“Pretty good. It’s a dreary day, but we’re here,” said Carmala. “Where’s Frank?”
“He’s looking for a parking spot.”
Carmala’s sister and her family lived in New Jersey, just twenty minutes away, practically right over the bridge.
“Always a major feat, especially in small neighborhoods like this. It’s one of the things I don’t have to worry about in New York, since I don’t drive.”
“Did Santa come?” asked Cristie.
“He sure did. See all the gifts under the tree.” Carmala nodded in the appropriate direction.
Elizabetha had set up the eight-foot live Douglas fir near the television in the living room. Carmala, her parents, and Guido stored their presents wrapped with multiple ribbons in bright colors of red, green, and silver snugly under the tree.
****
Later that afternoon Carmala helped her mother set the Christmas table with a poinsettia linen tablecloth, matching napkins, and her parents’ finest Italian china. Carmala carefully worked with the pieces to avoid breaking anything.
Ernesto, Guido, and Frank came in from the living room and gathered around the table. Her father pulled out his decanter of homemade manhattans, a Rosa Christmas staple, and poured glasses for the adults.
Carmala, her sister, and their mother skittered back and forth from the kitchen with heaping platters of food. In the midst of the chaos, the door opened, and Carmala’s brother Sammy, the middle Rosa child, struggled to get inside, his arms loaded with gifts and luggage. Elizabetha attempted to gather the gifts before the girls caught him, but she was too late. He put his packages down as the girls ran in from the living room, where they were playing with the toys they’d brought from home.
“Uncle Sammy, Uncle Sammy!” Cristie leaped into his arms before he could take his coat off.
“Hey, girls.”
Sammy was flushed with the chill of the weather, but Carmala loved seeing how he’d swelled with happiness.
“Sammy, you’re always coming in at the last minute.” Elizabetha shook her head. Sammy brushed her off as she slipped away to put his gifts under the tree.
“Did you bring those from Santa in California for us, Uncle Sammy?” asked Isabella, eyeing the gifts her grandma carried away.
“He did, and he told me to tell you that you have to eat your dinner before you open them.”
“I wanna open them now. I’m not hungry,” Cristie wailed.
Elizabetha reappeared in the kitchen. “I made you girls your favorite turkey stuffing with the sausage gravy.”
“Yay! I love the sausage gravy,” Isabella cried.
“Me too!” said Cristie.
“Come on, girls. Let’s get around the table. Everyone, come on,” Elizabetha said.
Sammy sat at the table next to Frank and accepted a manhattan. “Thank you. The connecting flight from California was delayed. I thought I was going to spend Christmas night in Chicago.”
The pungent and sweet taste of the manhattan burned Carmala’s throat, but after the second sip, it went down more smoothly. Whiskey wasn’t her first choice in liquor, but her father’s concoction couldn’t be beat.
“Okay, everyone, before we dig in, it’s time for the blessing,” Ernesto said.
Everyone gathered hands. “Dear, Lord, thank you for all that you’ve given us, for bringing our family together today safe and sound. God bless the baby Jesus. Please watch over us during the New Year. Bless this food we are about to eat. Amen.”
An “amen” resounded in unison. Ernesto held up his manhattan. “And Merry Christmas.”
The food platters were passed around, and everyone piled up their own plates.
Joanne gave the girls extra raviolis. “You have to eat the string beans too,” she told them as they wrinkled their noses in disgust.
Carmala listened in on parts of the dinner conversations, not knowing which stream of conversation to follow. She wanted to absorb everything now that the Rosa family were spread across the country. It was difficult to keep up with everyone. The combination of factual updates mixed with elements of drama irked as well as entertained her.
“How’s the job going?” Frank asked Sammy.
“It was the best thing I ever did. The relocation to Sacramento was the only way to get the promotion, and now that I run the graphics department, I call the shots.”
“That’s great. I never took advantage of relocation opportunities. Being that we have the girls to consider. But then Carmala knows all about relocation, don’t you?” Frank asked.
“Relocation and other matters. I’ve been adjusting to a new job over the last couple of months and moved into a new apartment, paid for by the new company,” Carmala replied.
Elizabetha pinned her with an accusatory glare. “I guess I can’t expect any grandchildren from you or Sammy.” She shook her head with feigned sadness. “Where did I go wrong?”
Ernesto waved his finger at his wife. “Don’t give up on Carmala so soon, Elizabetha. Guido’s in the picture. He’s a man with plans. I can tell. I’m sure his mama wants little ones too.”
“Hey. Stop it. I’m sitting right here. You don’t have to marry me off or push for grandchildren yet. There’s plenty of time.” Carmala’s face burned, and she stole a glance at Guido.
He winked at her and squeezed her hand under the table. “Yeah, we have plenty of time. No rush. Carmala is busy, and so am I.” He glanced at her. “You should tell them all about your new job. She’s really good at it. And they love her.”
Carmala took a few moments to regale her family with details about her position at Synergy Plus, how she’d switched from the role of an auditor to a salesperson, and the clients she’d handled.
When she’d finished, her father smiled. “We’re so proud of you, honey.” He held up his manhattan. “And, Sammy, your graphics job sounds like a real great opportunity for you. I’m proud of you, Son.” He waved his glass toward his kids around the table. “I’m proud of all of you.”
****
Later that night, after the girls opened their gifts, everyone gathered around the television to watch The Wizard of Oz, another Rosa Christmas tradition. Halfway through it, the girls fell asleep, and when the movie ended, Joanne and Frank packed them into the car and went home. The remainder of the family sat around the dining room table, enjoying sambuca, coffee, and Italian pastries. Close to midnight, Carmala and the rest of her family turned in for the night, with Sammy sleeping in his old quarters in the basement.
That night, Carmala had a nightmare. In her dream, she and Guido were fighting. He wanted her to quit her job. He had come into an inheritance from his aunt in Sicily and had proposed marriage. He tried to convince her that she didn’t need to work anymore. But she refused to quit. He followed her to work, and they quarreled. Then, in front of her coworkers, he struck her, giving her a black eye. She had been mortified, and somehow, he convinced her she didn’t need a career anymore.
She awoke in night sweats. Guido slept soundly beside her, so she crept out of bed and tiptoed down the hallway into the bathroom, then peered at herself in the mirror. A cold sweat dampened her skin, and her eyes were dilated. It was only a dream. Guido would never take her career away. Would he? Why was she so shaken? It wasn’t real, only a dream.
Yet the dream triggered memories of a bad time from her past, when she was under the influence of an intoxicating love for the boyfriend she ran away with, Anthony Forchetta. She remembered looking at herself in a bathroom mirror one unfortunate night many years ago.
Sixteen-year-old Carmala had gazed at herself in the mirror, after the worst imaginable thing had occurred. Even to herself, she appeared worn out, older than her years. She still had on her waitress attire—black skirt, white stockings, commercial shoes, and a button-down top. Her job paid the rent, food, and utilities. Anthony worked sporadically and collected social security because of his bad back. He used his money to “take them out.” But that wasn’t very often.
Earlier
that day, after work, she met Anthony’s sister at the mall. On rare occasions, she and Michelle smoked a little weed and went shopping, as they did that day. But when Carmala stepped into the apartment after her shopping spree, she knew she’d made a mistake.
Anthony was furious. “Where were you? You know how late it is, Carmala?”
She’d thought he’d be happy to see her. “Well, I…was just having some girl time with your sister. I thought—”
“You thought nothing. Michelle got you high, didn’t she? Did you save any for me?”
Carmala couldn’t believe him. “What? It was just a joint.”
He responded with his foot and kicked her. She was so shocked she fell, and he kicked her again. This time the force of the kick pushed her across the floor.
He continued his assault as she curled up on the floor and covered her face. When he stopped to take a breather, Carmala used the moment to scramble into the bathroom and lock the door. She lifted her shirt and glanced at her side in the mirror. Welts were already forming. Pain scorched her body where his shoe had landed.
She trembled, afraid of what would happen next. She practically tasted the eerie silence and then sensed Anthony’s presence outside the door.
“Honey, come out. I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. I love you.”
“You were horrible, Anthony.”
“I was just upset. The apprentice job fell through. I’m out of work again.”
She tentatively, very tentatively, opened the door. He had tears in his eyes. Maybe the violence had been a one-time thing. He took her in his arms and repeated his apologies, his promises of never doing “that” again. He kissed her everywhere, unclothed her, gently caressing where he’d hurt her. Then he made love with such an intense passion she never wanted him to stop loving her.
The promises didn’t last long. He was violent again, quite a few times. Finally, weeks later, like a fugitive, she stole into the restaurant lobby on her break and made the call home. Her mom answered.
When Carmala explained what Anthony had done, her mother was expectedly upset. But Carmala found herself defending Anthony and begging her mom not to tell her dad. She should have known better.
Days later, on a day off, Carmala paced the apartment, waiting for Anthony. He was going to take her out with the money he’d earned from his painting job. The phone rang at nine p.m. She expected it to be Anthony, calling drunk after blowing his cash with some friends.
Instead, it was a doctor calling from the hospital. Apparently her boyfriend had been beaten up pretty badly, sustained head injuries, and would have to be kept overnight for observation. She immediately suspected who had arranged the attack. It had to be her father. He no doubt had called his goon friends on Anthony. He deserved the beating, but it wouldn’t change things.
And it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she returned to her family. Without a second thought, she dialed home. Her father answered and told her to pack her essentials as quickly as possible. He’d be there within a half hour.
She never packed, or done anything for that matter, faster. She quickly grabbed the most important things: her best clothes, her records, jewelry, and her books—her precious books—and her GED study materials.
Her dad waited outside. He must have sped down the interstate at break-neck speed. “Quick, get in the car.” He threw her bags in the trunk. “You better be done with him…for good. I mean it, Carmala. We can’t afford any more heartache. We don’t want to ever hear his name again.”
“You got it, Dad.” She searched for a change of subject as they turned on the highway. “You’ll be proud. I’ve been pursuing my education.”
Her father had beamed. “That’s music to my ears, girl. And you’ll get all the support in the world you need from me.”
A creak in the ceiling snapped her back to the present. Carmala peered in the mirror again, the same old bathroom in her parents’ home, where she’d lived through the years of college. At times, she still felt guilty for what she put her parents through. She didn’t know why the hell she got into that situation.
Surely she’d come a long way from those bad memories. Here she was in her old family home with Guido. The reverie into the past begged the question: would he ever turn out to be a disappointment like Anthony? Would he ever try to get her to quit her job after all her education and hard work? Would he hit her when he got into one of his jealous rages?
No, she doubted he’d stoop to such a vile level.
And, really, all the memories were just triggered by her bad dream.
But, sometimes, Guido scared her with his fits of misplaced anger and jealousy. She was tired. She tiptoed to bed and prayed for a peaceful night’s sleep.
Chapter Thirteen
Two days after Timmy left her, Margo forced herself to attend her Monday morning sales meeting. Ten people sat around the oblong conference table: her boss, Dan; eight loan officers; and her assistant, Sandy. Margo was the only one at the table with a personal assistant. Well, because she was the only one who earned the right to have one. The other loan officers didn’t have the production to support the salary of an assistant. Which is why she didn’t think she needed to be there. Still, she had to go through the motions.
The smell of fresh-baked bagels infused her senses. She glanced at the side table and noted the variety of cream cheeses and fruit, but she had no appetite. Frankly, she had no desire to eat since Timmy left, and she must have lost at least five pounds, so far. The so-called divorce diet. A supposed fringe benefit, only it didn’t feel like much of a benefit.
Dan’s monotone voice receded into the background. Margo found it difficult to concentrate as her mind drifted.
When Timmy left on Saturday, she numbly went through the motions for the rest of the weekend. She even took calls for real estate deals, which she rarely did on weekends, in order to keep her mind off what had happened. She still wore her wedding band. It was too soon to contemplate removing it, although she’d have to one day. Just not today.
If she kept busy and didn’t bother Timmy, maybe he’d come around.
Or was she kidding herself?
The thing that bugged her to no end was the chick. She knew right away it had to be Lorraine—she was the one he’d been working with late nights, on his dull project. Who the hell did she think she was? Breaking up a marriage? Margo Googled Lorraine and looked up her Facebook page. She appeared to live a quiet life. Not terribly attractive, and she seemed more interested in Jesus and plants than a social life. What a total hypocrite!
Margo had considered contacting Lorraine and giving her a piece of her mind. But it wasn’t worth her time. If Timmy was gone, he was gone. She had a lot to live for. Even without Timmy.
Dan droned on and on, but she suddenly tuned in. “We still have a lot of mortgage applications coming in, folks. The economy is in a downturn, and housing values are quickly dropping. But that’s okay, because plenty of repeat clients continue to come in for refinancing. Margo, you’re still bringing in a lot of business. Any suggestions for the rest of the group?”
At the sound of her name, she snapped to business mode. “Yes. It’s a great time to market your existing client base. Reach out to your repeat customers, see if they’re interested in a home equity line or refinancing their home to take advantage of the low rates.”
Dan nodded. “Excellent, Margo. Good advice. We could even have our administrative staff assist you in your efforts. We want to keep the momentum going as long as we can.”
One of the loan officers, Jonathan, spoke up. “It’s only a great idea if you have past customers to market to. Since I’m new, I don’t have a big client base.” He took a sip of his coffee and shot Margo a hopeful look.
“That’s okay, Jonathan. Several of you are new to D.C. Mutual. That’s why we’ve decided to roll out an introductory program…”
Blah, blah, blah…Her cue to tune-out again. She so wanted to get out of there and retreat to the quiet o
f her office. Finally, after another hour of sitting through conversations that mostly didn’t apply to her, the meeting adjourned. Margo quickly gathered her papers and attempted to get to her office before anyone could corner her. No such luck. Jonathan, who had a broken leg from a skiing accident, was hot on her trail. Even on crutches, he caught up with her.
“Hey, Margo. I was wondering if I could take you to lunch and pick your brain a little.”
He caught her off guard. “Sure, shoot me an e-mail, and we’ll schedule something next week.”
Jonathan shifted on his crutches. “Actually I have a Realtor presentation by the end of the week, and I was hoping to meet you before then. How about today?”
“Today’s not really good for me.” He seemed so anxious and green. With a pang of guilt, Margo remembered her early days in the business. No one wanted to be bothered with helping her. And now she was doing the same thing to this guy. “I’ll tell you what. I can be available tomorrow, how’s that? I’m a bit behind right now—”
“No problem. That’s fine. Today I’ll concentrate on practicing the PowerPoint presentation for option arms. Would you mind if I borrowed yours?”
She walked down the hall toward her office, waving him to follow. “Of course not. I’ve got it in my office.”
She located the disc which contained the presentation materials and handed it to him.
“You know, Margo, you’ve been an inspiration to me. I can only aspire to produce as much business as you have. You are the queen of mortgages, everyone says it.”
She loved the praise, but she needed peace and quiet. She had work to do. At the same time, she didn’t want to discourage him. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Come by my office at twelve.”
“Sure thing,” he said.
He lingered for a moment while struggling to balance his notepad and his crutches. Honestly? She stepped in front of him, practically tripping over his crutches, and stood by the open door, hoping he’d get the message to leave.
Finally, he did. Sandy looked up as Jonathan hobbled by her desk. She inched to the edge of her chair, waiting for him to pass, Margo suspected, so she could get into her office next. Margo aimed to beat her to the punch. She spun on her heel and quickly closed her office door behind her.
Having Fun with Mr. Wrong Page 14
