by Alexie Aaron
But you are reading this, and I’m gone. What have I done to you? You are now the target of much speculation. Ignore them. I want you to carry on with the opera board. I have left a notebook, detailing my vision, in the large box. Please attend each opening night wearing the dresses I have chosen for you. Wait six months, and then bring your new lovers to the box. I want you to have the financial freedom to love and explore your passion. I want you to make love to many men. Don’t be scared. Be my Bella. I knew I had found my redemption when I held you in my arms. I finally knew what heaven felt like.
Now for naughty Marco. While you slept the first night, I cut a lock of your hair. I carry it in my watch that is to be buried with me. This way, I am taking a bit of Bella with me to the hereafter. You can’t escape me, Bella, not even in death. I shall wait for you. We will find a place together, my love. Look for me. I will be there. Until then, you will be in my heart.
Love,
Your Marco
A piece of type-written paper was clipped to the bottom.
Bella, Marco’s cancer was very advanced when they found it. He would not have had long to live. It would have been horribly painful, and he would not have wanted you to see him that way. Do not hate his murderer because she, in actuality, saved Marco from a painful death. We, Bella, are the ones who are hurting now. Please be brave and look through the box. There, you will find many answers and a few questions. We will talk Friday. Victor
Riposte
I opened the box. It was filled with many things, and each item was tagged. I got up and poured another drink. Marco hadn’t been working on his business dealings; he was preparing this box for me. There was a locket in which I could see, twisted inside, a lock of Marco’s rich black hair, streaked with gray. There was a note on it. “For Bella, love Marco.” I slid it over my head. I tucked it in next to the shoes. I opened box after box and found jewelry. Inside each box was a line or two, too personal to let others read. His manuscript was in the bottom. I still had to go through the layers of gifts to me. There was a framed photo of Marco and myself. He must have purchased it from the photographer. It was of him putting my shoe back on my foot. He wrote: “Here, you were Cinderella and I your Prince Charming. I looked up at you and knew I had found my Bella.”
I set the photo down and started sobbing.
There was a light tapping on the door. I put all the jewelry in my shoebox, replaced the cover, and set it in the tiny closet.
“Who is it?” I asked, not wanting to open the door.
“Cin, it’s Dave. Please, let me come in. I can hear you crying. Let me help you.”
I unlocked the door and walked back over to continue sorting through the box. Dave came in and sat, silently watching me. I pulled out Marco’s portfolio where he had concisely outlined how he felt the direction of the opera house should go. I saw he wanted to bring in young singers and train them. No longer would the old, faded sopranos be playing the ingénue roles. The baritones would be robust men, and so on. The older singers would still be employed to give workshops and teach. I liked his year by year plan. I smiled, and for the first time that evening, I was not overwhelmed.
I looked over at Dave. “Can I pour you a drink? It really is lovely. You can stay in the main house tonight if you want to.”
“You continue with the box. I’ll pour my drink.”
I removed a small photo album. Inside were more pictures of us. How had he gotten so many so soon? I laughed, seeing his hand on my bottom. The next picture of me I didn’t recognize. Was I that woman? She was beautiful. He wrote next to it, “My Bella after I loved her.” I gasped as I felt the memory take hold and the heat start to rise. I looked over at Dave who was staring at me intently.
“May I make love to you tonight?”
“No.”
He walked out the door. I locked it and went to bed.
~
I was surprised to see Dave in the guestroom in the morning. It couldn’t have been very comfortable. The bed was small, and I don’t think I’d changed the sheets in months. I knocked on the door before going in.
I smiled down at him. “You, sir, are late for work.”
“I’m not going in.”
“Crime will escalate, and Sally will be surly.”
“She was fine when I called in sick. I think that heavy box put my back out. When Harry and I were playing that Wii videogame he loves, I turned real sharp and ended up in here for the night.”
“Oh dear!” I bent over and ran my hands along his back, and there was a hot spot in the middle. “I’ll get an ice pack. I’ve got some pain meds, but I think you need an anti-inflammatory. And a doctor. We’ve…”
“Settle down, it’s happened before. I have some muscle relaxant at the condo. Could you drive over and get it?”
I looked at the outfit I had on. I had pulled on my black sweats and tossed on my shirt. As long as I didn’t have to be scrutinized in public, it would do.
“Take my truck. It’s behind your car.”
I looked around, found his discarded pants, searched the pockets, and found his keys. “Can I help you to the bathroom before I go?”
“Not unless you want to hear a lot of screaming.”
Blushing, I walked into the kitchen and over to the freezer and pulled out an ice pack. I made him as comfortable as I could before leaving. I breezed back to the pool house, hid the contents of the boxes, and changed the alarm code before locking the door. I left a note for Harry.
Dave’s condo complex was quiet. I pulled into his space and ran over to his place. I let myself in and walked right to the bathroom. There, I found the meds I thought he’d need. I read the orderly lineup and picked up anything that said daily. I ran out to find something to put them in. The guy didn’t have a Ziploc bag. Who doesn’t have Ziplocs? I ended up tossing the pill containers in a small garbage bag, along with some extra clothing I thought he may need. In his bedroom, there were some items that were feminine and not mine, in particular, an expensive pair of pink panties. I scolded myself for the stab of jealousy. I had made it clear we were done, and he had moved on. Allowing myself a few tears, I maliciously picked them up where they had been forgotten and laid them on his pillow.
I scanned his kitchen to make sure nothing was amiss before I let myself out and locked the door. I picked up his newspapers and stuffed them in the bag.
Dave had managed to survive while I was gone. He was awake and looking through Marco’s portfolio, which I had left in the office, when I entered with the pills, Cuban coffees, pastries, and the morning papers.
“You’ve been busy, I see. Even crippled, you can’t help investigating.”
“It was on the desk. I needed something to read,” he explained. “He’s right. These changes do need to be made, and I think that his approach, with one exception, will work.”
I handed him the pills and a glass of water. “What exception?” I asked, interested.
“He’s dead.”
“Ah, but he’s passed the torch.”
“To you?”
“Yes.”
“You only knew him a little while and you’re taking this on?” he asked, amazed.
“About the lawyer thing…” I said, wrinkling my face. “I inherited a few things. One of them was the opera board position.”
“You hate opera.”
“In its present form, yes. But Marco’s vision would allow for new operas,” I said, excited.
“Excuse me for being crude, but you fuck a guy, and he gives you a position on the opera board?”
“I’m that good. What are you going to give me?”
“A swat on the ass when I’m able. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“I was rather surprised myself. Then I read his letter to me.”
“You are going to have to rewind and take me through it all.”
I frowned.
“Only if you want to, freckles. I know the wounds are still fresh.”
“Let me get some Café Cub
ano in me first.” I explained what I had brought from the Cuban Bakery and set Dave up with coffee and a selection of pastries.
“I thought you were gone a long time. I expect you searched my place?”
“Oh, most certainly,” I said and left it at that. “Drink your Café Cubano. It will jumpstart those pills.”
He did as I ordered. He looked cute there, his hair uncombed and his beard coming in. “Okay, commence your tale.”
“Where do you want me to start?” I asked.
“With the guy that brought you through hell?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “How about with this letter?” I said, getting up and going to the freezer and pulling out a Ziploc bag.
“You put your mail in the freezer?”
“Baby, this was too hot… Nah, I just thought it would be the last place you’d look.”
“I will remember that.”
I read him the letter and the one from Victor.
His face changed. “He fell for you hard, Cin.”
“I think he was looking for someone, and I fit the bill. He knew he had a time clock. Victor had me investigated and is convinced I can do this.”
“But the expense, you’re barely…” he stopped and looked at my face. “Tell me.”
“I’ve inherited his south Florida estate, with the exception of the Penthouse which is in the family’s name. I intend to hand it over to his heir if he asks for it, but if he doesn’t, I should be able to do this,” I tapped the portfolio, “and create a fund to teach music and supply musical instruments to the underprivileged of this area. I have a lot of plans, but I’m not getting my heart set on anything until I talk to his son. I look at this as a very well-compensated job.”
“You would look at it that way,” Dave said with amusement. “The papers will see it as a remarkable haul for a woman with questionable morals.”
My face clouded. “Is that how you see me?”
“A bit. I also know that my vision is clouded by you so readily giving yourself to two men that weren’t me.”
“You had your chance,” I snapped. “I’m not going to let what Kyle did to me hold me back. I died, and with that death, I buried the old Cin. I’m not exactly sure who I am now, but with the help of Dr. Andrews, I hope to find out.”
“I’m not going to lie to you and tell you that I’m not hurt. I wanted to take care of you. I made plans for us. I left my wife for you.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that,” I reminded him. “Just because you have all these plans doesn’t mean that I’m going to follow ten paces behind you. I’m so furious with you that it’s not healthy. Give me time, Buslowski. Let me bloom. I’m no longer the victim. I have been reborn.”
“That’s some speech,” he said, lifting his coffee in a salute. “I can’t go anywhere, so perhaps it’s time for you to get it all off your chest.”
“No. I’m not there yet. Right now, I want to stab you, take little parts off of you, and carve my initials in your flat stomach. God, you’re a beautiful man.”
“And you’re disturbed,” he said unafraid. “Okay, hand me the papers. I take it they’re mine.”
“You’re the only one I know that reads The Shiny Sheet.”
“If you’re going to deal with the opera bunch, I suggest you read it too.” He patted the couch. “Come, and I’ll read them to you.”
I did. I wanted to continue to look through the box, and the manuscript called to me, but Dave pulled me too. Why was I so confused? I wanted so much to be independent, to be free to make love to whomever, wherever I wanted to, but part of me loved the security of this man. I didn’t want to be bothered by the intimate items left in his condo, because how hypocritical would it be that I wanted my sexual freedom but demanded my lover not have any?
Harry opened the den’s door slowly. I waved at him to come in.
“Why didn’t the Havana hostess leave me any treats?” he asked, snagging a few guava pastries.
“You forgot to put your sock out,” I said.
“I had one on the door.”
Dave laughed. I suspected the muscle relaxer and painkillers were working on him.
“As you know, Dave threw out his back. I’m nursing him back to health,” I said. “He’s reading me the scandal sheet. We’re not in it today, Harry. We must not be trying hard enough.”
I felt a tingle and then a steady familiar pain. I got up and went into the guest bathroom adjacent to the den. I had started my period. I guess timing is everything. I looked around for supplies but saw I hadn’t had the foresight to store any in that room. “Son of a bitch!”
Harry mumbled something to Dave. I stuck my head out the door. “Where’s Harry?”
“He said he heard the call of the tampon and would be right back,” Dave said sleepily.
I shut the door, humiliated. Soon there was a discreet tap on the door. I opened it a little, and Harry handed me the products I needed. “Thank you.”
I came out, and Harry handed me some pain pills and a glass of water. I sat back on the couch. Harry gave me a hot water bottle and left the two of us in the den together alone. Dave’s eyes drooped. I pulled his head onto my lap. I was tired too. I leaned back and fell asleep.
~
“Cin, honey…”
My eyes shot open. The only one that called me honey was Ed, and that meant the EMTs were here. I was wrong.
“I’ve got to go to the bathroom, and I’m going to need help getting up,” Dave said, embarrassed.
“No problem.” I got up and opened the bathroom door before assisting Dave to sit up and shift his legs around. Then came the screaming part as he stood up.
Harry was at the door instantly. He took in the situation and took over for me.
“I’ll help him,” he volunteered.
“Thank you, and while you’re at it, tell ball-buster I hate being called honey,” I said. I left them in the house and went back to the pool house. I walked in and over to the table, where I sat down and opened the box again.
I looked back at the remaining things. I picked up a heavy but small box. I set it down before me and started to lift off the cover. Inside, stacked neatly, were minted gold bars. There was a little note that said, “Bella, these are for a rainy day or the banks failing. Tuck them away, love, Marco.” I put the lid back on.
“Whatcha got there, freckles?” Dave asked as Harry maneuvered him into the pool house and to a chair opposite me.
“Chocolate bars,” I lied. I took them and put them in the refrigerator, at the back where anyone with back trouble wouldn’t bother looking.
I looked in the freezer and found another icepack. I walked over, snagged a flattish pillow and put it and the icepack behind Dave. I kissed the top of his head.
“It wasn’t chocolate, was it?” he asked. “If so, those were the heaviest chocolate bars I’ve ever seen.”
“No.”
I reached in and drew out the manuscript. I scanned a few pages and sighed.
“What’s wrong?” Harry asked.
“This is the memoir Victor told us about, but it’s mostly in Italian. We don’t have an Italian-to-English dictionary, do we?” I asked Harry.
“You could use the internet, but we don’t have Wi-Fi out here,” he said. “Tell you what, if you two promise not to try anything that is going to land Dave in the hospital, I’ll run to Barnes and Noble and buy one.”
“I promise,” I said. “But you better take the knives with you. I’m pretty cranky, and he pushes my buttons,” I admitted.
Harry went through the drawers and snagged the knives and a very pointy pair of shears. “Cin, he needs more pills in an hour. You can’t have more…” he walked over and took the whiskey too, before completing his sentence, “until three hours,” he said, reading the bottle. “That can’t be right.”
“Doctors and pharmacists hate women,” I proclaimed.
“Dave, I’m sorry to leave you with this. First-day-period Cin will convince you that
evil does live in the hearts of women.”
I smiled very creepily. High Dave laughed.
I put the manuscript away and fetched the papers. Together, Dave and I tried to do the crossword puzzle. High Dave was still smart, but crampy and pilled-up Cin couldn’t spell and, I suspected, couldn’t lie when pressed. Only Harry knew this. At least, I thought it was only Harry.
“We could inch our way into the house and the family room and watch some television,” I offered.
“No, I like it out here with you. It’s like we are in a cabana in the woods.”
“You mean cabin,” I corrected.
“Do cabins have a pool outside?”
“Point made,” I said. “Time for your pills, lucky guy. And then I’m going to take you to pee. Don’t give me that face. If I say you’re going to pee, you’re going to pee, mister pink underpants,” I blurted out, closing my eyes tight, hoping I hadn’t actually said that last part.
He didn’t say anything. Maybe he didn’t hear it. Or, crazily enough, maybe I didn’t actually say it. I fed him the pills and helped him up and into the bathroom. I waited for him outside the door.
“Okay,” he said.
I helped him into my bed and tried to straighten the covers before I got in. “Let me tell you all about my time in Cornwall. It will put you to sleep.”
“I doubt it. Is this where you killed a trans person and a man?”
“Yes, the man’s name was Michael. He was the namesake for Father Michael.”
“Where did you meet Father Michael?”
“I saw him first in a bookstore in the Atlanta airport. He was in his priest duds, and from behind, he looked like Gabriel Byrne in Stigmata. He turned around and caught me checking him out. His eyes were blue, but he was too pretty to be Gabe.”
“You don’t like pretty boys, do you?”
