by Fiona Murphy
“Wow, just wow. Yes, please on the shirt too. Thanks, I appreciate it.”
“No problem at all, dear.”
With a last goodbye I go back to my own space as I wonder what I’m going to do with myself for the day.
***
Dante
My phone goes off with a text. It’s Enzo.
Hey, Goldfinches tonight? You ready to leave soon?
I check the time, it’s a little after seven. Damn, I got wrapped up in putting the deal together on the place my client wanted. We found the place a little after three this afternoon. He liked the property but not the price. Since my client is paying cash, it shouldn’t have taken as long in back and forth as it did. The seller only accepted a half hour ago. As I look at the paperwork, I hesitate. I wanted to go home and see Bethany and fight with her again. Never mind, it’s better I don’t have the chance to make an ass of myself.
Yeah, give ten minutes. I’ll meet you downstairs.
This late in the Loop the streets are deserted.
I don’t even have the car door closed before Enzo is talking. “Dude, Che talked to me. What happened? How did Bethany tell you how she feels? How upset was she?”
“She wasn’t upset. She mentioned she felt more accepted by Uncle Tony and Dom. They talked to her, asked her stuff, and remembered it months later. She felt like you were watching her and waiting for her to fuck up, which you were. Then she got all scared I’d hold it against her. I’m sure she’d be pissed off at me for telling you guys. I don’t care though because Che’s over here saying she’s family, but she doesn’t feel like it and that needs to change.”
“Shit, man. I feel bad. She’s a good kid. I thought she kind of hung around Dom a lot. I mentioned it to Che the other night, when Dom left she walked him out. All he did was give her a card with some cash though. There I was wondering if she had a crush on Dom, and it’s because he’s the only guy there who was nice to her.”
I bristle at the idea of Bethany getting cozy with Dom. “She flirt with Dom?”
“No, not really. She looks happy when she talks with him, but now I’m thinking of it, she’s the same with Uncle Tony. Bethany is an easy read. I never got her with Dom. She was just always smiling when she talked to him and Tony, and she didn’t much with me. Now I get it’s because I never gave her a reason to smile.” He sighs. “I’m glad you said something. You’re right it’s shitty of us to talk one way and act another. Fuck, I’m an old miserable asshole.”
“Nah man, you aren’t old.”
“Haha. Whatever. You talk to Bethany a lot? You guys cool?”
I shrug. “For now, yeah.”
“What do you mean for now?”
“It means she takes delight in keeping a person on their toes, so we’ll see who takes the next round.”
Enzo studies me. “Is she the little sister you never knew you wanted?”
Fuck that, no. “She’s my sister-in-law and she lives across the hall from me. I’m just getting to know her.”
“Hmm.”
Seated in the restaurant, we take a look at the menu, even though I’m pretty sure I know what I want already. “Che mentioned you were in the office early today. How you doing?”
“I’m fine. Jesus, what is with the damn third degree?”
“Touchy today, aren’t you? It’s not a third degree. The last time you went into the office early was in neither me or Che can remember. We’re making sure you’re good, that’s all.”
“I’m fine. I got up early. It’s no big deal.” Thankfully the waitress comes to take our order.
***
Bethany
Okay, I found an alert I can set in Cesare’s office to go off when the elevator is engaged for this floor. Rich people tricks, awesome. The alert goes off at almost ten o’clock. It’s stupid I’m disappointed Dante is getting home so late. How rude of me to assume he would come home right after work because of me. Running outside reeks of pathetic, only I’m getting more and more nervous as the seconds tick past.
I’m in the foyer pacing back and forth when I hear the ding of the elevator. Please, knock on the door. Please. I’m holding my breath until I’m ready to pass out, then I hear his front door close. Damn it. I sag against the wall. Loser. You’re a loser, Bethany. Leave him alone, especially when you don’t know what the hell you want from him.
Who am I kidding? I know exactly what I want from him. It would just probably end in agony and tears, and I’m not sure if: 1. It would be worth it and 2. I’m strong enough not to be completely broken when it ends.
I read the paragraph for the third time, but it’s still not taking. With a sigh I toss my tablet away from me. I can’t focus on the supposed good guy making another bad decision because of a beautiful woman. I pick up my cell phone. It’s almost midnight. Is Dante asleep? Is he lying in bed too right now, naked? A finger traces over the letters of his name. When the alert goes off for a text, my heart pounds fast. It’s Dante.
Did you find a therapist today?
I don’t even hesitate, I hit send. He answers before I even hear it ring. “For the record, I hate texting.”
“I’m figuring that out. Texting gives people an out on whether they want to have a conversation or not. Find someone you can complain to about me yelling at you?”
“Not yet. I made some calls but the few people who interested me don’t have appointments for weeks, which doesn’t bode well. I’ll keep looking. Did you find other women to yell at for the way they were dressed?”
“Nope, I only yell when I care about something or someone. Everyone else can go fuck themselves.”
“Ah, I’m touched. You care so you get to yell at me. I’m pretty sure it should be the other way around. If you care then you should treat a person better than you treat a stranger.”
“I don’t give a fuck about a stranger. I save my emotions, my energy for people I care about. It’s not that I’m treating a stranger better, it’s that I’m not wasting my time on a stranger.”
“Hmm... I don’t know. I don’t like yelling. I’m pretty sure there are better ways to convey a depth of emotion instead of raising your voice.”
His soft laughter sends a shiver through me. “Last night you said I spoke formally. Convey a depth of emotion? I’m Italian—we’re loud. During the day in public we do our best to keep it down, but when we’re comfortable we get loud.”
“Cesare isn’t loud, neither is Enzo... oh yeah, no, they do get kind of loud the longer the night goes. I never noticed it before since it’s only when they are talking to each other. I didn’t grow up Italian where I could be loud. I always had to watch everything I said while being meek and mild with my granny, then for Alicia so she wouldn’t worry.”
Was that wistfulness I hear? “Did you want to be loud?”
“I don’t know that I wanted to be loud. I did want to find my own voice, to not be what everyone expected me to be. Which doesn’t sound fair to Alicia. Alicia never tried to put me into a hole or anything, but she had so much to worry about I never wanted to add more to the load she was carrying.”
“What way would you have added?”
“I don’t know really. I felt like I should never ask for more than she offered. I should do everything I could for her so she didn’t have to do more than she was already doing. Everything from doing laundry to keeping our room and apartment clean to cooking.”
“Hmm, I was the same way for Che and Enzo. I did the cooking and cleaning around the apartment. Che was working hard all day at the grocery store then bouncing at a club at night. Enzo went a little nuts for a few months there, drinking, getting high, trying to get numb. The first time Che came home smashed up from a fight, Enzo jumped on it fast. Dom wouldn’t put him in the ring though, he said Enzo was too damn young. Only problem was Enzo was as tall as Che at six three and almost as wide. Enzo found someone else who took his word and gave him fights.”
“Are you fucking serious? He was street fighting at sixteen?”
“Yeah, he had several fights before Che put a stop to it. By then Enzo was in a better head space, and Che had enough money to put into a property we could flip to make money. Enzo having a new focus, another way to work out his anger, helped. And we made a lot more money than we did from those fucking fights.”
“Your brothers are nuts, they could have been messed up for life. I’m glad they got through it intact. Then again, I could never imagine going through something like that. Did you want to hit something?”
He sighs. “No. Don’t get me wrong, I was angry. At my dad and at my mom. The thing is, I didn’t grow up with the myth we had this happy family like my brothers did. My mom was never home, she flitted in and out. And when she was there she couldn’t wait to be somewhere else.
“My dad, he was there every day. He loved being a dad; he treated us like we were his greatest accomplishment, he was patience personified, caring, and we never doubted he would do anything for us. Then in those last two years he became agitated easier. He still cared, but he steered me more and more to Che for questions and help I needed. Things were beginning to unravel for almost two years. Only I didn’t see it for what it was until I looked back”.
He’s quiet, then sighs. I hate how weary it sounds. “When it happened it didn’t seem real. I didn’t miss my mom, I missed my dad. And I felt really fucking guilty for missing him when he did this horrible thing. There was a lot of confusion, but I wasn’t angry like Che and Enzo. I already had begun to rely on my brothers. While I missed my father, there was no gaping hole in my life the way there was for them.”
There’s an ache in my chest at his admission. I’m honored he would share it with me. I feel the need to return his honesty. “Can I tell you something and you swear you won’t tell anyone?”
He’s quiet for a minute. “I won’t tell.”
“I wished my mom would leave. I didn’t like her. I don’t have a lot of memories of her. Alicia was already my mom. Whenever she came and tried to push Alicia out of the way, I hated her and wanted her to leave me and Alicia alone. When she left us at my granny’s I wanted to do cartwheels to celebrate.
Will he hate me now? I wonder as I sigh with the relief finally saying it out loud gives me. “It was selfish of me to make my mom leave, then I went and made Alicia’s life worse by being a brat and demanding she keep taking care of me when she finally could have been free from me after Granny kicked her out. As bad as it was for her to get kicked out at only eighteen, at least she would only have herself to worry about. But no, I freaked out and made her feel guilty enough to take me with her.”
“Bethany, you were four years old. You didn’t make your mom leave. Your mom was a piece of shit who probably should never have been allowed to have children. It didn’t matter if you told her every day you wanted her to leave. She was the adult and she had a choice. As far as Alicia taking you with her when she was forced out of your grandmother’s house, Alicia doesn’t regret it and would do it again. She told me so. Twelve years old is a kid, and there isn’t a damn thing wrong about asking for what we all want and need, and that’s to be taken care of and loved by someone we trust and love. For you that was Alicia. I’m thinking you shouldn’t waste your money on therapy if none of your therapists were willing to tell you that.”
“Asshole,” I mutter as I wipe my eyes from the tears his words caused. It’s sounds simple the way he says it. It couldn’t really be that simple, could it?
“Yes, it is and it can be.” I had no idea I said the words out loud. “I’m not an asshole. I’m just honest.”
“You’re honestly an asshole. I’ve never told a therapist that before.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t want them to think I was a bad person for what I did to my sister. I was afraid they wouldn’t like me enough to help me.”
“You aren’t a bad person. You didn’t do a bad thing. Even if you had done something bad, we all do bad things from time to time; it doesn’t necessarily make a person bad. And just because a bad person does something good, it doesn’t make them a good person. Although I do believe the same way life can turn a good person bad, the reverse is also true.”
“I never thought of it like that before. There are times I still feel like a horrible person for fucking up with the whole Kelsey and getting drunk thing.”
“Given everything I learned from Alicia and now you, how the hell did you do something so massively stupid? And that’s all it was: you did something without thinking of the consequences. It wasn’t bad, it was stupid.”
Groaning, I roll onto my stomach, burying my face in a pillow. I don’t want to tell him. Only I know I should. “I got drunk, which I never did and have never done again, so I could finally hook up with a guy. There I was a few months from graduating, still a virgin and I felt like a freak. He was the only guy I liked enough to be with, but it didn’t go well. I wasn’t drunk enough or, you know, excited enough and he didn’t listen when I said I didn’t like what he was doing. It was a disaster. I pushed him off and got the hell out of there. I felt like it was a sign to wait until I actually wanted it instead of something to get over with.”
He’s quiet for a long damn time. I can hear him breathing. “Wait, are you a virgin?”
“Uh yeah, I like just said that.” Damn it, it’s happening. I knew it. “I do not get you and your brother’s preoccupation with whether a woman has had sex before. What is that exactly? What’s the big deal? Explain it to me like I’m five.” I’m desperate to keep him talking. If he’s talking, he’s not pulling away. I can hope.
His sigh is loud in my ear. “Do you know how to swim?”
I’m confused. “Yeah. What does that—”
“How did you learn?”
“Alicia took me to Sandusky. The first day there I tried to go into the water on the beach, but there were too many people so we went back to the hotel pool and I learned there.”
“How do you think learning to swim would have gone if Alicia threw you into the deep end?”
Okay, my head is starting to hurt here. “I don’t understand what this has—”
“Answer the question. You had a not so great experience at the beach. You guys walk out to the pool and Alicia pushes you into the deep end. It’s six feet deep and you’re what? Five three, five four?”
“Shitty, okay. I probably would have half drowned and hated her for it.”
“You would also probably have never wanted to go in the water again. Going swimming isn’t something a person has to do in the day to day, it’s something you make an effort to do. If you had a choice you probably wouldn’t want to go near water again. Am I right?”
And now it clicks. I sigh. “It is hardly the same thing.”
“Yes, it is. A woman’s first experience with sex is important. It can create lasting memories which hurt or help throughout their whole life. You said it yourself—you weren’t having a good experience with the guy who stuck his hand up your pussy when you weren’t wet and probably had no idea where the hell your clit was. At least you had the wherewithal to end it. What if you hadn’t, and he forced himself on you?
“Or even worse, you felt guilty and you continued. I’m going to tell you right now, it would have been a miserable experience. And if it was miserable, experience you likely wouldn’t want to do it again, and when you did a part of you would be expecting another bad experience, making you tense and stuck in your head rather than enjoying it. Even if the next guy knew what he was doing and would have made it better.”
Sonofabitch, he’s right. God, he’s annoying. “The first time two people have sex, whether either of them is a virgin or not, there’s a level of trust given of a mutual attempt to please and satisfy the other. When it’s the first time for a woman, there’s a hell of a lot more at stake. Her thoughts and expectations and the way she views herself as a woman can be made or broken by the way her lover introduces her to making love. It’s a huge responsibility, one not to be taken lightly
.”
“So you don’t do virgins?” I’m pretty sure I know the answer, but I’m hoping I’m wrong.
“I never have, that I know of. I wouldn’t enter a relationship with someone who was without careful thought.”
“Are you expecting the woman you marry to be a pure white virgin?”
“Hell no. I’m not a complete asshole. I don’t believe in one set of rules for a man and another for a woman. Why are you so quick to assume the worst of me?”
I freeze. He’s right to sound pissed, it’s not fair. “It’s easier to assume the worst of people. It’s this thing I do to avoid liking people, then ending up disappointed or waiting for them to show their true colors. I’m sorry. My therapist has called me on it more than a few times. I’ll work on it with my new therapist.”
“Hmm, good idea. Goodnight.”
Before I can open my mouth, the call is over. Damn it. That’s it. No more late-night calls from Dante.
***
Dante
I’m on the edge of my bed staring down at my cell phone. Sonofabitch. A virgin. That’s it. That’s all. It’s over. Fuck. Why does it hurt to breathe? No, it’s better this way, over before it began. Not that anything would have happened, could have happened. No more late-night calls, no more hushed confessions and confidences. Maybe this will also mean an end to the aching need. I can hope.
5
Dante
The knock on my door is brief before the door opens. Cesare nods at me. “Hey, what the hell is going on with Enzo? Is he for real?”
I snort as I shake my head. “Serious as a heart attack. He had me pouring myself a big-ass glass of scotch.” I stopped at one drink, and it wasn’t as hard as I was afraid it would be.
Shaking his head, Che runs his hand through his hair as he slumps into the chair in front of my desk. “I didn’t even know what to say.”
“You can’t do any worse than I did. I laughed. I was certain he was fucking with me. You don’t find a woman to marry as if you’re shopping in a catalog. I blame you and Alicia and your damn adorable kid. He changed his mind from no wife or kids to wanting the kids and he’ll take the wife if he has to.”