Becky looked at Owen, who gave her a single nod.
“Of course we can!” Becky forced a smile and rolled out the words “That’s why I called in Owen. He’s a genius!” She sneered at Owen and mouthed the words, I hate you.
Owen smiled and shrugged.
Chapter Fifteen
SLAP.
“Ow, what did you do that for?” Enrico said as he rubbed the side of his face.
“Young man, don’t you come into my kitchen and say things like your papà never loved your mamma.”
“But what do these letters mean, Tata?” Fabrizio said.
“Pour me a grappa,” Tata barked as she flopped onto the chair.
Enrico placed a small glass in front of Tata and filled it with the fruity brandy.
She took a sharp swig. “Now sit down and listen,” Tata said. “Your papà was in his nineteenth year, his second year studying pharmacy at Cattolica University. Every morning and every evening he took the train between here and Milan. It was a three-hour trip back then because it stopped in all the villages along the way, but he used that time on the train to study.” She took a large swig of grappa. “And yes, he and the Castagna boy, Antonio, had a story together. But of course he hadn’t met your mother yet. Is that what you wanted to know?”
“What happened?” Fabrizio pleaded.
“Come on, Tata. Tell us more.” Enrico refilled her glass.
“I can’t tell you more. I didn’t know him back then. But I can tell you that the Castagna family was an important family, and when they found out what was going on, they reported your father to the university and had him expelled. They also threatened to report him to the police for corruption of a minor should he try to contact the boy further.”
“What happened to the Castagna boy?” Enrico said.
“They sent him to the US.” Tata shrugged as if it were usual for rich families to send their sons to the US when a scandal emerged. “Or at least that’s what everyone said.”
“And?” Enrico coaxed.
“And your father returned home to the lake in disgrace and got a job at the pharmacy. Even though he lived a quiet life, didn’t drink or gamble, was a good son and went to church every Sunday….” Tata paused, then slowly took another drink. “Scandal like that has a way of clinging to a man like a bad smell.
“Then one day your mother went to the pharmacy to get your grandmother’s medicine and that’s when they met. The two of them fell in together like two best friends, and it seemed as if the gloom that had hung over this house for so long had been swept away with a summer’s breeze. Francesca had been sent to boarding school by then, and of course, tongues continued to wag, but no one could deny that there had never been a couple more beautiful and two souls more alike than your father and your mother.” Tata twirled her hand like she was stirring the air.
“It wasn’t long before your papà asked your mamma to marry him, which as you can imagine was the answer to your grandmother’s prayers. And so they got married, and that was that.” Tata emptied her glass.
“And?” Enrico urged.
“Get her another glass of grappa,” Fabrizio said. “She’s holding out on us.”
Tata scowled at Fabrizio but held up her glass and Enrico refilled it. “Okay, you’re grown men now. I guess you’re old enough to know the rest.” She took a sharp swig. “That was not the end to it. When your father confessed to the priest that after a year of marriage they had not consummated the sacrament, the priest informed him that in the eyes of the church and God the marriage was not sanctified until they did so.”
“And so…,” Enrico started.
“What happened?” Fabrizio finished.
Tata looked sternly at the boys. “Don’t ask me for details, but as far as I know, they consummated the marriage that one time, and that’s when your mother became pregnant with you.” Tata shook her head. “I don’t know whether to thank that old blabbermouth priest, because without his meddling there would never have been the two of you, or to curse him for what came to pass.”
Tata’s face drooped, and she got a faraway look in her eyes. “I remember sitting there in church with the two of you bundled in my arms, not more than two days old, at your mother’s funeral service. When the priest gave his final benediction, I bent my head down and kissed each of you on your foreheads and asked myself what kind of God could give such joy and take it away so cruelly. That was the last time I ever stepped inside a church.”
“But Tata, what happened to Papà?” Fabrizio said.
“What made him, you know, so sad?” Enrico said.
“I’m no doctor, but over the years I watched your papà—burdened with shame for who he was and guilt over the death of your mother. It ate away at him until he eventually retreated into his own world.”
“But he didn’t cause Mamma’s death!” Fabrizio cried out.
“So, it’s true what they say about Papà,” Enrico said.
“I was there. I saw with these two eyes of mine. Your papà loved your mamma in every possible way he could, and your mother loved him with all her heart.” Tata threw back the last of her grappa. “Now go. Get out of here. I have dinner to make.” She pointed to the door.
Enrico and Fabrizio got up, kissed her on the cheek, and left the kitchen.
“And make no mistake, he loves you two boys more than life itself,” Tata called after them as she reached over, took the bottle, and poured herself another drink.
Chapter Sixteen
IT WAS Wednesday evening, the evening when just the three of them went out together, no boyfriends, no lovers, no fuck buddies, and no hangers-on were allowed. Those were the rules.
“Package from Amazon,” Jessy said as he came through the door.
“Hey, how was school?” Maggie called from the kitchen, where she was sitting with her laptop.
“Fine. Got an A on my story.” He walked in, bent over, and kissed her on the cheek from behind.
“Wow! Congratulations.” She turned her head and looked up.
“And I didn’t have to blow the professor or anything.” When it came to sex, you could never really tell if Jessy was joking or not. “So, what’s in the package?”
“Owen’s latest scheme toward efficiency,” Maggie said as she swiveled around in her chair.
“What?”
“He decided to no longer do any laundry.” Maggie shrugged. “He sends all his clothes out, and, get this, he’s started ordering seven sets of socks, boxers, and T-shirts from Amazon every week.” Maggie took the package and put it on the far end of the table.
“What does he do with the dirty stuff?” Jessy scrunched up his nose.
“Throws it out. He says it’s easier than washing it.”
“Man, that boy’s getting weirder every day.”
Maggie nodded. “He keeps working harder and harder, like he’s trying to prove something to somebody.”
“Yeah, but how do I tell my best friend no matter what he does or how successful he becomes, he’s never going to win his mother’s love and approval?”
“He really needs to get away for a while,” Maggie said. “He promised me if I could secure the Landmark Theater for the Dally-Burman wedding, he’d take me to Italy.”
“A last-minute booking for Italy in July, are you crazy? Rome, Venice, Tuscany. Even if you can find something decent, they’ll be crawling with tourists,” Jessy said.
Maggie let out a puff of air. “Well, I was also thinking about the northern Lake District. Italian charm without the tourist swarm—just peace and quiet.” She looked back at the screen and scrolled down. “Oh, look, this one is pet and gay friendly.” Maggie tapped the screen.
“Oh goodie, I wonder if both the pets and gays have to wear muzzles and pee in the backyard?” Jessy quipped.
“Stop being so negative.” Maggie looked up at Jessy.
Jessy reached over and scrolled down the sites. “Lago B&B. Hmm. I have to admit this one looks grand.”
“Oh, and look, it’s got a view of the lake and the mountains. I’d be able to see Switzerland from my bedroom.”
Jessy studied the screen. “Yes, and there’s Julie Andrews singing ‘The Sound of Music.’” He pointed at the corner of screen. “Oh no, maybe it’s just one of the Von Trapp brothers in drag.”
“Would you be serious?” Maggie said. “And then we’ll do the usual tourist tour through Venice, Rome, and Florence after we’ve chilled out.
“What do you think?” Maggie grit her teeth. “He did promise me, and I just confirmed the theater this morning. I’ve got his business credit card.” She held up the card between her fingers and waved it back and forth.
“Just book it.” Jessy nodded.
“Come with us.” Maggie clasped Jessy’s hand.
“Oh, what a cliché. Two gay men traveling with their….”
“You say that name and I’m not going to dinner with you!” Maggie shook her finger at Jessy. She knew the name people had for girls like her. But what kind of a life did she have before them? It was not likely that some Prince Charming was going to knock on her door and sweep her off her feet. Without Jessy and Owen, she was destined to be just another Pathetic Patty.
“What name?” Jessy had a look of false innocence pasted on his face. “I was going to say, two stunningly handsome gay men traveling to Italy with their gorgeous best girl.”
“So you’ll come?”
“No, no, this is your thing.” Jessy leaned away. “If I wanted to see ladies with big hair, push-up bras, perched on stilettos, and old guys with Tuscan cigars, white belts, and big bellies, I could go to a family reunion.”
“Ah! That’s so racist.” Maggie scowled.
“Honey, I’m allowed to say these things. I’m half Italian, you know.” Jessy propped a bent wrist on his hip. “Besides, you were at my last family reunion.”
“Okay, so you have a point.” Maggie flicked her hand backward like she was shooing a fly. “But what about all the famous designers, the wine, and the great food?”
“I can get all the shoes, booze, and spaghetti I want when I go to California, without the bad plumbing and musty churches.” Jessy made a mock genuflection.
“Yeah, but it’s not the same. Italy is the real thing. Just look at this villa.” Maggie pointed at the photo on the screen. “It must be, I don’t know, really old.”
“I wish I could, but my writing apprenticeship starts in two weeks.” Jessy stood up straight. “Go and have your little Merchant Ivory fantasy and take Owen with you before he completely loses it.”
“I guess this is it.” Maggie looked at him with sorrowful eyes. “The end of the Terrible Trio.”
“My dear woman.” Jessy extended his arms full length like he had just sung the theme song in a musical. “We will always be the Terrible Trio.” Jessy put the back of his hand to his head, leaned against the desk, and swooned the way Greta Garbo did in the silent movies. “But sometimes the best way to say I love you”—he thrust his hand outward and looked away—“is it to let go.”
“Okay, clown, enough with the movie camp. I’m trying to be serious.” Maggie swatted Jessy. “Hey, do you remember that time when you guys first invited me to skip class with you?” She had begun using the phrase, do you remember that time, more and more often, and when she did, she felt old. Maybe it was because she longed for that magical time back in high school when they were adventurers out to discover the world. For some time now, it seemed like all they did was work. They no longer went out to have fun and tear up the night; now they went out to schmooze, make appointments, and talk about proposals for the next event, gig, or happening. When had the sparkle disappeared?
“What time are you talking about? We always skipped class.”
“No, I know. I mean that time you guys chose me to be your bestie.”
“Our beasty?” Jessy cocked one eye at Maggie.
“No, you idiot!” Maggie nudged him and took him by the arm. “Not your beasty, your bestie.”
“I beg to differ,” Jessy said. “We were two lost puppies in a pet shop. It was you who chose us.”
Jessy always had a way of giving something you said a whole new perspective, and she had no doubt he would make a brilliant writer.
Back in high school, while the other girls in her class were wearing makeup and push-up bras, Maggie’s apparel and hair accentuated her androgynous appearance that boys and girls of her age sometimes have. In her shapeless black sweatshirts and skirts, with her black hair pulled down in front of her morbidly mascaraed eyes, she kept to herself and nobody really took the time or interest to get to know her.
One day, Sharron-spelled-with-two-Rs tagged her with the nickname Morticia and it stuck like poo on Maggie’s shoes.
“Hey, Morticia,” Sharron-with-two-Rs said as she passed Maggie in the halls. “How are things down at the morgue?”
The name drove Maggie even deeper into that dark place.
Then one morning in her senior year, while Maggie was sitting at her desk counting the months ahead and praying for it to be over, for no apparent reason Owen leaned across the desk and whispered in her ear, “We’re busting out of here. Meet you at your locker at two.”
She had sat next to Owen and Jessy in homeroom for two years, but they had hardly ever spoken to her. Well, there was that time she loaned Owen a pen and that other time she let Jessy copy her math homework. Then there was that time in art class when they asked her if she could draw a skull and she made this elaborate design of a skeleton dancing on a disco stage. They did say hello to her when they passed her in the halls, and they always remembered that her name was Maggie, not Morticia. Even if their invitation was a joke, or some kind of cruel setup, what did she really have to lose, anyway?
The afternoon bell rang and a horde of kids flowed into the corridor and gathered in front of their lockers. Maggie dug through the pile of notebooks and textbooks in the bottom of hers. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Jessy and Owen appeared on either side of her locker. “C’mon, let’s go.”
Maggie glanced back and forth at them nervously as she pulled her physics book out of the pile.
“Where?”
“Anna’s Café.” Jessy suspended his large frame from her open locker door.
“Or would you prefer physics class?” Owen rested his back against the locker next to hers. He was so close she could feel his body heat and smell the spicy scent of his deodorant or cologne, or whatever it was.
“With Mr. Molecule?” Jessy crossed his eyes and wobbled his head back and forth.
“Hell no!” She tossed her physics book back in the pile and grabbed her ragged vintage black velvet jacket from the hook. Jessy let go of the door, and Maggie slammed it shut.
“We need to sign out first,” Jessy said as they maneuvered through the flow of kids coming down the corridor.
“We’ve got fake notes, but you’ll need a good excuse,” Owen said.
“I can say I’m going to my dad’s real estate office for my career day project?” Maggie whipped out her cell phone and made a call. Two minutes later she hung up and smiled. “I’m covered. Let’s go.”
Sharron-with-two-Rs pressed herself back against her locker and stared with her mouth agape as Maggie, sandwiched between Owen and Jessy with their arms wrapped over her shoulders, swept past her. She continued to stare as the three of them skipped down the stairs and out of sight. Of course, by the time Sharron-with-two-Rs recounted the episode to only her most trusted friends, the word in the corridors was that Maggie did threesomes.
“Oh, it’s just gross!” Sharron-with-two-Rs said loudly to her entourage of friends the next day as Maggie passed them in the hall. “If Jessy and Owen wanted a threesome, why did they ask Morticia and not me?” She propped her hands on her hips and scowled.
After that, it seemed as if everyone, except Sharron-with-two-Rs, remembered Maggie’s real name.
With the inclusion of Maggie in their tight little bubble, Jessy and Owen had ex
panded the strict boundaries of the Jessy-Owen duo. Sure, there was a label for a girl who dedicates herself completely to a couple of boys like Jessy and Owen, but she didn’t care. They were her boys and she was their bestie.
But they were no longer kids in high school, and now the friendship, which had served to protect and nurture the three of them through their final years of adolescence, was beginning to stunt and strangle them as adults. Each, in their own way, was too comfortable to acknowledge their truth and too frightened to let go, but the day was fast approaching when their paths would part. Maggie knew that Jessy’s apprenticeship in California would be his big chance and that he would leave them. Even more than that, she knew that someday she would have to break free from Owen. No matter how she tried to prepare herself, she couldn’t quite imagine what her life would be like without her boys.
Just then her cell phone rang. “Where are you? Jessy and I are starving,” she said into the phone while Jessy mouthed the words, Where the fuck is he?
“Yeah, I know,” she said. “Work comes first. Later.” She made a halfhearted kiss and hung up. “Owen’s ditching us again. He said he’s got a dinner meeting with a potential client.”
Jessy scowled. “Another lame excuse. What was it last week? Alien invasion? Natural disaster? Oh, he forgot.” Jessy rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Well, I guess we should cut him some slack. He’s seeing some new guy named Lane or Lance or something like that.”
“And he’s the source of the problem.” Maggie wore an uncharacteristic look of deep disapproval.
“What? Is there’s something else going on?” Jessy’s voice suddenly became serious.
“His new boyfriend….” She paused. “Is a cokehead.” She almost spit out the words. “I found this under the sofa pillows.” She held up a miniature ziplock bag dusted on the inside with powder.
Jessy slapped his forehead. “Shit!”
“He thinks I don’t know.” Maggie’s face drooped and she shook her head.
Tiramisu After Midnight Page 7
