‘A girl steals her mother’s looks,’ cackled Mary Kane, her mother-in-law. The old witch.
Ellen hoped to feel something for the baby, like she had when Johnny was born, but there was nothing. The most she could say for Dina was that labour was finally over.
‘It’s not so bad,’ she lied. ‘And the baby’s beautiful.’
That was what you were supposed to say about girl babies, even when they looked like bald pink rats, like this one.
‘She is, right?’ Paul agreed, with equal enthusiasm.
Duty done, the new parents drove home, determined to forget about Dina as much as was humanly possible.
But she was beautiful.
The pink rat opened her big eyes and, after a little while, a soft thatch of dark hair appeared on the bald head. Even in her Baby-gro, Dina was something special: pale skin, raven dark hair and those wide blue eyes that started to deepen to green. Ellen had green eyes too, but not like this. Dina’s were as bright as a clover field, richly coloured, striking in her soft little face. Her tiny nose was delicate and her lips were full; she was a gorgeous little baby.
Ellen enjoyed the compliments at first. Even if she didn’t have those maternal feelings, nobody needed to know. She cuddled and kissed Dina and pushed her in her chair alongside little toddler Johnny, and everybody congratulated her on her ‘beautiful family’. Johnny was the only one to truly love Dina, not that she understood it yet. He would stand for hours over her bouncer, trying to interest his sister in a threadbare stuffed dog or his old set of plastic keys. Dina loved Johnny back, and smiled and laughed whenever he was around – a little chortling baby laugh that even Ellen thought was cute. Dina kept Johnny quiet, so that was another plus for her. Best toy ever, Ellen thought to herself.
Dina was given her brother’s stuff, even a navy blue romper suit with an anchor print. She looked good in everything.
Paulie went back to being ignorant. He couldn’t worry about the home fires. The mortgage was a struggle, and the building trade wasn’t going so well. There were extra jobs, moonlighting. He didn’t want to hear his wife’s complaints.
As Dina grew, her beauty just increased. There were angelic brown curls when she was three, and Ellen had to put her in little dresses. Dina loved to draw, to paint, to pick out clothes – just like Momma.
Maybe it would make them closer.
But Ellen was getting older. The sparkle was draining from her eyes. She was still stylish, but fewer of Paulie’s friends ogled her when she visited the building site. He was irritable, snapping at her when he got home. More interested in dinner than sex.
And Dina grew bigger. So carefree. So pretty.
Ellen looked at her daughter resentfully.
She caused all this.
One stupid mistake, and they were back slaving for every cent.
‘Oh, your little girl’s so pretty.’
‘What a cutie!’
‘She’s adorable. She’s a real beauty. Where did she get those eyes?’
Ellen would force a smile. ‘My eyes are green.’
‘But not like that,’ Tony Verzano said, admiring Dina as she romped around in her little pink dress. ‘She’s so stunning. You must be proud.’
Ellen wanted to be proud of Ellen. She wanted the attention, was used to it.
Why is Dina even here?
Nobody could see at night when Dina held out her little arms to her mother to be snuggled.
‘I’m busy with supper.’
‘Go get in your bath.’
‘I have to practise Johnny’s reading.’
The little girl would screw up her face and cry.
‘Stop making that racket.’ Her mother held up Rabby, Dina’s favourite stuffed rabbit. ‘If you don’t behave, I’m throwing him in the trash.’
Dina’s round mouth opened wider with horror. She lowered her arms from her mother and stumbled closer to save Rabby.
Ellen threw the toy at her. ‘Behave, Dina. Go and be quiet.’
Clutching the rabbit to herself, little Dina Kane went to her tiny room to look at picture books and be quiet. She had dollies there – Daddy liked to buy her dollies; it assuaged some of his guilt.
She would dress the dollies up so they looked cute and stylish, like Mommy. If she was more like Mommy, perhaps Mommy and Daddy would like her.
And, meanwhile, she waited for Johnny to come back from pre-kindergarten. He always gave her a hug.
In the kitchen, Ellen Kane was cooking, whistling to herself to drown out the sounds of Dina’s stifled sobs. But that girl was always there, hanging around like a ghost. Dina Kane was always a problem.
Chapter Two
‘This is an excellent piece of work.’
Peter MacAllister handed the term paper back to Dina Kane. His eyes met those startling green ones, fringed with the thick black lashes.
‘Thank you, Mr MacAllister.’
She smiled, and it was like the whole classroom lit up.
At sixteen, Dina had legs that went on for days. She had pale skin that never seemed to catch the sun, but that just played up the raven hair and bright green eyes. Her face was almost pre-Raphaelite with an even nose and full lips.
Peter MacAllister realised he was staring.
‘You have an excellent grasp of algebra,’ he blurted out. ‘Have you thought about pursuing math later? At college?’
The green eyes clouded.
‘I’m not sure about college, Mr MacAllister. We can’t afford it.’
‘Really? Surely your mother has money?’
‘She needs all she’s got,’ Dina said, defensively. ‘My mom works so hard.’
Her teacher hesitated. Perhaps he should drop it. But Dina Kane deserved to go to college. She was the one really motivated, driven student he had in his entire class.
Eastchester public schools didn’t send many to the Ivy League. They were underfunded and overcrowded. Dina was different. From her first days, the teachers had marked her out. Eager to please, to be liked, she sought more from them. She worked incredibly hard, always looking for approval, and she was bright – intensely so. She had a particular gift for creative writing, math and chemistry. Dina loved mixing up potions and experimenting; her enthusiasm was a bright spot in a room full of sullen, resentful pupils.
It didn’t make her popular.
‘Teacher’s pet.’
‘Suck-up.’
‘Such a nerd.’
MacAllister felt bad for her. School was a struggle for Dina, as far as the kids went. First it was her great grades, next it was her beauty. The other girls got jealous and banded together. There was a lot of spite. Dina mostly sat on her own at lunch, and the girls that would eat with her were the losers. Boys would ask Dina out, but then succumb to peer pressure and slouch away from her in the playground.
Dina Kane didn’t care. She was relentlessly focused. Her average grade was an A. And she stayed for every afterschool programme she could.
‘Don’t you have a home to go to?’ asked Ms Segal in chess club.
‘Oh, yes. My mom really misses me,’ Dina said, brightly. ‘She just wants me to do well in school.’
‘Your brother’s at St Joseph’s, right?’
‘Yes.’ A tiny cloud, but she smiled it away. ‘There was only enough money for one of us.’
The Catholic school in Bronxville had a great reputation; it charged a small fee; class sizes were much smaller; the kids wore a uniform. They mostly headed to college and became professionals.
You couldn’t say the same for Dina’s school.
‘That doesn’t seem fair,’ said Ms Segal.
‘Better one of us than neither of us,’ Dina replied. ‘I’m doing fine here.’
And she was.
Dina dreaded going home each night.
‘Hey, Mom! How was your day?’
She would smile and give her mother a hug, hoping against hope that one day things would be different. One day the hug would be returned. One day Ellen w
ould be interested in Dina.
‘What do you care? I just stay here and look after the house, cleaning and shopping and cooking –’ Ellen made it sound like hard labour in a penal camp – ‘while you just swan about at school.’
‘I got a five hundred in my PSATs.’
‘What the hell does that mean?’
‘You know, Mom. Next year I take the SATs? For college? I got a really good grade in my practice tests.’
Ellen looked at her blankly. ‘What the hell for? You ain’t going to college. Not unless you win the lottery. I can’t afford two of you.’
Dina felt the tears prickle. Mostly she tried so hard to ignore her mother’s cruelty – the detachment, the coldness – but sometimes it was tough.
College was her dream, her ticket out of a hellish childhood, her chance to make something of herself, something special, something real.
But Ellen Kane was standing in her way, like a demon on a bridge.
It was Johnny first – always Johnny.
Her father’s death had started the spiral.
‘Paulie! Look out on the goddamned crane!’ His supervisor’s yell came floating up from the ground, but Paulie Kane didn’t hear him.
He was balancing on the heavy iron bar, trying to swing it into place. It was night and he was cold, but he had that good antifreeze, right in his pocket. Saturday frigging night and here he was, working overtime.
Johnny had started school and it all cost: tuition, books, uniform, everything. At least Ellen was happy again for a little while. He loved how she lit up when she saw her son, so cute in his blue uniform with the white piping. She was the mom of a private-school kid. And she got to take him there every day.
But Paulie was paying the bills. Ellen was obsessed with their status. When he’d said maybe Johnny could head to the elementary school across the block, for free, Ellen had sulked and refused to have sex with him.
Everything seemed OK in their house. That was what all the neighbours thought.
But it wasn’t. It wasn’t.
Paulie barely saw the kids. On Sundays, he slept. He was packing on the pounds. When he was there, they clambered over him, not giving him any rest. And if he gave little Dina any compliments, Ellen scowled at him.
‘She’s demanding. She’s spoiled. You’re encouraging her.’
‘Come on, now.’ Paulie wasn’t so fatherly himself, but his wife’s barely-concealed hostility perplexed him. ‘She’s just a little kid.’
‘If you give in to her, she’ll always be whining for attention,’ Ellen said. ‘Don’t you see how she plays up to it?’
‘She’s real pretty, that’s all it is.’
Exactly the wrong thing to say. ‘She’s vain, Paulie – vain – already, at four. Don’t make it any worse.’
So he would disengage the little hands from his neck, and then, when Dina cried and Ellen yelled, he’d feel even more guilty.
The bar seemed like a good place to go.
A real good place – where you could get your stress relief cheap and fast, at a few bucks for a glass of rye whiskey, his favourite.
Paulie started to spend a lot of time there. He came late to the building site, dropped bricks, made mistakes. A warning came back through the channels: Cut it out.
He was smart. From that day on, Paulie never went back to the bar. Instead, he worked Saturday nights, and he brought a hip flask.
Drinks tasted good when you were bored. Booze ran like antifreeze through your veins when you were cold. He had to work while the boys were out bowling or watching football, so at least there was a little bit of relief in his pocket. That made work more fun. And he didn’t have to think about the kids. Or his wife. Or his bills . . .
Paulie unscrewed the top again and tilted the metal bottle towards his mouth. Sweet relief . . .
Drip. Drip. He swallowed nothing. Fuck! It couldn’t be gone already?
He had four more hours in this dump.
His body was wedged against the corner of the bar as it swung over the street below.
‘Paulie! Jesus Christ!’ Marco DiCapello was calling.
Jesus? That’s funny: they think I’m Jesus. Paulie swayed and giggled to himself, then stood up on one leg, bracing his arm against the crane, to shake the bottle and tip out the last drops . . .
He didn’t see the ice, or even feel it. There was a split second when he realised his arm wasn’t bracing. Was reaching into air. Like the rest of him.
Eighty foot was too short a fall to scream.
‘So sorry for your loss.’
Sal Rispelli was the local capo. He was used to this scene and did it well. Ellen Kane was playing her part too – the grieving widow with two little children – wearing a fitted black dress. She had fixed her hair and put it up in a ladylike bun, and she had done her make-up carefully. Despite her age and cares, she looked good today. Maybe it was the adrenaline.
‘He was everything to me.’ Ellen looked truly distressed, even frightened. Of course, Paulie was working off the books. ‘I don’t know how our family will survive.’
‘Don’t worry.’ Sal placed a hand over hers.
‘But I have to worry. There’s our mortgage . . . and Johnny’s school. And what will we live on? I can’t go out to work. My darling Dina needs me.’
Ellen missed Paulie some. But she missed her security a hell of a lot more. The mascara-thickened lashes batted themselves at the capo.
‘Anything you can do for our family, Signor Rispelli,’ she said, humbly.
There was something very sexy about a pleading woman, humble and submissive. The way they should be.
‘Paulie was family.’ That stupid drunk. ‘We take care of our own. Don Angelo has already paid off your mortgage. And you are receiving a lump sum of two hundred thousand dollars.’
Ellen nearly fainted. She swayed in her chair.
‘What?’ she whispered.
‘Two hundred grand,’ he repeated. Hell, they hadn’t put the workers in safety harnesses. It was a lot cheaper than workman’s comp. He’d chewed out that jerk-off, DiCapello, at the site this morning, and now the worker grunts had harnesses. But they were grumbling over Paulie. Watching a man die will do that to you.
The famiglia didn’t like deaths they hadn’t ordered. It was in their interest now to take real good care of Ellen Kane.
‘And, for yourself, a pension wage. You come down to the salon for an hour every lunch and style the ladies’ hair. You’ll get very well paid.’ A pretend job made things easier than a stipend to her little schmuck bank account.
‘I can’t believe it!’ Ellen gasped. For once, she wasn’t faking her emotion. She grabbed Rispelli’s hand and kissed the back of it, just like she’d seen them do in the movies. Softly, again and again.
He was starting to get uncomfortably aroused. Time to get out of here and over to a strip joint. One of their hookers could finish what Ellen had started.
‘You and the kids won’t miss a beat. Remember, you’re under our protection. So act respectable,’ he said, with a thin smile.
Ellen heard the warning: No drinking. No screwing. A grateful client household.
‘Yes, Signor Rispelli. Thank you so much.’
Joy was rushing through her, joy she had to lower her eyes to contain. No more worry. No more fear. This was the best thing Paulie ever did for her.
‘Better get back to your daughter, then,’ Rispelli grunted, waving his hand to dismiss her. ‘Like you said – she needs you.’
‘I have to make this money last,’ Ellen said. ‘It’s all I have.’
Dina looked round their house. There was all new furniture and a fancy TV and videotape machine. The garden was now planted with roses. Her mother wore a soft, pretty dress made of pink wool and her hair was piled up neatly on her head. She went out to the beauty salon each Thursday.
‘We live pretty well, Momma,’ she said, pleadingly.
‘I know.’ Ellen turned to study her reflection in a gilt-edged mirror
. She didn’t believe in making investments, hadn’t tried to sell the house and move up the property ladder. But she did love stuff that made her life easier: pretty dresses, hairdressing appointments, manicures, expensive mirrors.
‘I take you on holiday twice a year,’ she said, proudly. ‘Disneyland! How many other kids get to go to Disneyland around here?’
Dina sighed. At Disneyland, Mom had a great time. She and Johnny were bored out of their brains. But, no matter how much they asked to go someplace else, it was always Ellen’s choice.
‘Yes, Momma, thank you. But, you know, school’s more important.’
‘Johnny is at Catholic school.’
‘I meant me.’ Dina brushed her dark hair back behind her ears, nervously. ‘You know they get much better results at St Joseph’s. I want to go there too.’
‘Honey, you know there isn’t money for the both of you. You wouldn’t want to deny Johnny his chance?’
Dina flushed. ‘I love Johnny.’
‘Well, I can’t afford to pay twice. We all have to make sacrifices.’
‘Maybe . . . Maybe you could get another job.’
Ellen’s hour or two at the salon was hardly backbreaking.
Dina’s green eyes begged. ‘Momma, lots of parents work, you know? And maybe we could skip the vacations? Save our money for the fee for St Joseph’s?’
‘Dina, please stop whining. It’s all about you. I work so hard raising you two kids without Daddy. All on my own, with nobody to help me.’ Ellen’s voice cracked with self-pity. ‘Now you want me to slave till I drop for private school.’
‘It’s not fair.’
‘What?’
‘It’s not fair,’ Dina repeated, louder. She could hardly believe she had actually spoken the words. They had been swimming around her little head for so long. ‘You treat Johnny better than me. You love him more than me.’
You love him would probably have been enough.
All her young life, Dina Kane had been wriggling away from this moment, from admitting it: her mother didn’t love her. Didn’t really even like her.
And now, aged ten, it was staring her in the face.
Beauty Page 2
