by Clark Howard
“Ask them?”
“Yeah, because we’ve been talking about a lot of things, the girls and me, that we never discussed when Nick was here. Like meals, for instance. We plan what we’d like for dinner. Before it was always me fixing what Nick wanted. Also, we discuss what to watch on TV We’ve been watching lots of nature programs, wildlife, stuff like that—”
“Nick watched wildlife shows: the Cubs, the Bears—”
“Yeah, very funny. You guys and your sports. We girls,” she said with mock loftiness, “prefer educational programming.”
“If you three turn into intellectuals on me, I’m not coming around anymore,” Joe threatened. “And I’ll tell Tessie that it’s your fault for watching animal shows.”
“Please don’t do that. You know Tessie would defend you with her life. I promise we’ll go back to watching trash.” Stella leaned her head against his knee. “Seriously, Joe, are you ever going to settle down?”
“I think I’m about ready to right now,” he said. “As soon as I clear up a couple of matters.”
“About Nick?”
“Yeah.”
“Joe,” she turned, facing him, “I hope you’re not thinking of doing anything—that might get you in more trouble—or put you in danger of any kind. I want to see whoever killed Nick get punished for it, but not at the expense of—well, another loss. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I understand.” He sipped some brandy. Her hand was on his knee now, and he reached out with his own to cover it. “But there’s something you have to understand too—”
“Don’t try to make me understand anything, Joe,” she cut off his words. “I had enough of that when Nick was alive; he was always trying to get me to see something his way. There are times, you know, when a woman, like a kid, just wants to be listened to, just wants to talk without being convinced of something—”
“I listen to you, Stel. And I wasn’t going to try and convince you of anything,” he said quietly.
“I lost so much when I lost Nick,” she said, staring into space. “I lost a husband, a father for my children, a friend—” she paused a bare beat, “and my lover.” She reached past him to set her glass on the end table, and put both hands on his thigh now, leaning her cheek on his knee. “I don’t want to lose anything else, Joe. I don’t want to do without anything else. I’m not used to doing without—”
Kiley put a hand on her head and gently stroked her thickly layered hair—hair that he had almost venerated over the years, he thought it was so lovely; now, for the first time, he was actually touching it.
“If I had my way, Stel, you’d never do without anything,” he said softly to her, the words not coming easy.
“Joe, can I tell you a secret?”
“Sure.”
“It’s a personal secret. You have to promise you won’t laugh at me.”
“You know I wouldn’t laugh at you.”
“And you have to promise you won’t think less of me for it—”
“Nothing would make me think less of you.”
“All right.” She swallowed, getting ready for what she would say. “You know all those times I tried to fix you up with women? Well, they naturally used to ask me things about you, and I used to talk about you a lot. Sometimes, Joe, when I was talking about you to those other women, I used to think about you myself. I mean, for myself.” She looked down, embarrassed. “I used to wonder how it would be to—well, you know, be with you.” Now she looked back up, mortified. “My God, I can’t believe I said that.” Quickly she reached for her glass and drank a swallow of brandy. “I guess you must think I’m awful—”
“You know I don’t think that.” Kiley leaned forward a little, and when he did it seemed to move the hand that was still on his thigh slightly higher. “I’ll tell you the same thing you told me last week when I broke down and cried over Nick: You’re just human, Stella, like the rest of us. Don’t you think I’ve had thoughts about you over the years?”
“I wondered about it—”
“Well, stop wondering. I did have. So often that right now I couldn’t even guess how many times.” He sat back, drinking some brandy; the hand on his thigh did not shift downward.
“Tell me what you thought, Joe,” she asked, barely above a whisper. “Tell me what your thoughts about me were.”
“You know what they were.”
“I want you to tell me,” she said. There was something in her voice that made him decide that it was important to her. “I want to hear you say it, Joey—”
Resting his head back, closing his eyes, Kiley said, “I used to think about you in a black slip with nothing on under it. I used to think about your lips, about kissing you, about you kissing me. And picture you wiggling out of the slip, pulling it up over your head. I used to wonder how much hair you had between your legs, whether it was a little or a lot—”
He got an erection, very quickly, and knew Stella could see it happening, just inches from where her hands rested. Then he felt her hand leave his thigh, felt her body shift away from him, and opened his eyes to see her go over and lock the den door. When she came back, she sat next to him on the couch. He put his arm around her and she casually rested one hand on the swelling inside his trousers.
“You aren’t going to think I’m a slut, are you, Joey?”
“Don’t be ridiculous—”
Kiley drew her gently to him and experienced with her subtly curved, slightly parted lips what he had been doing in his mind for so long: kissed Stella very lightly, very tenderly, as if to do it more passionately might somehow eradicate the reality of the moment and reduce it to fantasy again. It was finally Stella who began to press her lips to his with more intensity, more energy. Kiley moved a hand to the buttons of her cardigan and opened it partway down the front, enough to reach one of her breasts, which was not hampered by a bra; the size and roundness of it surprised him, because in his hand it felt much larger than it seemed in the scores of surreptitious glances he had recorded. The breast, her left, felt buoyant, strong, tightening eagerly to his touch, its nipple swelling out as if vacuum pumped.
“Don’t think bad of me, Joey,” she said, drawing her lips back just far enough to speak.
“I couldn’t—”
“I’m not used to doing without—”
“I know. It’s all right—”
Abruptly, Stella stood and removed the cardigan all the way, leaving herself magnificently erotic in black slacks and light olive flesh. Taking Joe’s hands, she urged him to his feet and unbuttoned his shirt, enlisting his help to remove it and pull his undershirt over his head. Both naked from the waist up then, they embraced and kissed with passion now unbound, unrepressed by anything past or present: there was no unresolved murder of Nick, no mourning, no girls sleeping innocently upstairs, no job suspension, no family pressures from the Biancos—none of it mattered: not to Stella, because her need was too demanding; not to Joe because all of his long repressed hunger for this woman was driving him now like a power fill amphetamine injected directly into his bloodstream, engulfing his mind as that blood further engorged his manhood.
In another abrupt move, Stella uncoupled from him and stepped back far enough to continue undressing, and without hesitation Kiley did the same. Stella had only to kick off her loafers, step out of her slacks, and peel off the black panties she wore. Kiley watched her look at his erection as he dropped his briefs and raised first one foot, then the other, to remove his socks. And Stella watched Joe as his eyes followed her hand down to what was a mere shadow of hair.
“I have a lot,” she said, “but I keep it trimmed close—”
Taking Joe’s hands, she backed onto the couch and guided him to his knees between her spread legs.
“Kiss me, Joey—down there—”
They did not make love long. Stella’s emotions were so pent-up that the pressure for release could not be contained. She was not practiced at prolonging anything; once she got going, it was unrepres
sed feeling, unimpeded motion—she was raw, unrefined, totally uninhibited, not a wife, a widow, a mother, nothing except a woman: functioning as such, thriving on her femaleness, not making love or anything like it. Stella was copulating, and that was all.
For Joe, it was not a question of holding back, trying to prolong; whether he wanted to draw out the length of their act did not matter. So fierce and frenetic was this woman he had secretly loved all those years, he could not have checked the natural progress of his excitement even if he had wanted to. Stella was like a savage who could not stop or even slow down until she had been seized by orgasm as many times as possible before leaving Joe drained and slack.
Afterward, dressed, they sat shoulder to shoulder on the couch and finished the brandy they had interrupted. Stella was as limp after the act as Joe was, and they felt softly tired, warmly relieved.
“I think I’d have gone crazy tonight if we hadn’t done it,” Stella said.
“Me too,” Joe told her.
“I kept telling myself Nick hasn’t been gone all that long—”
“I know. That’s been on my mind too. But I couldn’t help thinking about you—” Kiley turned sideways to face her, pulling one knee up on the couch. “Stella, what I was trying to tell you earlier, about having a couple of matters about Nick to clear up: I want you to understand that they’re very important to me. I know there’s been some talk from Nick’s relatives, especially Gino, about me not being there when Nick was killed—and then some remarks about how much attention I’ve been paying to you since. Like maybe I didn’t care that Nick was gone—”
“Joe,” she turned and touched his lips with her fingers, “you don’t have to go into all that—”
“I want to go into it, Stel,” he insisted. “It’s important to me that no matter what anyone else thinks or says, thatyou know how things really are. Even the way I feel about you right now, I’d still do anything in the world to bring Nick back, give him back to you and the girls, make everything like it was before. I can’t do that, but what I can do is get the bastard that killed him—and I intend to do that, no matter what. I couldn’t bring myself to ask you to make a life with me unless I had set that matter straight.”
Stella frowned. “Make a life with you?”
“Sure. You and me and the girls. That’s what this is all about.” Now it was Kiley who frowned, sensing something between them of which he was not aware. “Isn’t that what it’s all about?” he asked. There was the barest note of plaintiveness in his voice.
“Are you talking about you and me getting married?” Stella asked. No uncertainty at all in her tone.
“Yeah. Sure. I thought—”
“Joe, I’m going to marry Nick’s cousin, Frank.”
“You’re w-what?”
“I already decided that. I haven’t told him, of course, and won’t for a while, until I think it’s the right time. But that’s what I’m going to do.”
Stella could see that Joe was stunned by the news. He had turned sickly pale and his lips were parted in numbed surprise. She took one of his hands.
“It’s for the best, Joe. He’s Italian, I’m Italian, the girls are Italian. The family name will stay the same. It’ll be better all around, believe me. And I think Nick would approve. Oh, I know he thought Frank was an asshole, but you know as well as I do that Nick felt that way about most people—just like you do. When I say I think Nick would approve, I mean approve in general: you know, we’re the same blood, we’ve got the same family name, we’re all Catholic—”
“I’m Catholic too,” Joe said lamely.
“Jo-ey,” she derided mildly, “you have to be dragged to church—and even then it has to be some special occasion, like a First Holy Communion or something for the girls. Frank goes to mass every Sunday with his parents, and he’ll continue to do that with us, as a family, after he and I are married. I need somebody to set a good example for the girls—”
“And you think Frank is the person to do it?” Joe asked, pulling his hand away from hers. There was incredulity in his voice as some of the concussion of her announcement began to dissolve into less jarring dismay.
“Yes, I do, Joe.” Slightly defensive now. “I know Frank is considered pretty much of a flake—I mean, I’m not stupid and I’m not blind. But Uncle Gino says it’s because Frank never had the chance to be anything else. Uncle Gino feels that with a wife, kids, a home, family responsibilities, that Frank will become much more of a man than he is now. And Uncle Gino has promised to give him all the help he needs; he says he’ll make Frank a partner in his used-car business, and that he’ll include Jennie and Tessie equally in his will with his own grandchildren—”
“Have you told Gino that you’ve made up your mind?” Joe asked. He was fairly certain that she hadn’t, otherwise Gino and Frank would not have tried to lean on him the day he got back from Indiana.
“I haven’t told anyone,” Stella confirmed, “except you.” Reverting back to her more sensitive self, Stella took his hand again. “Joe, the last thing in the world I’d ever do is intentionally hurt you, I hope you believe that. You know I care for you, my girls care for you, Nick loved you like a brother—”
“Is that how you love me, Stella? Like a brother?”
She stared piteously at him for a brief moment, then nodded her head. “Yes, Joey, it is.”
The revelation of her intent to marry Frank had been like a kick in the balls to him; this admission of her real feeling toward him, a brotherly feeling, was almost like being felt sorry for, being consoled, as if Stella were trying to treat him kindly. None of it made any sense to him.
“What we just did together,” he said, imploring for some understanding of what was happening, “didn’t that mean anything?”
“It was just—just physical—” she struggled for words, the confusion of their communication now settling upon her also.
“But didn’t it mean something?” Kiley persisted. Once again he removed his hand from hers. “Wasn’t there any feeling there? Jesus Christ, Stella, that wasn’t Frank inside you! You were fucking me!”
“Please keep your voice down,” Stella said evenly, glancing upward where her daughters slept. “I know who I was fucking, Joe. I also know why. I thought I made it clear to you that I just—needed it—”
“You mean it didn’t make any difference who? All you needed was a stiff dick?”
“Joe, please,” she said, rising, moving a few steps away. “That’s not true. I needed more than a cock. I needed somebody that I cared for, somebody that cared for me—and I don’t mean somebody who was in love with me—it never occurred to me that you felt that deeply, Joe, I swear to God it didn’t. I just wanted somebody that I could feel close to, with every part of me; somebody that I didn’t have to hold anything back from; I wanted it to be like it had been with Nicky and me—”
“Do you expect to have that with Frank?”
“No, not at all. With Frank it’ll be more like it used to be in the Old Country, for convenience, for the family’s sake—”
“But you intend to fuck him, right?”
“Of course, I do. I’ll do for Frank everything a wife is supposed to do. But I don’t expect it to be like it was with Nick.” She glanced down. “Or tonight with you.”
“Then why?” Kiley sat forward pleadingly. “Why are you going to marry him?”
“Because that’s not all there is to it, Joe!” she snapped. “Married people don’t just fuck. They live together! They eat meals together, go to mass together, have family holidays together, raise kids together. I need somebody who fits into that picture, Joe. Not someone who’s tough and cynical and ruthless and—different.”
“If that’s the way you feel about me,” Kiley asked in confusion, “why were you always trying to get me involved with women to marry, talking about how I should have a family of my own, saying how wonderful I am with kids—?”
“Because I think you are. Because you might make a very good husband
and father in the right circumstances,” Stella explained, “married to the right woman.”
“But you’re not that woman?”
“No, Joey, I’m not—”
“Quit calling me ‘Joey,’ for Christ’s sake, will you?” he suddenly railed. “That’s what my mother called me.” A thought of Meralda Mendez telling him that same thing flashed through his mind.
“I’m sorry—” Stella apologized. “I’ve been calling you that for so long—”
Kiley rose and paced the room like a nervous jungle animal sensing danger but not knowing what to do about it. He was caught up in an evening that was at once the most wonderful and the most terrible of his life. The lovemaking with Stella—and that was how he thought of it, as lovemaking—had been incredible, the most marvelous moments he had ever experienced, even in his fantasies about her. But the announcement of Stella’s intention with respect to Frank Bianco had plunged him into the blackest pit of disbelief and despair that he could imagine. It was that pit that he was trying desperately to get out of. After pacing the length of the room several times, he abruptly stopped and faced Stella.
“I think,” he told her quietly, “that I’d better go. I’ve got some heavy rethinking to do, and I can’t do it when I’m with you.”
He started for the door. Stella hurried after him.
“Joe, wait, listen—please—”
Kiley kept walking, out of the den, through the living room to the foyer, the front door.
“Joe, please,” Stella implored, “don’t walk out feeling like that—”
“I feel the way I feel,” he said.
“Joe, I’m sorry—maybe what we did tonight was wrong, but I thought it would be good for both of us—I didn’t mean to hurt you—”
Kiley stopped and faced her at the front door.
“I’m not blaming you for anything, Stella. I’m not saying anything’s your fault. But you can’t expect me to like it. You can’t expect me not to feel like shit about it. We’ve been talking about both of us just being human like everybody else; well, I am. Sure, I’m cynical and ruthless and whatever else you said, but I’m human too. I can’t help feeling like shit when life turns out to be shit. And that’s what happened tonight.”
