I lean over, turning on the radio and scanning through the music stations until I decide to just switch to AM so that I can listen to the weather report on 1010 WINS.
“Do you mind turning the radio off?”
“I can lower the volume.” I reach over to do so, but Michael abruptly slams his hand over the power dial, shutting the radio off.
Now I know for certain something’s wrong. I’m too nervous to say anything, though. After riding for fifteen minutes in silence, I can’t take it anymore. I decide to keep it light.
“So, can you believe we’ll be married and in Venice in just a few weeks? I can’t wait. We’ll finally get to relax. I’ve started doing some research on some of the sites we should see in Venice.”
Michael is still silent.
“I know you’ve been busy with work, but have you thought at all about what you might be interested in seeing when we’re there?”
“Not really. As you said, I’ve just been completely consumed by work, especially after I got this promotion.”
“I’m thinking I’m going to take an additional month off from work after we return from the honeymoon. This way I can get the house settled and all. I’ve already started browsing through a few home décor magazines to get a few ideas.”
Michael is exiting off the Jewel Avenue ramp of the Grand Central Parkway. Why is he getting off in Forest Hills? We still have at least another twenty minutes to go to get to Oyster Bay.
“What are you doing, Michael?”
“I changed my mind. I don’t want to go all the way out to Oyster Bay.”
“Oh, okay. Yeah, the weather is bad, and I can see the rush hour traffic is starting to pick up.”
“That’s not why.”
He makes a left onto 110th Street and pulls over into an empty parking space in front of a huge McMansion. The past two decades, McMansions have been sprouting up in the suburbs of New York, mostly on Long Island. Though Forest Hills is in Queens, it has more of a residential urban feel to it. And many of the beautiful older Tudor homes are landmarks. But even here, McMansions have taken root. We are parked in front of a McMansion, which is beautiful but still seems out of place on this city street. Personally, I prefer the older Tudor homes in Forest Hills or even the Italianate villa style of Signora Tesca’s Mussolini Mansion. Though they are smaller in scale than the McMansions, they are still spacious houses and hold far more appeal for me.
“Michael, what’s going on? You’ve been acting weird since you got to the shop.”
Michael is staring at the McMansion we’re parked in front of. I wait for a full two minutes, but he’s still silent.
“Michael, you’re scaring me. What is it?”
“Damn it, Vee! Can’t you let me explain in my own good time? You’re always in a rush.”
Tears fill my eyes. I look out the window at the ugly McMansion, focusing on the tall wrought-iron gate and the ugly rocking chair that stands by the front door.
Michael hits the steering wheel with his fist. I jump at the sound but refuse to turn toward him. His anger is scaring me. What have I done to make him so upset?
“Valentina, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
I turn around and look at him.
“I know. That’s not like you. It’s okay. Just take your time and tell me what’s on your mind whenever you’re ready.”
Michael sighs deeply.
“Why do you have to always be so nice? You’re making this even harder.”
Our eyes meet, but he quickly looks away, staring at his windshield. The rain is still coming down hard.
Michael runs his hand over his hair and shuts his eyes, squeezing them tightly. He then says, “I can’t do it.”
My heart begins thumping.
“Do what?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. A small twig falls onto the windshield. I stare at it.
“You know. The wedding.”
It’s my turn to shut my eyes. I’m not hearing this.
“It’s the big wedding, isn’t it? I know. It can be overwhelming. But if you want it to be just you and me in Venice, we can still do that. I’m sure our families would understand. It’s about us, after all. Whatever you want, Michael. I’m sorry. I’ve been letting this wedding consume us.”
I can’t believe the words that are coming out of my mouth. I don’t recognize the person who’s saying them. What about me? I hear somewhere deep down. A big wedding is what I’ve always wanted. And how could our families not be there? Ma would never forgive me, and after losing Baba, I want my family to share my happy moment with me. But I know I’m desperate, reaching out for a lifesaver to keep me afloat.
“Vee, it’s not about the big wedding. I don’t want to get married anymore.”
I don’t even try to keep my tears at bay. They’re racing down my face as fast as the raindrops coming down the windshield.
“You’re just getting cold feet. That happens to everyone. I’ve even been feeling a bit blue. Getting married can be scary. Let’s just talk. We can work anything out.”
“It’s not cold feet, Valentina. I’ve been feeling this way for the past two months.”
“Two months? And you’re only telling me now?”
“I’m sorry, Vee. I was trying to ignore how I felt. That’s why I didn’t say anything sooner. I thought maybe it was just your typical getting cold feet before the wedding. But it’s not. I can’t deny how I feel. I can’t go through with this unless I’m one hundred percent certain. It wouldn’t be fair to me or you.”
“You’re being selfish! Don’t try to say you’re thinking of me. It’s always been about you. And I’ve been too stupid to see it or want to see it. This started much longer than two months ago.”
“Valentina, I swear. It’s only been recently that I’ve had doubts.”
“Doubts about me.”
“No, it’s not you. I just don’t think I’d be happy married to anyone.”
“You’re just saying that to spare my feelings. I’m not an idiot. This goes back to when you were in Munich, and I stopped hearing from you. Again, you put yourself first then just like you’re doing now. If you really cared about me, you would’ve kept in touch with me. And if you did love me, you would’ve come to me two months ago to tell me how you were feeling. But you have always kept me at a distance.”
I reach into his glove compartment, pulling out the whole stack of napkins from restaurants we’ve visited. I can’t stop crying.
“That’s not true, Valentina. And you know it.”
“No, I don’t know it. Don’t try to tell me what I’m feeling.”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Then why are you?”
“Vee, it’s complicated.”
“Why? Why don’t you want to get married anymore? And don’t say that you think you don’t want to get married to anyone at all. That’s bullshit. You know it, and I know it. So spit it out. What did I do?”
“You didn’t do anything. I’m just not ready for marriage. You’ve seen how busy I’ve been at work. I haven’t even had enough time for you. I need to devote myself fully to my career so I can get to where I need to be in a few years.”
“Is it someone else?”
“No, of course not.”
I can’t resist laughing and parroting him.
“No, of course not. Like that’s never happened. After all, you made out with my best friend Tracy right after you danced with me at the sophomore dance even though you told me later you really wanted to ask me out. If I was the one you really wanted, then why was it so easy for you to be sucking face with the Slut of Astoria?”
“Come on, Valentina! You’re being unfair. I was a kid—and a guy. Most guys do not think with their heads at that age.”
“Oh, you were thinking with your head, all right—just the one between your legs.”
“Stop it, Vee! That’s not you. You’re sounding really ugly.”
“Why? Because I’m not being
my usual sweet, forgiving self for once? I should’ve known you were no good. After all, you did make out with the likes of Tracy. For all I know, you probably even slept with her. And maybe that night wasn’t the only night. You probably met someone else when you were in Munich, and that’s why you stopped e-mailing me. And now, there’s someone else, and that’s the real reason why you can’t marry me anymore. Just own up to it, you coward. Own up to the fact that you don’t love me anymore, and you never did.”
“I do love you, Vee. I’ll always love you.”
“Stop!” I hold up my hand. “Stop with the lies! I’m tired of them.”
“Vee, please! I know you’re upset. You have every right to be mad at me. But please. You’ve got to believe that I do love you and care about you. I can’t go through with this wedding, knowing that there’s a chance I could hurt you more down the road. Please, I don’t want to end things this way.”
“But you are ending things this way. You’re the one who’s doing this. What did you think? It’s a month before our wedding. People have given me gifts already. Deposits have been placed. Our house? What are we going to do about that, Michael?”
“I’ll handle it all. I’ll sell it. I’ll give you your portion of the down payment. I’ll even give you my portion. I’ll take care of it all. I promise.”
“What am I supposed to say to people? And my family! Oh God! My mother. This is going to kill her!”
“This is going to kill my parents, too, Vee. They love you and were so happy about us getting married.”
“And my dress! My dress! Do you know how long it took me to complete it? All those hours I stayed up late after the shop closed. And then I even altered it after you walked in on my fitting and didn’t like it. And for what? For nothing.”
“Valentina, I want us to be friends. I know you’re mad at me. But we’ve known each other since we were kids.”
“I’ll never forgive you, Michael.”
“Not now. But maybe in time.”
“I don’t think so. Michael, I’m just going to ask you one favor.”
“Sure, whatever you want, Valentina.”
I want to laugh at his words. He knows what I want. I want to marry him, but he doesn’t care. It’s what he wants, and that’s all that matters to Michael.
“I’m going to get out of the car. I’ll take the subway back to Astoria. Please don’t insist on driving me home. I need to be alone.”
“Okay, but let me at least drive you to the subway station so you don’t get drenched.”
“No, that’s fine.” The tone in my voice convinces him to not argue with me.
Before I step out of the car, I look at Michael, knowing this will probably be the last time I see him in a long time, if ever. He’s staring at me. Tears are forming in his eyes. I hesitate for a moment and then quickly get out before I change my mind. It’s still raining but not as heavily as before. Opening my umbrella, I walk away without even a glance back, making my way toward the subway station on 71st and Continental Avenue. As soon as I know I’m out of sight of Michael’s car and that he’s not following me, I walk over to the front steps of the closest house and sit down. The houses on this street are more modest than the McMansions where Michael had parked. I start sobbing, making sure to shield my face with my umbrella should anyone be walking by.
I feel empty. The man I’ve loved for so long doesn’t want me. I suddenly realize with horror that I never gave Michael back my engagement ring. I stare at it—a reminder of a broken promise. Pulling it off, I throw the ring into my purse. A strip of white skin encircles my finger where the ring sat.
What am I going to say to my family? Noticing a livery cab waiting at the red light, I suddenly realize the last place I want to be is on a crowded subway. Running over to the cab before the light changes, I motion to the driver to roll down his window.
“Need a ride, miss?”
“Yes, I’m going to Astoria.”
“Hop in.”
The rain is getting heavy again. Staring out the window, I take some comfort in the fact that the weather is as miserable as I’m feeling.
12
Guinea Trash
When the cab pulls up in front of Aldo’s apartment building, it’s five p.m. I pray he’s home. Unable to face my family yet, I decide to go first to Aldo’s. After college, Aldo had gotten his own place near Astoria Park. I’d been surprised he didn’t move into Manhattan, even after his salary had increased at Christie’s.
I press down on the buzzer and wait to hear Aldo’s voice come through on the intercom. No answer. I should’ve called him first. I press the buzzer again. Just as I’m about to leave, static comes through over the intercom.
“Yes?”
“Aldo, it’s me. Valentina.”
“Vee? What are you doing here? Is Michael with you?”
I start choking up.
“Vee? Can you hear me?”
“Yes. Can I please come in? I’m . . . I’m alone.”
“Of course. Come up.”
Aldo buzzes me in.
I climb the stairs to his third-floor walkup apartment. My body feels so weary with each step I take. Aldo is waiting for me when I reach his floor. His TV is blasting out into the hallway. From the sounds of it, he’s watching repeats of that horrible show The Real Housewives of New Jersey. It escapes me how he can watch that show. The way they portray Italian Americans. Guinea trash. That’s what my mother calls them. This brings a smile to my face. Aldo loves anything reality-based, and the trashier it is, the more he loves it.
“So you’re watching that garbage again?”
“One of these days I’ll wean myself off.”
Aldo smiles, but he isn’t fooled by my banter. His face shows concern when he sees me, which reminds me that I didn’t check my makeup in the cab. Gobs of mascara must be pooling under my eyes.
“Come in. I’ll get you a drink. And don’t try to refuse. From the looks of you, only Jack Daniel’s will do.”
I step into his apartment. As usual, the place is immaculately clean. Instantly, I start to feel calmer, remembering how much I used to love hanging out in Aldo’s apartment. But I haven’t been here since I got engaged. Again, the wedding planning had ruled my life. I feel guilty as I realize that I haven’t been the best of friends the past year.
The décor is modern. Aldo has decorated the apartment himself in hues of cream and chocolate brown. An ivory microsuede couch sits in the center of his living room. A shaggy chocolate brown rug rests on the floor between the couch and the 70-inch flat screen TV. Have I mentioned how much Aldo loves TV? When DVRs first came out, he’d wasted no time in getting one.
“Now I won’t miss all of my favorite daytime talk shows!”
He’d beamed at me when he announced his new purchase.
One of our favorite pastimes is to microwave popcorn and watch awards shows where we can drool or gag over celebrities’ gowns.
The living room is split so that a sofa table behind the couch divides the room into an office and dining area. A glass pub table with four barstools stands in the corner. Aldo always keeps fresh flowers in a vase on the pub table. Even his bedroom has fresh flowers. Right now a beautiful cluster of periwinkle hydrangeas stands in a short round vase.
He’s added to his art collection since I was last here. Aldo has become more of a serious art collector in the past two years after he received a huge promotion at Christie’s. When he got laid off, he exclaimed, “Well, if I don’t find a job in a year, at least I can sell some of my art.”
As if! Aldo would rather go without food than sell his children, which is how he has referred to his art collection on several occasions.
I walk over to look at a black-and-white ink drawing of a woman lying down. Only the top half of her body shows, and her face is hardly discernible.
“Do you like that one?”
Aldo comes and stands by my side as he hands me a White Russian. He was only joking when he mentioned the Jack
Daniel’s. He knows I’d be out cold with just one sip of whiskey.
“Yes, very much. Who’s the artist?”
“He’s an up-and-coming New York City artist who goes just by one name: Niko.”
“Sounds intriguing.”
“Exactly. And his art conveys the same mysterious element, as I’m sure you can see from that drawing.”
“Do you think he’ll go far?”
“Yes, I do, but the art world can be very fickle. It doesn’t all depend on talent.”
“You can say that with any career. In fact, you can say luck is just as much a factor in almost every facet of life.”
I can’t help thinking how unlucky I’ve been in love. Maybe I’m not destined for love. Tears start filling my eyes.
“Valentina, what happened? Why aren’t you with Michael right now?”
I take a huge gulp of my cocktail.
“It’s over.”
“What do you mean ‘it’s over’? What’s over?”
“The wedding . . . Michael and me . . . all of it.”
I start crying hysterically.
“Oh my God!”
Aldo takes my drink out of my hand because it’s shaking so hard. Another second, and his carpet would’ve been ruined.
“Come here.”
I collapse into Aldo, who’s still holding my White Russian with one hand as his other hand pats my back.
“It’s okay. It’s okay,” Aldo coos. I’m crying into his shoulder. I can smell his Cool Water cologne. He hasn’t strayed from this cologne since it first came out in the early nineties.
“Let’s sit down, and you can tell me all about it. That is, if you want. I understand if you’re not ready to talk.”
I sit down on the couch.
“Here, finish your drink. It’ll make you feel better. I’ll go make you another.”
He rushes to the kitchen. Before I know it, he’s returned with my second White Russian and a box of tissues.
Bella Fortuna Page 19
