by Lou Aronica
Mickey could understand his father’s fascination. There was just something luminous about his little sister. She was tiny, her voice was reedy and very high (something she retained even into adulthood), and she seemed to smile whenever she spoke. The result was that she appeared elfin and even somewhat otherworldly. Mickey found her mystifying and precious. There was little doubt in his mind that Theresa was the special one in the family. She got the best grades in school, made the most friends, and even somehow seemed exempt from the endless and often cruel teasing that the neighborhood boys foisted on all the other girls.
She was charming and she was charmed. Until Jackie Pandolfo came along. If Michael and Mickey could have designed the ideal man to court Theresa, it would have been Jackie. He loved his mother and he had a good job at the shoe store. He was polite and deferential, but he knew how to defend himself, and could kick back with a few beers and talk sports. Most importantly, he revered Theresa and made it clear to the entire world that he considered himself the luckiest guy on the planet to be with her.
Perhaps Jackie really couldn’t believe his good fortune. Perhaps he was convinced that eventually Theresa was going to realize that he wasn’t in her league. Mickey considered a lot of theories about what led up to that July night when Jackie saw Theresa innocently trading pleasantries with Victor Trulio. Victor had a reputation for stealing girls’ hearts, and Jackie clearly thought that he was in the process of taking Theresa’s. Mickey had no idea what snapped in Jackie, but the man he had begun to think of as his future brother-in-law swooped down and pulled Theresa away and demanded that they leave the party immediately. Theresa never made it home that night. She stumbled back in the early morning, badly beaten and sexually abused. They never found Jackie at all.
It took years of medical attention and psychiatric care to bring Theresa back in any way, and not all of her ever returned. The glimmer in her eyes, if it still existed at all, hid under lids that never seemed to open more than half way. What was left of her smile was reserved for ironic laughter. Sixty cigarettes a day eventually eroded the girlish voice.
After that, the only person unrelated by blood who was truly allowed into Theresa’s world was Dorothy. As she had with so many others, Dorothy seemed to act as a salve on Theresa’s psychic wounds. Dorothy was able to reach Theresa enough to let her know that she was a safe harbor, that she wouldn’t threaten Theresa in any way, and that she wouldn’t ever inflict the well-intentioned torture of trying to bring out the magical creature who once resided in her body. For years, this played out as long sessions across a kitchen table with coffee and crumb cake and quiet conversation. It moved Mickey to see Theresa responding to anyone and he adored Dorothy for making the effort. Eventually, Dorothy brought Theresa into her afternoon social circle. Theresa started cooking again. She got a job that she held for thirty years at a candy factory. She and Dorothy even went on a cruise together – just the two “girls” – for Theresa’s sixtieth birthday. Theresa’s smile never again electrified the way it had when she was young, but at least it was now something more than an embittered reflection of the past.
Theresa called Dorothy her sister, never appending it with “in-law.” They saw each other or talked on the phone practically every day for the last forty-eight years of Dorothy’s life. As a result, Mickey associated his wife’s memory more closely with his sister than he did even with his children. At first he called Theresa daily just to continue the tradition, doing it, in effect, for Theresa’s sake. But he soon learned that talking to Theresa gave him access to a part of Dorothy. He could almost hear her on the line with them.
“I think I’m going to go to the movies this afternoon to see ‘Affair of the Soul,’” she said. “That stiff man with the bad hair on TV made it sound good. Want to come with me?”
“What guy with the bad hair? They all have bad hair. The one on ‘Good Morning America?’”
“No, the one on the ‘Today’ show. What’s wrong with the man’s hair on ‘Good Morning America?’”
“You think that’s the way hair is supposed to look? It’s like he’s wearing a helmet.”
“You never have anything nice to say about celebrities. Have you noticed that? So do you want to come with me or what?”
Mickey thought he wouldn’t mind going to the movies, though he didn’t feel particularly safe in a car with Theresa anymore. She had never been a careful driver, and lately her declining vision had exacerbated the problem.
“What’s it about?” he said.
“It’s a love story. About these two people whose souls touch until a tragedy tears them apart. It sounds very sad.”
“Yeah, just my kind of movie. I think I’ll pass.”
“Suit yourself. I was just looking for a little company. Did I tell you that Maggie is in the hospital?”
“No, what’s wrong?”
“They don’t know. They’re running tests. She went to the doctor because she wasn’t feeling well, and they decided to keep her for a few days.”
Mickey rolled his eyes. He knew this kind of story all too well.
“I hope the doctors know what they’re doing,” he said. “Did her sons come in from Baltimore?”
“I don’t think she’s told them about it yet. You know Maggie. She doesn’t want anyone to worry about her. Except me, of course. She tells me everything.”
Mickey laughed. In the last few years, Theresa had become something of a confessor for all of the seniors in her apartment building. He got the impression that she enjoyed it, though she would never admit that. To Mickey it was a sign that, all these years later, the healing process still continued.
“So how’s Jesse?”
“Great. He’s bringing his girlfriend over for dinner tonight.”
“Now that’s interesting. Is he serious about her?”
“I guess he must be if he’s bringing her to meet me. You know what he’s like.”
Mickey could imagine Theresa nodding on the other end of the phone.
“So you’re settling in over there?”
“Pretty much. Jesse can give me a headache sometimes, but he’s a good kid. I can tell that he’s really going out of his way.”
“You’re lucky. Dorothy raised her children right.”
“Thanks for the compliment.”
“I guess you did okay, too. What have you heard from Darlene lately?”
“Ah, she’s so busy. She’s got the garden club to run and she puts that program together at the library. I guess she has extra incentive now that Carla is having a baby. It’s still hard to believe I’m going to be a great grandfather. I wish Dorothy were around for this. She’d love it. Darlene told me the other day that Earl is in line for a promotion and that they might be traveling to Asia together on business later this year. She’s made quite a life for herself.”
“When was the last time you talked to her?”
“The other day, I don’t know, a couple of weeks ago. She’s been trying to get me to sign up for this Facebook thing. She says we would be in better touch that way. Seems ridiculous to me.”
“And Matthew is good?”
“He sounds great. Rings in almost every day. He’ll call a little before ten when he gets to the office out there. He always sounds like there are a hundred things going on in his head, even though he’s just walked in the door. He’s taken on a lot of responsibility at that place. I certainly hope they appreciate what they have with him. I told him he should come back to New York, that they’d pay a guy like him three times what he’s making.”
“He certainly knows what he wants.”
“Always has. Never had to worry about that one. He’ll never earn what Denise makes, but he does okay.”
“Is Denise still working for that company in Manhattan?”
“Has an entire division reporting to her now. She’s going to make president some day if she plays her cards right. Though I don’t know how Brad is going to feel about that. He’s probably going to be the head o
f a company himself in a few years, but I wonder how he’ll take having a wife that successful. Lotta guys can’t handle it.”
“Well, how would you have felt if it was Dorothy?”
Mickey hesitated for only a moment and then said, “I would have been fine with it. Not that it ever would have been Dorothy. But if she had been interested in that kind of stuff, it would have been fine with me.”
It hardly mattered to Mickey that he had virtually the same conversation with Theresa every morning. It was all part of the ritual – talk about the kids, talk about what you were going to do that day, sprinkle reminiscences of Dorothy throughout. It was as welcome a morning habit as that super-gourmet coffee his son had him drinking these days.
“So are you coming to the movies with me or not?” Theresa said.
“You’re really going to see that affair movie?”
“We could see something else if you want. It just sounded good.”
Mickey thought a moment longer and then said, “Nah, you’d better go without me. If I’m meeting Jesse’s girlfriend tonight, I don’t want to be tired from being out all day.”
He got off the phone a few minutes later after hearing about Ted Cranston’s gall bladder problem. Once he hung up, he wondered if maybe he should have told Theresa that he’d go to the movies with her. She hated to go anywhere by herself, and she’d probably wind up not going at all now that he said he wouldn’t come along. But how could she possibly think he’d be up for that “Affair of the Soul” thing? Theresa more than anyone should know that wasn’t his kind of movie.
Mickey made his way from the den to his bedroom. The knees were killing him today. If his kids didn’t get so hysterical every time he mentioned an ache or a pain, he’d get Jesse to take him to the doctor for some pills or something. It didn’t really matter, though. It wouldn’t hurt as much in a day or so. That’s the way it had been for a long time.
He walked over to the wrought iron sculpture that sat on the night table and touched it for a moment. After the move, Jesse asked him about it as though he’d never seen it before, even though it had been in the house the entire time he lived there. It had been in the china cabinet – easy enough to miss, Mickey supposed. It was one of the few times that Jesse had complimented him on his taste. Of course it was a backhanded compliment. “It’s so unlike you,” he recalled his son saying.
The box was on the floor in his closet, which meant that he was going to have to go down on his knees to get to it. He tried to do this as slowly as possible, but it still felt like the freaking Inquisition. Mickey really wanted to talk to her today, though. To hell with the pain. He felt like talking to her on most days, but he was less inclined to go through the physical rigors on some than others. Theresa got him going this morning, though. Talking about that stupid movie. Like anyone in Hollywood had any idea of what they were talking about. He never saw a love story that ever got it right, and he doubted very seriously that this one would be the first.
The photograph sat on top of the pile as it always did. He pulled it out and then slowly uncoiled himself to stand up. It probably would have made more sense to just sit there with the picture so he wouldn’t have to go through this again when he replaced it, but he didn’t want to be on the floor with her. He sat on the bed.
Mickey took a moment to admire her beauty. She was still the most stunning woman he had ever seen. The years couldn’t change that. Certainly no starlet on a movie screen could ever compare. Then he closed his eyes. He sometimes wondered why he bothered to pull out the picture if he wasn’t going to look at it while he talked to her, but the connection just felt stronger this way.
“You want to know something funny?” he said to the image in his head. “I’ve been thinking a lot the last couple of days about Jenny Hirschberg. You remember her? She worked in my office and she always used to come by to say hello when you visited. Remember how she used to have a new boyfriend just about every week? She just kept going through men, trying to find a husband.
“‘I’m just looking for someone to grow old with,’ she’d say. Remember that? I’m sure I told you because she said it to me so many times. ‘I’m just looking for someone to grow old with.’ Like that was all there was to love and marriage. Find someone who you’d be comfortable talking to about your arthritis or your failing vision or your creaky knees. Boy, if that was all she was looking for, she probably could have gone out and picked someone off the street.
“Anyway, I’ve been thinking about that lately because I’ve been wondering what people are really looking for anyway. I never gave it much thought myself because it just happened. But, you know, I’m meeting Jesse’s girlfriend tonight, and he’s just never seemed to have any idea of what he’s after. I guess I’m just wondering if you ever really know. I certainly didn’t know that I was looking for you.”
Mickey tilted his head back further, his closed eyes pointed toward the ceiling.
“Do you ever get tired of hearing me tell you how much I love you? Do you ever think that I’m boring because I say the same things to you over and over again? If you do, I’ll stop.
“No, that’s not really true. I wouldn’t stop even if you wanted me to because I can’t stop. I could never stop.”
Mickey opened his eyes and admired her picture again. How could anyone ever have been so beautiful? What would he trade to have her here now?
He was looking directly at the photograph now. “So I wonder who this girl is, anyway. I hope she’s nicer than that last one he brought home. What a nightmare she was. Not that it would have mattered, but I was getting ready to say something about the way she treated him when they broke up. The kid doesn’t seem to have a lot of common sense when it comes to women.
“Well, I’ll know a whole lot more by the end of the day. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. I’ll try not to be too judgmental. I know you don’t like that.”
He gazed upon the picture a few moments longer. Then he labored to his feet and carefully put the photo back in its place in the box. He lingered over it for several minutes, not as much looking at it as absorbing it. At last, he moved the box flaps back into position.
“Save a place at the table for me,” he said before he closed the closet door.
Chapter Eight
This being a big night, I chose the menu carefully. I’d quit working early in the afternoon so I could spend the necessary hours making the mole poblano. I chose the mole with my father in mind; I knew he didn’t like Mexican food.
I was still peeved about the conversation that led to my planning this whole dinner. It wasn’t as though I was deliberately keeping him away from Marina. I just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. I figured he’d ultimately meet her at Easter or something like that if Marina and I were still together. Or maybe she’d just stop by after school sometime. Something casual, unrehearsed, decidedly not an event. I’d meet her parents – or not – in a similar fashion. Now, of course, it had turned into a major thing. My father had mentioned it to me half a dozen times that day alone, asking me about Marina’s background, her family, and what she did for a living. When he finally asked my opinion of the shirt he was considering wearing that night, I began to wonder if he’d called CNN. I’m not sure what had him so wired. I’d made it as clear to him as I could that he wasn’t meeting his future daughter-in-law. Still, he was bubbling with anticipation. There were so many things about him that I didn’t understand.
Marina was decidedly more relaxed about coming to dinner than I was about her coming.
“Well, I was sort of wondering when I was going to get to meet the legendary Mickey Sienna,” she said when I told her about the tiff that had led to the invitation.
“Hopefully he’ll be frustrating and confounding for you. If he isn’t, you won’t have really met him.”
“Don’t worry, Jesse, even if he isn’t I’ll still take your side.” She kissed me on the cheek and added, “Unless, of course, he’s nicer to me than you are. Then I mig
ht have to switch alliances.”
“Yeah, well, while we’re on that subject, there’s something you need to know,” I said seriously. “I’m different when I’m with members of my family than I am at other times.”
She looked at me bemusedly. “Do you use baby talk?”
“Anything is possible. I just tend to get out of character. A lot of times it means that I get really quiet. It used to be like that with my father, too, although lately I tend to get into these verbal sparring matches.” I thought about it for a moment and added, “To the casual observer, this could be interpreted as being mean-spirited, though I know you know that I wouldn’t be deliberately mean to anyone.”
“No, I think that your making a dinner that you know your father is going to hate is an extremely compassionate act. I don’t see how anyone could interpret it differently.”
That night, Marina arrived at 6:30. She’d changed from work clothes to jeans and the white sweater I loved beyond anything else in her wardrobe. There was something about the way her black, shoulder-length curls fell against the soft white sweater that I found incredibly appealing. She kissed me and I drew her into a hug. I held her longer than I usually did, partially because I was so turned on by the way she looked, and partially because the longer I held her the longer it would be before we got on with the rest of the evening. Before we separated I whispered in her ear, “Excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. I’ll meet you outside in fifteen minutes. He’ll never know what happened.”
With that, she gently pushed me away, gave me a little kiss, and turned to my father, who was treading up to the door. He was wearing a smile on his face I had never seen before. Certainly I’d never seen him smile like that when I’d introduced him to other women.
“I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you, Mr. Sienna,” Marina said, extending her hand.
