by Frank, S. W.
Selange took a cleansing breath. Her eyes clouded with sorrow and she prayed for forgiveness. She also prayed strength for her husband then stood and walked back to the house.
Nico intercepted her at the entry, “Come on, let’s take a drive.”
She thought to decline but he had her arm, walked her down the path to a shiny Mercedes and gestured for her to get in as he held open the door.
Soon they were on the road, driving through the countryside, passing hills of grass and tall plants, winding through dirt paths and trees in silence.
“Where are we going?”
“On a drive.”
“To where?”
He glanced at her, his mouth grim, “Stop worrying every minute. Relax we’re almost there.”
The drive led to a wharf, where stalls were set-up by the dozens and merchants peddled their wares. People browsed leisurely and were entertained by an operatic song from a local artist. Selange smiled, Nico obviously was appealing to her woman’s desire to shop, which for many was a form of relaxation and she was no different.
She walked through the wide aisles, passing lovers, families and tourists as they eyed the many choices of crafts, clothing and novelties. Nico was at her side, explaining this was the Fiera di Sinigaglia, somewhat of an institution in Milan. Here along the Viale d'Annunzio the flea market was very popular. She understood why, it had everything. There were Indian, South American and African craftwork, new and second-hand clothes, old furniture, perfumes, candles, books, comics, records, videos and DVDs.
Nico purchased some herbal scented oils while Selange rummaged through a collection of books. Poetry, classics and modern romances stacked in bins atop a table. She found one of interest, written in English by an unknown poet. She opened it and read a sonnet about love and the trials of the heart. Its melancholy tone spoke to her.
Nico grinned, “That’s all you want?”
“Yes.”
He paid and they moved on.
She found a hand carved tribal war mask from Tunisia and two delicious smelling candles, a vintage comic book for Sal and a doll for Allie. Nico purchased them, not bothering to haggle as is the custom everywhere and when she asked him why he hadn’t, he shrugged, “They’re hardworking merchants and their prices are reasonable, what’s the point?”
“It’s part of the fun.”
His eyebrows crinkled in opposition, “What’s fun about debating cheap prices to save a euro or two, I don’t get it?”
“Oh never-mind.”
They got a bite to eat at one of the food tents then sat at a makeshift table where they viewed the many boats drifting across the harbor.
Nico watched her eat the Milanese food, smiling to himself because she ate heartily, devouring the large slice of panettone then the raw vegetables spread with stracchino, a creamy soft milk cheese. For Nico, seeing the sadness replaced by the vibrant glow of life was all he wanted. The noticeable signs of stress were removed from the lovely face and the joy of living settled in its place. He loved the carefree side of her; it was a much better housing for the caretaker of the fetus growing inside her womb. Since she was unequivocal in one decision, it would become his mission to ensure the pregnant woman received the pampering she deserved. She was the bearer of life, protector of the innocent, which he considered a wondrous undertaking. He marveled at it, especially since death was his moniker and an abomination he’d answer for on his day of reckoning.
Whether, the child was his or not, he loved her and vowed to restore joy to her spirit. They only enjoyed one life and when it came to it, they could make the best of it or mope around. He’d never regret the intimacy they shared. He lived in the moment and the after’s were added bonuses to an uncertain tomorrow. When it came time for recompense for his sins he’d breathe glee knowing he’d atoned for his misdeeds by giving life and love as restitution.
A speck of cream clung to the corner of her lip and he used his thumb to wipe it away. She smiled, “Ummm thanks, now that was delicious.”
He consumed the remnants of his food and asked, “Feeling better?”
“Much better, thanks Nico.”
He thought to visit the other markets. The Viale Papiniano and Viale Fauché; appreciated by the fashionistas, for finds on discounted and Italian designer clothing, sort of make a day of it, but it was getting late and he decided to take her elsewhere.
They were on the road, moving quietly through the streets, occupied by their private thoughts, not addressing the subject foremost in their minds, her pregnancy.
After thirty minutes the car drove through rows of trees along a smooth dirt path and curved around exotic plants to soon halt in front a cozy villa hidden there. She wondered if it were Nico’s home but did not ask. In time she’d learn, sometimes questions were unnecessary when answers came with careful observation.
She looked around at the peaceful scenery once they stood outside the door and folded her arms across her chest as Nico accessed security. He pushed the iron plaque on the brick wall aside to display an electronic control panel. She’d seen similar ones; Alfonzo had these installed in their homes as well. It required a pass key, which Nico removed from his back pocket and swiped. It beeped, giving him thirty seconds to type in the code, then the heavy door clicked unlocked.
“Go in,” he said pointing as he replaced the iron wall hanging and followed her through.
The villa was nicely decorated, lots of solid furnishings, with large colorful pillows and a beautiful rustic fireplace with delicate artistry curving about the frieze and down the marble side columns. Expensive, understated and cozy, just as she envisioned. Nico removed the bag of oils he purchased from his coat pocket before hanging it in the closet and requested her coat, which he hung with care next to his.
“Come on have a seat, I bought these oils for you.”
“Really?” She asked. Surprised and uncertain what he meant to do with them.
He chuckled at the crinkle which formed on her nose and the small dimple at the corner of her mouth. “They’re natural massage oils used for aromatherapy. You have a nasty mind.”
“Oils, cozy villa, man, woman and what other conclusion is there?”
His laughter was warm and deep. “Go take a seat and remove your shoes. I plan to give you a foot massage.”
“So you have a foot fetish,” she remarked over her shoulder, moving to do as told.
He placed the bag atop the black wrought iron coffee table, “Oh, sit down. I’ll be right back!” Then he disappeared upstairs and returned with a large fluffy towel.
Nico plumped down nearby and put the towel on his lap then reached for one of the small bottles of oil. He gestured to her bare feet, “Come on, put them up.”
She turned toward him, having to recline to do so and placed her feet on the towel.
“Stress isn’t good, even worse when you’re expecting.”
An eyebrow rose. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Lean back…close your eyes…good girl.”
She felt his warm hands on her soles and inhaled the peppermint scented oil as he worked it between her toes, rubbing with firm strokes. He massaged her feet, pressing and flexing her foot, using both hands to knead away the tension.
“Ummmm, feels nice.”
“I’m glad.”
As Nico massaged away, she asked, “Why did you come back to work, I thought you retired?”
The question caused him to slow, “I got bored.”
Her eyes were watching his expression, “How do you get bored with a family?”
He rubbed her ankles then her calves, “You don’t.”
“What happened?”
Selange’s question got the response, “Didn’t work out as I planned.”
She lifted her torso, resting on her elbows, persistent as usual, “You told her?”
“You can say that.”
“What happened to the ‘keep silent,’ huh?”
An amused scoff came from his pet
ulant mouth, “I did but the video decided to speak for me.”
“Video?”
“Yeah, I took it from the security recorder before I left your house that morning.”
“Oh crap!”
He continued massaging, “My sentiments exactly.”
“I hope you destroyed it!”
“Yep, a bit late in retrospect.”
She studied his face for any emotion over his loss and found none. This made her ask, “Did you love her…your wife?”
The dark eyes were hooded. “Yes, still do.” And that was the truth but another unspoken fact was he loved Selange, too.
“Why aren’t you home fighting for your marriage, then?”
Nico stopped, wiped his hands on the towel then gave her his undivided attention. “Are you giving me advice?”
“A suggestion.”
“Humph.”
“Humph, what does that mean?”
“It’s a polite way of saying, look who’s talking.”
She sat erect, tucking her legs underneath her butt, “I’m trying to help. If you love someone you don’t accept the end so easily.”
Nico’s handsomely rugged features displayed no outward change, except the eyes. They penetrated her skin as if they could read her inner thoughts. He sneered for some inexplicable reason and reclined his head to the sofa. “When it’s over, fighting to hold on doesn’t change the ending, it only prolongs the war.”
She got on her knees and crawled closer where she could look down on him. “Stop being an ass and do something before it’s too late.”
His eyes were on her chin, the snarl slid from his mouth then peppermint smelling hands cupped her face. “Selange, the reason I didn’t fight is because I’ll lose.…” His eyes smoldered, “the greatest warriors are always mothers. Ariana’s protecting her children from the battle that would’ve taken place in our home. I knew to surrender, I did it because I love my children and don’t want them to become casualties in our war.”
“But you love her.”
“I’ll always love her, but I love my children more and I’ll do whatever it takes to make them happy.”
“What about your happiness?”
His eyes descended to her belly then up again. He wanted to be there, if this was his child, in the birthing room, holding her hand to give her strength. She was tough but a fragile dove. Her innocence showed. Nico didn’t want to be a shadow on the wall, anymore but a proud father welcoming his offspring into the world. He wanted to hold him and marvel at his perfect creation just as he gazed at one now, “Who says I’m not happy?”
“Are you?”
“There are moments.”
“Nico, you should be with your family. Not here.”
He smiled wearily, “Oh, sweetheart. I’ll always be around for my kids but I’m a horrible husband.”
She touched his shoulder fondly, “I feel awful.”
“Stop punishing yourself, already. Whether the baby’s mine or Alfonzo’s isn’t as important as having a healthy baby. You have to promise to start eating or you might as well had gone through with the termination. Starving yourself is tantamount to killing any chance the child has to thrive –and I’m sure that’s not your intention, right?”
“No, of course it isn’t!”
“Then soldier up for the real battle. I know you got it in you. I’ve seen it, remember?”
Nico’s sagacity echoed in her mind. The sincerity in which he spoke tendered her heart. This is why she loved him, oh, yes, he was always there at her weakest, building her stairs to climb out of dark holes. He was there beside her when she went after Frank Monticelli and took bullets in the course of it. He offered his wisdom when her marriage seemed certain to crumble and oh, yes, those were black hours, indeed. –Yet, the worse came months ago. By grace and mercy, he was there when the blood of her dreams almost drove her mad; it was his love that saved her. The love she held for Nico was a special one. He was more than a friend; he was her dark angel who swooped down when trouble threatened to invade her soul.
Their talk renewed her spirit and stirred a familiar longing between her thighs. She gave voice to it, “I’ve missed our friendship…Nico…I missed you.” And in the confession her body pressed to his, unable to resist the violent twitching between her legs any longer. Her lips were there, on his closed mouth, prying it open with the force of her tongue. The provocative kiss was slow, deliberate and filled with carnal promises. He let her in and his nostrils flared as he answered the honeyed kiss with a fierce yearning that sucked air from her lungs and caused her head to swoon from its effect. Selange’s fingers traced the contours of the hard thighs then slid to what she wanted. She massaged and cajoled the tall building rising from the masculine earth.
Abruptly, he detached. The sudden separation generated a wet smacking sound. His mouth glistened with her wet sweetness but his tone was sour. “Hold on, you don’t get to toy with me twice and not expect me to question whether you’re aware of what you’re doing.”
“Nico…”
“Do you want me as a lover or do you want something more?”
She felt confused. She thought he wanted her, “I...I don’t know what I want anymore. I don’t know… what do you want me to say?”
“I want you with your eyes wide open and certain. No more games…no more.” The coal pupils were heated, “And you better be damn certain you’re prepared for the consequences, this time. I’m not going on another ride with you until I’m told the destination –until then I’m getting out, right here!” He said getting to his feet then looking down at her stricken face, “Come on get your stuff, let’s go!”
Later, that night Selange lay in bed thinking about what Nico said. He seemed extremely pissed. She wrapped her arm around the fluffy pillow. ‘Whew, okay, she’d tell him the truth.’ Yes, she wanted him, but she wanted her husband as well. She couldn’t have both; she knew that but why not? She rolled onto her back in a fit of restlessness, okay, then tell him…he makes you feel good and makes you laugh…tell him that, she thought.
During the night a loud shriek, followed by rants in a foreign language. They broke into her dreams. Ah, yes, Lucia, she must have found the gift. Dead roses in a box, with a few garden worms crawling about for dramatic effect. Written on pretty pink stationary were the cryptic words: Thank you for helping me choose which flowers to place on your grave. –S
Selange chuckled and drifted back to sleep. That’ll teach the hussy!
CHAPTER SEVEN
The problem with trying to do the right thing is the ‘trying’ part, either you do it or you don’t. That’s the way Alfonzo looked at it. He walked from behind his desk, stood near the window over-looking downtown Bayamón with his mom’s voice buzzing in his ear. He listened to her give a million reasons why she didn’t want to accompany him and the children to the wedding. “They’re not nice people,” was one reason, “Those kids shouldn’t be around people like that, they may pick-up bad habits,” was another excuse until finally he had enough.
He rubbed his sore arm. The stitches were removed this morning and the slight throbbing at the site irritated him. “Mama, those people are my family, también. You should’ve considered these things before you slept with my father.”
The minute the words were out, they hung suspended in air. The silence continued and he swore he could hear her fingering those goddamn beads like a martyred woman. Such hypocrisy!
Stricken by his comment she tore into him. “You say that to me?” Then she began to berate him in Spanish for being disrespectful when in fact he only spoke the truth. She had a problem hearing the facts of how he came to be. As ugly as it sounded, the truth was indisputable. She slept with a married man and had a son. She made the choice and now she wanted him to disregard his other roots, simply because she disapproved of them. Maybe, had she been a devout servant in those days, she would have saved herself from perpetual repentance. Currently, he tired of it. The religious obedience served only as
a security blanket to avoid loving any other man for fear they’d betray her.
The sun dimmed and a soft glow hovered across the horizon as he tuned out the rants. Once she calmed he spoke again, “Mama, didn’t you say we’re forgiven sins if we repent?”
“It’s true.”
“How long are you going to ask forgiveness for falling in love with my father, or can it be you pray fervently to those saints because you think I’ve become just like him?”
Silence.
The lack of response served as confirmation. He disconnected the call and stared into nothingness. His cell rang continuously but he didn’t answer. It was her. The ring-tone told him. Through the void, came the ugliest of truths. She would always be disappointed in him, how could she not? Alfonzo represented Luzo, the man she once desired and later came to despise. To the pious woman her son was not a gift but a curse. His mother’s supplications were desperate cries for her son’s salvation. The sting of it hurt deeply. His cousin Domingo in a childish disagreement once called him The Devil’s Bastard. The insult resulted in their biggest fight. Ten year old boys are cruel, but he’d always wondered why his mother never married or didn’t have boyfriends like other single mothers. The question plagued him at times. He started to think Domingo may be right. Maybe, he was the son of the devil. This he never told anyone; instead he suppressed it and rebelled.
His shoulders slumped. The ten-year old child existed, concealed by the man. The ‘tough’ New York attitude wasn’t enough protection against the bullet to his chest. He wanted to hear his wife’s voice, soften the hard blows of rejection. He wouldn’t mention the conversation, just like he hadn’t mentioned the shooting incident. Selange was in Italy to celebrate and he didn’t want her worrying about him, hearing her was all the psychological first-aid he needed.
He woke her; the sluggish tone of her voice the tell-tale signs. “Hey hun, is everything okay with the kids?” Was the first thing she asked.
