"No," I said, kissing her again. "I promise, somehow, we'll be together again. I'm not letting you go that easily."
An announcement came over the intercom that pre-boarding was starting for Luisa's flight, and she looked up. "Okay. I'll hold you to that. Or else, I’ll come back to Seattle and kick your ass."
"Okay. Get going, I'll email you," I said, letting her go. I went as far forward as I could, watching as she went through security and toward the gates. I watched for another minute before making my way to the window. I didn't know for sure. Things weren't like before 9/11 when you knew for sure which plane your loved one was on, but I kept watch until after the departure time, waving at each Delta airliner that lifted off the runway. When I was sure she was in the air, I reached into my pocket and texted Daniel, who met me in the drop-off zone.
"You look about a thousand percent better than you did an hour ago," he said as I sat down. "You okay?"
“We said what needed to be said," I replied simply. "Sometimes, that's all you need."
Chapter 18
Luisa
Porto Alegre was my home. I never wanted to go to Seattle, but I followed my father’s wishes. Now, I felt sick to my stomach as I returned to my homeland. As my Avianca flight descended on final approach toward Salgado Filho Airport, I had to chuckle under my breath at the irony. Then, I'd have given anything to be back in Porto Alegre. Now, I felt the same way about Seattle.
I was met at the gate by my brother, Vincente, who was the middle of my three brothers. There was Mateus, the youngest of the whole family, who was the military nut, and then there was Eduardo, the oldest of us all, although only four months older than me. That was the way my father had relationships with women, and something that I never liked.
"Luisa. Back safely, I see," Vincente said nonchalantly. "Your ass didn't get too fat, at least."
"Fuck off, Vincente. I'm not in the mood for your shit," I retorted. There was a reason I was such a bitch to men when I met them at first. My brothers were all brought up to think that they were superior to any woman and that they could order us around at will. It had been twenty-two long, hard years of fighting that perception that had, in addition to my heartbreak, caused me to be that way. It was either be a bitch and hold my own, or get trampled on. Vincente was the worst, but Eduardo wasn’t much better. "Where's your truck?"
"I got it, I got it. Shit, I thought spending some time with the Americans would have mellowed you out. Come on."
I rode in Vincente's truck back to our family home in Tres Figuerias, one of the neighborhoods of Porto Alegre. It's the family city-based home, with our larger home out in the countryside nearby. It was convenient for use when we were inside the city and had been in the family since the late nineteen sixties. Vincente pulled up to the house and parked, getting out and walking off, probably to go play video games or something. "Father's inside."
I watched him go and sighed. Vincente always had been the laziest of all of us. All he wanted to be was a gangster, and not in the good way, having watched far too many movies for his own good.
I got out of the truck and walked inside. “Father, I'm home," I greeted after knocking.
"My darling, so good to have you back!" he said, getting out of his seat and coming over, kissing me on both cheeks. "I missed having you around."
It was perhaps the only reason I didn't join my mother in Rio, the need my father had for me. He may not have ever seen me as the man to take his place, but he did value my work and my input, even with his machismo.
"Thank you, Father. But I see the city hasn't burned without me, and nobody seems to be in jail. You must be trying to flatter me."
He laughed and shook his head. "Hardly. But you look tired. I’m sure you must be exhausted."
"I am a bit worn out," I said, not admitting that I'd slept most of the way from Seattle to Sao Paulo, where I'd gotten on the Avianca flight for the last leg of my journey home. I just didn't want to be home, that was all. “But I'm sure you have many questions."
"Oh, they can wait," he said dismissively. “We can talk about it tomorrow over lunch. I’d like to hear more about these Bertolis that we now call our friends."
“Yes, father,” I said, knowing that what he really wanted was all the little gossip and dirt I could spew. The sad part was, I had more than plenty, but that could cut both ways. “For now, I think I'll just rest in my room."
"Of course. Do you need anything?”
"No, Father. I ate on the plane, and my stomach is a little . . . queasy still," I said. "Thank you, though."
"All right, then. Well, good night, Luisa. It's good to have you home. I’ll be going out later. There is some business I need to attend to in the Centro district," he said, going back to his chair and sitting down. The Mendosas controlled all of the vice in the Centro district of Porto Alegre, which was the nighttime hub of the city. Of course, for my father, business could have also been sampling the wares of the ladies who worked in the Centro, or actually doing real business—it was never quite clear.
Up in my room, I turned on my computer, waiting the interminable time it took for it to connect to the Internet. I’d gotten spoiled by American standards, where fast Wi-Fi was available at nearly every street corner coffee shop with nearly instant connections. In Porto Alegre, that wasn't the case, and even the expensive line my father paid for paled in comparison to what I'd gotten used to in Seattle.
Finally, I opened my email, hoping to see a message from Tomasso. I waited while my system checked for new messages and smiled when I saw an unread message.
Dear Luisa,
You've only been in the air a few hours, but my day feels so different knowing I won't be seeing your dark eyes or the golden shine of your hair. I actually fell asleep in the car coming home from SeaTac, so I can't say much other than my sleep was restless, and I woke up wishing that I had you in my arms.
I'm sure that your flight was better than how you came up, and I hope you were able to rest some. I checked the time difference between us, and it's not all that bad. When you can, I'd like to set up a video call, even if it's just to talk and share stories. I want to know what Porto Alegre's like, how your days have been, everything. Most of all, I want to see your beautiful face and to talk about how we can make the impossible possible.
In any case, when you can, send me a message, just telling me that you made it safe, and that I wasn't hallucinating this morning with what was said between us.
Tell me that I did tell you I love you. Talk later.
Tomasso
I read the letter twice and smiled as I hit the button to reply.
Dear Tomasso,
The first thing I did when I got to my room was check my email, and I had to hold back tears when I saw your letter. To say it was the highlight of my evening is an understatement.
No, you weren't hallucinating. My only regret of the past few weeks has been that I waited so long to tell you how I felt—like it was some sort of bad luck to give voice to how we felt.
Making the impossible possible? If anyone can do it, I think it is you. And if I get the chance to be there with you while you do it, that would make me the luckiest woman in the world.
As soon as I know what father has in store for me, we’ll set up a time to talk. I know he’s going to be difficult, but we’ll deal with it.
I love you too.
Luisa
For the next month, life fell back into a boring, if comfortable, routine. Tomasso and I would exchange emails on a daily basis unless our schedules had us going out of contact for some reason or another. My father, after picking my brain as best he could for insight on his new business partner—he came away with a warier respect for Carlo Bertoli than he had before—had sent me back to the legitimate side of the family business, which often involved me spending large amounts of time at our home outside Porto Alegre.
My brothers thought that being sent to the countryside was punishment, but for me, it was what I needed. It g
ot me away from my brothers and their shenanigans. Eduardo fancied himself the next leader of our family, and as such, he was even more insufferable than Vincente in his own arrogance, while Mateus was away at private school and too busy to get up to too much trouble. Still, not having to deal with them was nice, and the extra added bit of privacy was exactly what I needed. Tomasso and I were able to video chat about once a week, and I was able to get back into my work.
My main responsibility was to check in with the various rancheros and the gauchos who worked for the Mendosa family.
I’d just gotten back from my most far-flung drive when I turned on my computer and saw that a major storm was coming in, expecting to hit within a few hours. I fired up my email, hoping to get one last message out.
Dear Tomasso,
I just got back from a trip out to one of the ranches. I'd love to tell you about it, but a storm is coming. I might be dropping off the Net for a while—storms like this can damage our infrastructure. Don't worry, though. I'll be safe and sound, and I’ll be snug and safe in bed. If you're a good boy, I might just tell you what I did to pass the time while the electricity was out.
I love you.
Luisa
I shut down my computer, unplugging it and setting it aside. It was always a prudent measure to take, especially since the electrical systems were nowhere near as well set up as typical American houses. I’d learned my lesson several times in the past.
Heading downstairs, I gathered the house staff that was still on the property, tasking them out for securing the house for the storm. Not a minute too soon, either, as the first terrible bolts of lightning shattered the sky just as the last of the storm shutters were closed and the few animals that were kept on the grounds were secured.
Suddenly, I felt like someone had taken my stomach and twisted it in knots, and I had to leave, barely making it to the kitchen sink before I threw up.
"Are you all right?" One of the staff members asked me.
"Yes," I said, taking a dishtowel and wiping my lips with it. “I’ve been feeling a little queasy the last few days, but I’ve held it in until now—guess it’s the storm."
"You have looked a little pale, Señorita. You know, when my Consuela was sick like that last time, it was because she was pregnant with our daughter." He laughed and shook his head. "But that can’t be what’s wrong with you, right?"
"No," I said, smiling back weakly. "I'm sure it must just be the weather, and maybe my stomach is readjusting to Brazil."
He nodded, and I went back to the dining room and watched as an unholy display of power rent the heavens asunder, only pausing for a moment before torrents of rain sheeted the entire world, lending a nearly impenetrable veil to even the lightning, which continued.
For hours, I stayed there, my stomach roiling while the storm raged, and a slowly creeping fear grew inside me. I did the math in my head as the rain slowly gave way to hail, which clattered down on the roof of the house with such a racket, it was hard to think.
"Oh no," I whispered, thinking. "It can't be . . .”
I had to know for sure, and the burning inside me didn’t want to wait until the storm was clear. I thought and realized there was one place I could check. The house had a small medical room. After two of the maids had been found hiding their pregnancies in fear of being fired, my father had insisted that all the female staff take tests once a month. I think the fear was more about my father suddenly ending up with a new son or daughter instead of having to deal with a pregnant staffer, but what would his reaction be if he found out he was going to be a grandfather?
I made my way to the little medical closet-room just as the lights went out. I waited a few seconds to see if they’d come back on, then I fumbled around for the penlight that was in the medical kit. I found it and squeezed the little button on the side, a weak but adequate glow coming out.
Shining the light around, I saw the box of pregnancy kits and grabbed one, tucking it inside my shirt. Wasting no time, I went to my private bathroom, locking the door behind me. Lowering my pants, I held the stick in the stream that came out, capped it and set the kit on the sink edge, and waited. I looked down and took a deep breath.
A plus sign. Oh hell.
Chapter 19
Tomasso
The cane still felt strange in my hand, but I could at least get rid of the damn crutches as I walked toward the dance studio. With my current condition, I couldn't do much in terms of learning how to be an enforcer, and I was going nuts hanging around the house all day, so I had asked Dad, and he agreed to let me help out around the Bertoli Pizza offices. It meant that I spent a lot of the day doing basic typing and office work, and I'd learned a lot in the past two weeks about just how much food it takes to keep a five-location pizza restaurant and delivery chain in business. I don't think I'll ever be able to look at a cow the same ever again.
All that sitting around left my lower back tense and my legs cramped, which is why I was making my way toward the dance studio—I was going to see a friend of the family. The woman who owned the studio would be Adriana’s maid of honor at her upcoming wedding.
I opened the door, a little bell tinkling as I did. I looked around and saw that the studio was still pretty raw, with that sort of just-opened feel that most new businesses had. The floor was bare concrete, but there were a couple of moveable dancer bars lined up against the wall, and the far wall was fully mirrored. "Hello?"
"Just a moment," a voice from the back called. "Are you Tomasso?"
"Yeah," I said, looking at the chairs in the reception area and deciding I'd rather stand. "You're Carmen?"
"Yep," the voice said, coming closer. The curtain separating the studio floor from the rest of the space twitched, and out came a tiny little woman, maybe only five foot one or two, with dark brown hair and a tan that belied her Latina heritage. "Hi."
"Hi," I said, offering my hand. Carmen was dressed in dancer's pants and a polo shirt that had Dreamstyle Dance Studio over the left chest. "Thanks for seeing me. Did I interrupt?”
"Not at all," she said, leading me toward the back. She had me wait and brought out a rolling massage table, which she positioned in the middle of the room. "When Daniel said that you needed some deep tissue work, I just bumped my dance workout an hour earlier. Only thing you're keeping me from is watching some soap operas, which isn't really that bad of a thing. All right, before we begin, let me give you the rules. You're going to keep your underpants on, I'm keeping all my clothes on, and there's no such thing as a happy ending here. If that’s what you’re looking for, I can give you the address to a place about a mile away that would be happy to accommodate you.”
"That's okay," I said, laughing at the spunky little firecracker in front of me. "I . . . I have someone. Besides, I'm glad to know that my father's investment is being used for a real dance studio and not just a front for something else."
Carmen looked surprised, then blushed slightly. "You're Mr. Bertoli’s son? Sorry, I had no idea. Daniel just said his friend, Tomasso."
I waved off her concern. "I'm not trying to live off my name. Just . . . my lower back and hamstrings are killing me with all this sitting around, and I could really use some work on them."
Her confidence restored, she smiled. "Okay then. Well, let me say the word that gives me so much ironic pleasure then. Strip."
I had to laugh, and I took off my shirt and tie before sitting on the edge of the table and working off my shoe and my pants. "I can see why Adriana likes you," I said, lying down. "You two have a similar spirit."
"Thanks, I'll take that as a compliment," Carmen said. She had me lay face down on the table, then disappeared into the back, where she came out with a shoulder bag of supplies. "So how'd you break your ankle?"
"Ramming into the back of a Tahoe." I chuckled, putting my face in the little hole that allowed me to breathe and keep my neck straight. "You didn't see it on the news?"
I couldn't see anything except the polished concrete of
the floor, but I could hear her arrange her supplies as she talked. "This place has me working too hard to get much news. But I think I remember something about that. Did it have something to do with this girl that you mentioned?"
“You could say that." I chuckled, humming as her hands started working on my legs, warm and oily. There was a light fragrance to whatever she was using—I thought it smelled a lot like eucalyptus, but I wasn't sure. Either way, it warmed my muscles, working loose the knots and relaxing my body. "Ouch, is that your elbow in my hamstring?"
"I weigh a hundred pounds. The only way I can get pressure is with my elbows," Carmen said, grunting lightly. "You've got lower legs like a bunch of sticks, Papi. You're going a little hard in the rehab, I think."
"I'm going to walk again soon," I hissed in reply as she found another knot and worked at it. "Jesus, what kind of dancer were you, a dominatrix?"
She laughed and eased up the pressure. "Nope, I teach ballet, jazz and hip-hop—mostly to kids. If you mean prior, I usually went with the schoolgirl shtick. I think you understand if I don't have any pictures of that on the walls around here."
"Of course," I said, sighing as the knot she was working on let loose and the pain immediately went away. "Although I've read that stripper-robics and pole dancing is becoming popular with the Mom set."
"It's a fad that will fade away soon enough, and a lot of girls are going to be out of work if they only build on that," Carmen replied. "Now, I'm going to work your butt now—don't get any fancy ideas."
“Don’t worry,” I said, focusing instead on the mix of pain and pleasure as the tiny woman proceeded to spend the next half hour working my back, hips, and hamstrings before finishing up with a massage of my right calf and foot. I would have liked one of my left foot, but I understood. She wasn't going to touch that until I was more recovered. "You're talented."
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