by S. W. Frank
Their fingers touched, but hers were slightly curled as if she had great strength to hoist him out.
Ari strolled closer, amazed at Nico’s talent and shaken by the love it took to craft such a masterpiece, yet saddened by his morbid visions. Like the beautiful paintings of the great masters, Nico’s artwork elicited awe. “It’s…it’s magnificent Nico.”
“You’re magnificent Ari. Thank you for loving me and giving me a beautiful life.”
CHAPTER TEN
Selange watched as Angelina and Vincent were huddled together in the colorful plastic chairs flipping through picture books. She noticed they were having quite the conversation about the stories, pointing at a page and speaking in full sentences. They’d grown so fast and those wobbly first steps taken seemed very long ago. If they attended school, they would enter pre-K; unfortunately she couldn’t risk leaving them in a stranger’s care, even if they were to attend a private school. They were still too young and after what happened in Africa, she’d become more concerned about the safety of her children. She looked through the observation wall inside the dance studio to see the line of little students holding the fixed barre practicing retiré devants and pliés. This was a beginner’s ballet class at Tiffany’s studio in Brooklyn that Allie agreed to attend. But judging by the constant redirection of the instructor, it appeared Allie lacked discipline. Maybe, she would prefer the modern dance class Tiffany taught in the mornings, but this was the afternoon.
Selange sighed, all was not lost. A phase is what children undergo; a rebellion is often how children assert their independence. A mother hoped the stage ended soon because Allie had become the wildest of the bunch. The girl’s temperament rivaled her Uncle’s and Selange swore if that girl said one more inappropriate remark she’d resort to corporal punishment which she abhorred. When Allie put her hands on her hips and did that pouty face at Tiffany, it took unholy strength for Selange not to walk in that room and snatch the girl out. But, as Tony said, it looked like Allie had met her match in Tiffany. Clad in leotard and stockings, demure and petite, Tiffany kneeled to Allie’s height. Whatever Tiffany said caused Allie’s puckered lips to smile. Her hands dropped from her waist and the girl’s hand gripped that barre. Back in line went the wayward hellcat, plié and extended arms in sync with the others.
Alfonzo suddenly appeared in the doorway and a relieved wife sighed again. Angelina and Vincent squealed their delight and ran to hug his knees. He walked forward as they hung on, laughing. “Whoa, I wasn’t gone that long was I?” He had them up in his arms like lightweights and took a seat beside Selange. With a child balanced on each knee, legs spread apart, he rocked inward and out. They were delighted and held on to his arms. “How did our girl do in my absence?” he asked his wife.
Selange rolled her eyes. “Allie’s being Allie.”
“Showing her ass, huh?”
“What’s new?”
Alfonzo chuckled as the kids scampered down and ran off. They didn’t go far, back to the kiddie table and books. Like their mom, they’d inherited the reading bug. Allie on the other-hand was a work in progress. “She’ll find her calling. We’ll probably go through piano lessons, soccer and a whole lot more for that one.”
“Sure looks like it,” Selange replied.
The instructor’s assistant bent down to talk to Allie who decided she wanted to free-style and not do ballet after the children were brought to the center of the floor. Selange shook her head. “There she goes again. That’s your side of the family.”
Alfonzo’s eyes were on the girl. “I think I turned out all right, she will too.”
“You turned out better than all right.” Selange smiled.
“We just have to go old school with her.” Alfonzo leaned back wearily before taking a quick glance at his watch. Thirty more minutes and the class was over and they could fly home. He lifted his head only to observe Allie running off at the damn mouth to the assistant. He was officially fed up!
Before Tiffany intervened, Alfonzo exited the waiting room, marched swiftly across the wood floor of the studio right up to his trouble-maker princess. He crouched, arms resting on his leg and was eye level with the girl. “Waste anymore of the teacher’s time, mine or your mom’s niña and I’ll spank your ass!” he said in Spanish.
Allie went straight as a pole, gave him the wide-eye doe look. Embarrassed, she tried to save face. “Okay daddy.”
“Bien. Love you,” he said as he went vertical and then turned to the instructors and apologized for interrupting. When he returned to the waiting area, Selange asked, “Honey what did you say?”
“I told her I love her very much and I expect her to behave.”
“Yeah right. Honey I know you and that is not what you said.”
He shrugged. “Niña better be glad I didn’t say mas.” He hunched forward in tension. A squiggly vein protruded from his forehead in anger. He wasn’t only upset with Allie, but Domingo as well. He hoped the hard-headed sonovabitch heeded his advice. The last thing he needed was bullshit coming from all sides.
Selange placed her hand on his thigh. “Everything all right with Domingo?”
Damn woman could read his mind. Intuitive is an understatement; they were souls in sync. That’s what happens when you know someone inside out, he supposed. Oftentimes he refrained from speaking about business unless it concerned blood, this was both. “I do not like his latest venture.”
“I’m sure you told him.”
“I did.”
“Then that’s all you can do, right?”
“Sí,” he said and left it at that. If she knew Domingo was going back into the drug trade, she’d implore he intervene but he couldn’t use force on his cousin nor could he utilize his connections to give him a lesson that not following an order given by a Capo de tutti results in a bruised ass. Nah, he couldn’t do that, but he also didn’t want doors opening to a place he sealed in the past. He didn’t want the drug trade money. He didn’t need it, nor did he want to sleep at night knowing he’d spread shit on people in his ‘hood strictly for cash. He thought of Jessica’s deceased college buddies, the junkies on the corners and innocent kids getting into their parent’s stash. Nah, drugs did nothing but hurt families and he didn’t want any hand in that anymore. His dumb prick of a cousin was aware of Alfonzo’s position on the matter when he had stepped out the game. That was years ago and now Domingo was indirectly trying to pull him back!
The churning in Alfonzo’s gut was always a bad omen. In fact he felt sick as hell.
Alfonzo’s eyes traveled to the twins. They were done with their books and entertained themselves with the toys spread out on a colorful rug in the corner of the room. Damn they’d grown. He noticed they played well together. They mirrored each other. They didn’t seem to need friends and judging by their laughter they were very close. Studies on twins have shown they have a special connection. Data suggests they’re in tune with the other’s emotions, even experience physical pain when one gets hurt. Remarkable, if true.
Vincent hugged his sister around the neck, their foreheads touched and Vincent told her a secret. Damn he missed the boy’s namesake, and Alberti, too. How nice it is to have a friend that’s family to share a confidence. Those two had it. With Selange he did as well, but there are things he will not reveal because Selange will react. She’d try to fix what isn’t her right. There are times when a person has to stand back and let people live their own life.
Alfonzo watched Angelina’s rosy cheeks dimple as she smiled. What had Vincent said to his sister to elicit that joy?
Both children
resembled him except they had their mother’s sweet temperament. Illness of the heart at what occurred when he recalled the night Selange confessed she considered aborting these darlings. They’d reconciled at the time, were lying in bed and he guessed she wanted to cleanse her conscience when she said it. But, he felt such guilt because he’d treated her like a leper every time he saw her pregnant belly thinking she carried another man’s child. Morally, she could not do it, she had whispered in the silence. She refused to cover her sin by choosing death on innocents. He’d loved her more, believe it or not. Any person who could stand with dignity in preservation of life when being pelted with stones had a warrior’s heart. He looked down at his shoes, utterly humbled that he learned he was capable of forgiveness. He could look back on that lesson without pain because what he gained was an even greater love and these children. He rubbed his goatee, as he leaned over his knees in abject humility. Family is everything.
Selange’s hand squeezed his thigh. “You okay honey?”
He nodded. Although, he wasn’t. The disagreement with Domingo had socked him harder than he thought. The dude wanted to go backwards. He didn’t understand what compelled his cousin to want to return to the drug game when he had children and a life free of the danger. What is it about that world which kept men like Domingo captive and Alfonzo desirous to escape?
Uncle Al was Alfonzo’s role model, unfortunately Domingo didn’t think of Uncle in that way. The sonovabitch pissed on the man’s memory. The disrespectful sonovabitch had the audacity to sit under Uncle’s portrait and talk shit!
Selange rubbed Alfonzo’s knee. “I’m here you know if there’s something on your mind you need to talk about.”
He covered her hand and leaned back again. “Yo sé…I know babe.”
Selange noticed his face flush. A matter of fact, she realized his eyes weren’t as lustrous and he fidgeted uncomfortably. She touched his forehead. It was warm. “Honey you’re coming down with something.”
Alfonzo pulled a Sal face. “No shit.” He was exhausted. Stress and the beginnings of a cold. “One of the employees had the flu; I guess I breathed the germ.”
Selange stroked his arm. “When we get home you’re going to bed and no kissing the kids.”
“Yes mami,” he teased.
“Seriously, you don’t look well.”
“I’m good,” he lied. Although, emotionally drained.
Selange frowned. Alfonzo was rarely ill. The times he had been were the result of minor food poisoning. Her nose wrinkled at the thought. She had to fumigate with strong disinfectant on those occasions due to the horrible stench. Ew!
Suddenly Allie burst through the door with hair as wild as her spirit. Selange grimaced because there wasn’t any sign of Allie’s ribbon. Hadn’t she pulled the girl’s locks back earlier and tightened those unruly curls, she wondered? The little hooligan must’ve removed the thin silk.
Alfonzo released an exasperated breath as Allie marched in their direction like she had a lot to say. “This one’s working my patience.”
Selange chuckled. “Isn’t that the truth, let’s give her to your brother for a week.”
“Hell no, he’ll make her worse.”
The outspoken child stood in front of her dad, put her hands on her hips and said,“I behaved daddy, satisfied?”
Alfonzo scratched his chin. “One day you’re going to learn Allie, the way you behave is how you’re treated. Smart people know when to act like they have damn sense. You thought you were being funny but the truth is you weren’t. This wasn’t the venue for the comedic act. If your aspirations are to become a comedienne then you need to learn when and where to put on a show. So you tell me niña, are you satisfied with this performance in which you made an ass of yourself?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“I can’t believe you’re not finished Christmas shopping,” Selange said to her friend as she went into another yoga pose. An early morning meant beating the children awake to get in some relaxation in the form of exercise. The beautiful palm trees helped. Heck, the scenery was a post card.
“Sophie’s the hardest to buy something for. What do you buy someone who has everything?” Shanda questioned over the phone.
“I haven’t figured that one out either. A token of appreciation of some kind I guess works.”
“Hell, if they still sold tokens for subways I’d tell you to send me some and then wrap that shit up and say here Mrs. Dichenzo.”
Selange laughed. “Oh you’re bad and cheap!”
“Aren’t tokens antiques, they’re not cheap at all?”
“You may be right.”
Shanda asked. “So what did you get big-head?”
“None of your business.”
“Oh, it’s like that. I’ll tell you what I bought Giuseppe.”
“You can share if you want.”
“Nothing. That asshole keeps sending me bills for the car. He’ll be lucky if he gets a card from me.”
“Don’t worry about the car. He never paid for breaking that bed, hell he has a lot of nerve.”
“Doesn’t he?”
“What about your parents, are you sending them gifts?”
“I did. A framed picture of me and Carlo.”
“They’ll love it.”
“They better, he is their grandson.”
“I’m sure they will.”
“Sophie loves art. She also collects vases. I haven’t seen an oriental one in her house.”
“Okay, sounds like a plan. Go back to your stretching and contortions. I’m sure big-head appreciates it.”
“Stop calling him that.”
“Make me.”
“I’ll just withhold your awesome present from you.”
“Okay…let’s not get hasty.”
***
Shanda traveled though this area many times. The view of Quattro Canti on Maqueda Street and the San Domenico Church at Pretoria Square had become like seeing the bodega on the corner. It’s a manmade mainstay in the landscape and unless you had to venture inside, you didn’t care. Santa Caterina Church is where Sophie had suggested she consider for her wedding to Giuseppe before she called off the entire affair. No sense in spending money on dresses, limos and fairytale bullshit when Prince Charming was a whore in pants. It wouldn’t last, they’d get divorced for sure because Giuseppe was certain to show his ass. What nerve thinking she’d flip-flop on the decision when it’s obvious he wasn’t sincere. Who in the hell cared about all that Don this and Don that crap?
She pushed Carlo in the stroller flanked by the ever present bodyguards who looked bored as hell while she window shopped undecided on a gift for Sophie who had every goddamn thing except a man. Maybe she should hook the woman up with one of those handsome older guys seen lingering near the piazza, puffing like the cold didn’t exist. Hell, in New York they called it loitering but in Sicily that’s what people did.
Sophie had begun decorating the villa since the eighth of December with nativity scenes. She’d taken Shanda and Carlo to Custonaci, an island between Trapani and San Vito lo Capo to see the Presepe Vivente. It was a magnificent nativity scene where many traveled from all across Italy to view. Sophie went into detail about how the locals dress up and re-enact the Nativity from twenty-fifth of December to Epiphany. Then she went on and on like older women do who talk like younger women require history lessons on every goddamn thing. Who the hell cares about some small towns in the Mado
nie mountains where on December 24th the night of the Luminari large bonfires are lit to keep baby Jesus warm when she planned to have Carlo’s butt tucked in bed?
Sophie meant well, but sometimes she got things twisted. She wasn’t flying nowhere on Christmas Eve to stand outdoors in the cold at night with her kid.
She hastened her steps as the hour grew late and entered a cutesy boutique with surprisingly high end merchandise where she spotted a gorgeous Japanese vase Sophie would love. The clerk smiled when she entered and would’ve struck up a lengthy conversation if Shanda hadn’t pointed to what she wanted and hastily paid and then made her escape. Sicilians are lovely people but whew they could talk. Conversational Sicilian is all she knew, and presently she wasn’t in a chatty mood. She didn’t want to do all that squinting and mess as she tried to figure out what the hell the person said, it’ll only give her a headache, besides Carlo had fallen asleep and she wanted to get him home was the excuse for her sour disposition. Truth was, she wanted to get laid but the prospects were shitty. Not because there weren’t fine ass men in Palermo, un-unh, there were plenty. The likelihood of Giuseppe’s soldiers ratting to their boss was the problem. She didn’t want to risk some poor dude getting killed by Giuseppe’s crazy ass in the middle of fucking!
“Aaarrgghhh!” she growled under her breath. She hated where her mind wandered; she hated her vagina dictated deception.
The bodyguards guided her and Carlo to the car, flanking her like bookends. They reeked of testosterone, which was too close for comfort for a woman with sex on the brain. She unbuckled Carlo from the stroller and put him safely in the car as one of the guards secured the stroller and the other her fragile gift in the front seat.
Shanda had her ass perched to sit when a woman approached swathed in fur. This was an aristocratic woman with pounds of overindulgence attached to her regal stature. By her side was a man with fierce eyes the color of green marble. Large hands were shoved in the pockets of the black wool coat and something about him gave Shanda the chills. The guards were quick to intercept the pair before they reached the car. With guns discreetly drawn, one of Shanda’s guards addressed the woman. “Signora Calbrese, che cos'è che vuoi?”
