goddamned thing they want and the girls have to behave. It’s never going to change. We’re fucking Italians, for Christ’s sake. It’s just the way it is.” She tapped the ash off the end of her cigarette.
“I know, but it still makes me angry,” Teresa said, reaching for another doughnut and dunking it in her coffee. “And poor Angelina. She thinks Gianni is waiting for their wedding night.”
Bernie choked on her coffee. “Him? Those goddamned pants he wears are so tight, you can see him get a hard-on every time he looks at a girl. And she’s stupid enough to think he’s waiting?”
Teresa screwed her eyes shut. “Bernie, don’t. Jesus. You just about made me sick.”
Bernie laughed. “And you. Still a virgin. If you would ever let a penis get near you—”
“I don’t want a penis near me, with or without a man attached to it,” Teresa said flatly. “I’ve never met a man who wasn’t a prick. Why would I want that?”
Bernie shrugged and took another drag from her cigarette. “You’ve got a point there. You know what Tom did last night? He cancelled on me. Said he had to be home with his wife. Goddamned bastard.”
Teresa looked at her friend and saw tears shining in her eyes. “Why do you—?”
“Don’t,” Bernie cut her off. “I know it’s stupid. I know I should stop. But I love him. Have you ever loved anyone so much you would have done anything—anything—to be with them? Even when you know it’s wrong? God, just to feel him touching me, kissing me. No one has ever made me feel like that.”
“You sound like a drug addict,” Teresa said, secretly glad that she had never felt anything so… destructive, she decided was the right word. Not that she would ever say that to Bernie. No matter what, their friendship had always lasted, and it always will, Teresa thought now as Bernie ground out her cigarette.
Bernie sniffed and reached for another cigarette. “You want to stay for dinner? You know my mom would love to see you.”
Teresa sighed. “I can’t. I’m in enough trouble as it is. We’re having the aunts over for dinner today. I gotta get home and help or there’ll be hell to pay.”
“When are you going to move out and get a place of your own?” Bernie asked.
Teresa laughed. “Who are you to be asking that? You still live here with your mom.”
“Yeah,” said Bernie. “But I don’t work with my folks. And my mother doesn’t care where I go or when I come home. Your situation is just weird. Too close.”
“Well,” Teresa said with a sigh. “I don’t even know if I could afford to move out. I haven’t had a raise in ten years. How do you ask your father for a raise? Then he’d ask why I need more money.”
“You are fucked,” said Bernie.
“Bernice Jean, stop with the language.”
“Sorry. I forget. But you could get a job somewhere else. Some other pharmacy.”
Teresa’s eyes got big. “Oh, that would go over well. ‘We paid for your education. We poured our blood, sweat and tears into this business. Why? To give you and your brothers something for when we’re gone.’ Yeah. I can just hear it now.”
Bernie took another pull from her cigarette and tapped the ashes into the overflowing ashtray in front of her. “Well, Robbie got away.”
“Way away,” said Teresa. “So far away my parents won’t even speak to him.”
“That’s because of the divorce,” said Bernie.
“Yeah, but things were already strained even before the divorce,” Teresa said. “I thought my dad was going to have a stroke when he dropped out of pharmacy school.”
“But he’s doing great in real estate,” said Bernie. “Probably making more money than your dad.”
“Maybe,” Teresa said. “But that doesn’t matter to Pop. All that matters to him is that his oldest son didn’t follow in his footsteps.”
“Maybe his daughter shouldn’t, either,” Bernie said, grinding out her cigarette and reaching for another.
“How’s my goddaughter doing? We didn’t get a chance to talk in the car.”
The house was noisy, filled as it was most Sundays with talk and laughter and the wonderful aroma of food. Some weekends, everyone gathered at the aunts’ house, where the four unmarried sisters still lived in their parents’ home, but today the aunts were here along with Lou’s sister, Betty, and her husband, Dom Senior.
Teresa caught the not-so-subtle scold. She turned and smiled. “I’m good, Nita. How are you?” She turned back to the loaves of bread that she was preparing with melted butter and garlic.
“Oh, my feet hurt, my legs hurt, my back hurts,” said Anita, sitting down at the kitchen table. The chair creaked ominously under her weight. “I’m just waiting for God to take me.”
Teresa opened the oven and put the baking sheet with the bread inside. “Well, that’s not going to be for a long time.” She went to the sink to wash the brush and cup she’d been using for the butter. “How’s Ana Maria doing since her heart attack? She seems weak.”
“She’s not so good,” Anita said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “She’s not so sure it was a heart attack. She thinks maybe it’s cancer and those good-for-nothing doctors are too lazy to do more tests. She feels so tired all the time.”
“Well, you do feel tired after a heart attack,” Teresa said. “Even a mild one, like hers. Part of the heart is damaged and it doesn’t pump blood as efficiently anymore.”
“See? You know more than those doctors,” Anita declared. “You should have gone to medical school. Then we’d have a doctor we can trust.”
Teresa laughed. “You wouldn’t listen to me as a doctor any more than you listen to me now.” She dried her hands on a towel and turned to face her aunt. “How about you? Are you keeping an eye on your blood sugar? Watching what you eat?”
Anita waved her hand again, shooing away like an annoying fly a discussion she didn’t want to have.
“See what I mean? Aunt Nita,” said Teresa, taking a seat at the table. “Diabetes is serious stuff. You have to take care of yourself. I want you around as long as Nonna was.”
Anita snorted. “Heaven forbid! I don’t know if I could stand being here until I’m ninety-six.” She looked shrewdly at Teresa. “And what about you? Haven’t you met any young men? No one you’re interested in? You’re thirty-four now. You’re not getting any younger.”
Teresa was saved having to answer by the sudden and noisy entrance of her mother with Aunt Betty and two more aunts, Luisa and Elisa, whose headache was better now that there was food in the offing. Together, they were clustered around Teresa’s sister Francesca, five months pregnant with her third child. The older women were fussing about Francesca’s sudden craving for calamari and arguing whether that meant she was having a boy or a girl. Sylvia and the aunts took over in the kitchen, making Francesca sit at the table with Anita.
“Where’s Chris?” Teresa asked.
“He got called in to the hospital this morning. I keep telling him he should have been a dermatologist, not an anesthesiologist,” Francesca said with a wave of her hand that reminded Teresa of Anita.
Teresa quickly stepped back out of the way as Elisa brought a
bowl of pepperoncini to the table. “If the baby kicks when you eat something hot, it’s a boy,” she said, pushing the bowl at Francesca.
“If it kicks when she eats something hot,” argued Betty, “it means she’s getting indigestion.”
Is that going to be me? Teresa sometimes worried, watching her aunts mill around, all overweight, all with mounting health problems, all dependent on one another. Except I’d be alone, she realized. Francesca and Chris had a house close to the hospital so he could get there quickly when he was on call. No way Robbie or Gianni would stay here with her once Sylvia and Lou were gone. No, the only future she could see for herself was one with her staying on here, looking after her parents until they passed and then… what? She couldn’t see any further, but no matter what she saw, it didn’t look like this, loud and happy.
Her thoughts were interrupted by her mother pushing a steaming bowl of marinara sauce into her hands. “Go check on the table, will you?”
Teresa carried the bowl out to the dining room where the table was stretched to its max, and still they needed a card table set with four more places. In the living room, the men were gathered around the television, watching the Steelers game. There was a roar as Franco Harris charged through the Browns’ defensive line to score a touchdown. Gianni had finally appeared, having slept in until almost eleven, “and not making it to Mass,” Teresa had pointed out to her mother whose only reply had been to scold Teresa again for leaving Mass early. She could hear the kids running upstairs.
Ana Maria was already sitting at the table.
“Can I get you anything?” Teresa asked.
“A glass of wine would be good,” said Ana Maria.
Teresa frowned. “Are you allowed to have alcohol?”
Ana Maria’s temper flared. “If I can’t have a little wine on a Sunday, then God take me now!” She slapped the table to emphasize her point.
“Okay, okay,” said Teresa, going to the sideboard where three bottles stood ready to be poured with dinner. She uncorked a bottle of Chianti and poured a small amount in a glass. “Here you go. It’s a good blood thinner.”
Ana Maria chuckled. “So it’s good for my heart?”
Teresa nodded. “Good for your heart.”
Ana Maria reached out and squeezed Teresa’s hand. “You’re a good girl. I don’t know what we’d do without you. I keep saying—” But whatever it was that she kept saying went unsaid as Sylvia called everyone to the table.
The men came slowly, stopping to watch “just one more play” as Sylvia and the aunts filled plates for them and for Francesca’s two children, Daniela and Rickie.
“Sit with us, Aunt Teresa,” they said, pulling her to one of the chairs at the card table.
The men were finally seated as Sylvia and her sisters fussed to make sure everyone had what they needed.
“Ma, sit down,” said Teresa. She reached across the table and cut Rickie’s ravioli for him. He already had a face full of sauce. Teresa swiped her napkin across his face before he could squirm away.
The women had barely sat down when Gianni shoveled the last of his ravioli and gnocchi into his mouth and stood. He untied the napkin from around his neck and wiped his mouth.
“Where are you going?” Sylvia demanded.
“I got a date,” he said. He took a comb from his back pocket and ran it through his hair.
“Oh, John Travolta’s got a date,” Teresa said.
“Shut up,” Gianni shot back. “At least I know what a date is.” He gave Sylvia a practiced smile. “Got to go to another dinner at Angelina’s.”
“Tell Angelina’s family we said hello,” said Sylvia, her tone changing immediately.
Teresa almost choked. “If he’s going to Angelina’s, then I’m Annette Funicello,” she said, but her comment was lost as the Steelers scored again and Lou roared, nearly upsetting the entire table when he jumped up. Lou carried his plate out to the living room where he could eat and watch the game. Dom looked around to see if Lou was going to get yelled at, and then followed with his plate. The women resumed their conversation, and Teresa turned back to her niece and nephew, who were squirting ricotta through their teeth. With a sigh, she reached for her wine glass.
CHAPTER 4
A hard October frost had hit overnight and the windows of Ellie’s bus were steamed up. People hunkered down into heavy coats and scarves, some with hats pulled low—like armor, she thought as she looked around. Maybe that’s why we need holidays in winter, because everyone pulls in and puts up armor. We need a way to keep from turning into hermits.
She stood as she neared her stop. “Have a nice day, Larry,” she said as she hopped down the steps.
“You, too, Ellie.”
She briskly walked the last couple of blocks to the bank. Her breath puffed out in frosty blasts. Out of habit, she scanned the faces of people she passed, hoping for some sign of something that looked familiar.
“Morning, Mr. White,” she said as she entered the staff room and hung her coat in her locker.
“Morning, Ellie,” said Bill who was pouring himself a cup of coffee and talking to the man who had tried to ambush her lunch break a couple of weeks previously. “Have you met Aaron Myers? He’s one of our loan officers.”
“We almost had the pleasure,” said Mr. Myers with a wide smile. He took Ellie’s hand and held it longer than necessary. Ellie pulled her hand away and turned back to her locker as the men left the staff room, leaving the countertop littered with plastic stirrers and empty sugar packets.
The back door opened and the head teller, Suzanne, came in.
“Hi,” said Ellie as she grabbed a paper towel to wipe the counter clean.
“Why are you always so cheerful?” grumbled Suzanne, who was struggling to shrug out of her thick coat.
Why are you always so crabby? But instead of saying it, Ellie smiled and helped her off with her coat. “It makes the day go by faster,” she said. “You should try it, Suzanne.”
She left the staff room, not waiting to hear whatever it was Suzanne was starting to say, and went to the vault to get her drawer. She took it to her window and counted her money, marking her money sheet as she counted. It was exactly as it should be. The other tellers, Suzanne and another young woman named Linda, carried their drawers to their windows and likewise counted their money while Mr. White stood at the front doors, holding a pocket watch in his hand. A customer stood shivering outside, but Mr. White waited until precisely nine o’clock before turning the key to unlock the doors.
From above her, Ellie heard voices. She looked up to see Aaron Myers talking to another man, gazing down over the balcony to the bank lobby below. His eyes met Ellie’s, and she quickly lowered her head, rearranging her paper clips and pens.
She smiled her way through the morning, greeting each customer who came to her window, remembering some of them by name. That always made them smile in return and it had become a kind of game to her, to see how many people’s names she could remember. Sometimes, it was the only way to keep from screaming at the sameness of the days. Lunchtimes lately had been spent indoors as it was too cold to eat in the park. Day after day, Ellie had listened to Linda talk about her upcoming wedding—the engraved invitations that the printer had messed up, the guest list her mother kept adding people to, her latest fitting for her dress, the squabbles among her bridesmaids. Ellie nodded and smiled, her eyes glazing over, but listening to Suzanne was even worse as she complained daily about her husband who had been laid off from a steel mill, sitting around the house in his underwear all day, not doing anything, not looking for work, waiting for her to get home and make dinner after working at the bank all day.
Ellie felt a rumble from her stomach, and looked at her watch. Fifteen minutes left before the bank closed for the lunch hour.
“He did it again,” Linda said, turning from the drive-through window.
“Lou Benedetto,” said Linda with a frustrated sigh. “He always drives off without his deposit receipt.”
Ellie looked up. “I’ll take it to him.”
Suzanne looked at her as if she were crazy. “We usually just mail it.”
Ellie walked over to Linda. “I have to run an errand at lunchtime anyhow. It’s no problem. I can walk it down there… if I can take a little longer than my half-hour?” she added as Bill White came by.
“Lou is a good customer,” he said. “Sure, take it to him if you don’t mind. Linda can count your drawer. It’ll make us look good. Thank you, Ellie.”
Ellie stifled a laugh at the rancorous look on Linda’s face. She took the receipt and went to the back to get her coat from her locker. Tucking the receipt securely in her pocket, she remembered to grab her sandwich from her backpack.
She walked quickly, eating as she went, but the smells of food as she passed through the Polish neighborhood made her jumbo sandwich seem less than appetizing. You have food, she reminded herself sternly. You don’t need to spend money on more, but she gazed longingly at the plump pierogi steaming on the plates of the customers inside Kowalski’s Diner.
She smiled and said hello to the people she passed, until, coming to an intersection in Bloomfield, she didn’t know which way to turn. “Excuse me.” She hailed a passing woman laden with a stuffed shopping bag hanging from the crook of her elbow. “Can you tell me where Benedetto’s Drug Store is?”
The woman pointed. “One block that way.”
“Thank you,” said Ellie.
Cast Me Gently Page 3
