The man didn’t look like a gangster. He was youngish, probably in his late thirties, a little older than Michael. He looked like any New York man obsessed with working out and developing his muscles. He wore a light blue t-shirt in a stretchy cotton specifically designed to show off his impressive biceps. His hair was cut short in the latest fashion. He prowled along the aisle, restless as he waited for Michael.
“Mr. O’Malley. I’m Luciano Mortelli.” The man extended his hand. This man’s aura was strong, a gray miasma that contained a lifetime of wrong doing. Michael tried to hide his reluctance to touch the man, but he was forced to accept the handshake. Michael nearly shuddered. It was as if he could feel all the evil that lay inside that man, the people he’d killed, the people he’d ordered killed.
“Mr. O’Malley, we had an understanding with the previous owner. I don’t know whether you were aware of that agreement when you purchased the store.”
“No, I was not.” Gabriel was not there to ping him for lying. “Mr. Capperelli made no mention of any outstanding agreement. At any rate, such an agreement would not extend to me.”
Mortelli picked up an angel figurine and played with it, performing the trick of rolling it from one finger to the next. How was such an innocuous act threatening? Yet Michael knew that’s exactly what it was intended to be. “You have a lovely wife, do you not? And a baby on the way? It would be a tragedy if something happened to that beautiful wife of yours.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No, Mr. O’Malley. I’m not threatening you. But as I say, if something should happen to your wife…”
“What do you want from me?”
“Just a small amount of cash each month. Protection money, if you will. For your wife.”
“How much is a small amount of money?”
“Shall we say…five hundred dollars?”
“This store does not make five hundred dollars a month.”
“Perhaps I can lower it to four hundred.” He smiled at Michael as if he were doing him a great favor.
“Do you have this agreement with the other business owners on this street?”
“That would be none of your business, Mr. O’Malley.”
“I cannot afford a monthly payment of four hundred dollars.”
“Then I suggest that you find a way to increase your store’s income. For if I lower your payment any more, then I would have to lower everyone else’s payment. You can see what a snowball effect that would have on my income.”
“The income that you neither earn nor deserve. So you do have an agreement with the other store owners.”
With great care, Mortelli replaced the angel on top of the glass case. “You’re new to this neighborhood, Mr. O’Malley, so I’m inclined to cut you a little slack. But do not think I will tolerate such a slight to myself in the future. Our agreement begins January first. Happy New Year, Mr. O’Malley.”
With a swagger that was meant to telegraph to any observer that he was not a man to be trifled with, Mortelli made his way through the display of furniture and pulled open the door to step out onto the street as if he owned the sidewalk as well.
Michael had known it was coming. Bernard had told him about the extortion scheme at the very last minute. He bowed his head, wishing devoutly for his connection to Gabriel. What could he do? He could not pay that amount of money, but he certainly couldn’t put Leslie in danger, either.
The police. He would go to the police tomorrow.
He returned from the police station that next afternoon totally disheartened. Why couldn’t they help him? Why couldn’t they take his word that Mortelli had threatened him? Why did they need proof? They wanted him to wear a wire every day so when the man came in to collect he could record their conversation. This seemed to be of no help to him at all.
That night in bed, he rolled away from Leslie. He could not make love to her when he had so much on his mind. Why hadn’t he realized life as a mortal would have so many pitfalls? Still, he couldn’t blame Gabriel. Gabriel had tried to warn him.
Leslie rolled toward him in bed and he felt the slight roundness of her baby bump. “What is it, my love?”
“Nothing.”
“Do you think that after this much time together I can’t tell when you’re worrying about something?”
“It is nothing, Leslie.”
“Now don’t think you can fob me off with your, nothing-to-bother-your-little-head-about voice. Tell me what’s troubling you. I know it has to be bad for you not to be interested in making love.” I reached down and began to stroke him, pleased to feel him becoming hard and full.
“No,” he said firmly, removing my hand from his body.
“No? It’s because I’m getting fat, isn’t it? See? I told you this would happen when we were in Florida. I’d get fat and you wouldn’t want me…”
“Shut up, Leslie.” He rolled over on top of me and plunged himself into me, thrilling me with his sudden possession. He began to move, lifting my buttocks up so that he might go deeper into me, thrusting into me again and again, hardly giving me time to come up to his level of passion. When his climax came, I was only just beginning to enjoy it.
He rolled away and lay looking at the ceiling. What kind of a monster had he become, taking her only for his own pleasure? He sprang up out of bed and went into the kitchen, a small partition the only thing separating the bedroom from the main part of the apartment. He sat at the breakfast bar with his head in his hands.
“Michael.” She came up behind him and leaned on his back, her arms around his neck. “I’m sorry. I’m a thoughtless witch and I…”
She should hate him. Instead, she was apologizing to him. “You’re no such thing.” He brought her around to perch on his lap. “You’re the sweetest, most loving woman I’ve ever known.”
“And have you known a lot of women, Michael?” she said playfully, teasing him, catching one of his strands of hair that drooped down on his forehead.
“No. I don’t need to know a lot of women to know what you are.”
“Come back to bed. I’ll let you alone, I promise.”
“You go ahead. Just let me sit here for a while and think.”
“Can’t you think in bed?”
“Not with you in it.”
“That’s one of the nicest compliments you’ve paid me.” I brushed his lips with a kiss and climbed off his lap. “I’ll go and let you alone. Although it kills me to do it. You owe me one, Mr. O’Malley.”
“I owe you one? I owe you one what?”
He sounded so puzzled that I chuckled. “You owe your wife a climax, Mr. O’Malley.”
“Oh.”
“Succinctly put. Goodnight, sweetheart. Don’t stay up too long.”
He talked to Gabriel in his mind even though he had to supply what he thought Gabriel’s answers might be. He no longer had communication with his mentor and he missed him. He sat there till almost dawn with no solution coming to him. It was when he went back to bed to get a few hours’ sleep before his work day began that a solution came to him. Perhaps Gabriel had whispered the answer to him after all. Everybody loved their mothers…particularly Italian men.
He closed his eyes for the most restful sleep he’d have that night.
The next morning dawned crisp and cold with a light dusting of snow on the streets that seemed to echo the artificial snow Leslie had scattered in her display. She was delighted with the snowfall and went out the door in her duster and pajamas to catch snowflakes on her tongue. Michael, horrified, pulled her inside. “Are you daft, love? You’re not dressed.”
“In flannel pajamas? Who do you think is going to accost me in flannel pajamas?” She smiled that wonderful smile at him. “Besides you, that is. But I’m perfectly decent. I wanted to get out there before the snow stopped.”
“It’s going to stop?”
“Oh, yes. See how the sun is shining? It can’t keep snowing with the sun shining.”
This must be another one
of the things people of earth knew and he didn’t.
I gazed at him, thinking I could hardly believe he was my husband. He had on his working clothes, his crisp white shirt open at the throat, his Armani suit, his shoes shined to a mirror-like gleam. He was businesslike and sexy and hot at the same time. As an added bonus, he smiled at me, seeming much more relaxed than he had been last night. Really, I just wanted to eat him alive, he was so yummy. I felt so lucky that this wonderful man was my husband.
“Did you think through your problem?” I asked.
“I did. I came up with a solution. I’m not sure it’s the correct one, but it’s the only one that occurred to me.”
“You’re not going to tell me what this is about?”
“Not until the time comes, no.”
It was two days until Christmas and the only visitor to the store was Althea. She looked like a different woman with her bright red scarf wrapped around the collar of her faux fur coat. “I brought you a present, Leslie,” she said, as she marched to the back of the store and pulled out a chair at the table we reserved for ourselves as a private area where Michael sat, enjoying his morning coffee.
“Althea, you shouldn’t have. We don’t have anything for you,” I told her.
“Pah. I have everything I need, thanks to your husband.” She nodded her head at Michael. “Will you open it up now and see if you like it? I thought you might have one of your own that you wanted to use but if you didn’t…”
I pulled the silver ribbon off the professionally wrapped box swathed in blue paper and lifted the lid. There, nestled in a mound of tissue paper was the most beautiful christening dress I have ever seen. The neck and sleeves were trimmed in finest French lace, while the body was the sheerest voile over silk.
“Oh. Oh, I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”
“I know christening dresses are a little old fashioned but I thought…”
I leaped up and went to Althea, nearly smothering her in a hug. “This is so thoughtful of you. Michael, look at this. Isn’t it absolutely beautiful? And boy or girl, this is what our baby will wear on christening day. Of course you must come. I’ll send you a special invitation.”
“I know I’m rather commandeering a gift that your mother might want to give…”
“She’ll think of something else. Oh, what a wonderful Christmas present. You must stay for tea.”
Althea shook her head. “Can’t stay. Have more errands to do. Merry Christmas, Mrs. O’Malley.” Her eyes flicked to Michael. “And you, too, you sly devil, going around behind people’s backs, doing good deeds. You take care of her.”
“You know I will,” Michael said.
When Althea had gone, I said, “It’s hard to believe she is the same bitter woman I used to avoid serving.”
“When you lay down a burden of grief and resentment, the relief is very great.”
“My so wise husband.”
On Christmas Eve, when Michael stepped out of the shop and held out his arm for Leslie to take, the weather was cold and crisp. Snowflakes fluttered to the ground, sparkles in the night looking like tiny stars against the backdrop of the city glowing with lights. Leslie insisted saving the taxi fare and walking the five blocks to church. Now she clung to Michael’s arm as they traversed the city sidewalk.
Michael realized now what it felt like for a mortal to enter a church sanctuary where the only thing that occurred within these walls was the worship of God and the sacraments of communion, marriage, and baptism. The soaring ceilings, the dark woodwork, the huge cross in back of the altar. He felt a peace spread within his soul that he hadn’t felt in a very long time.
The choir led the Christmas hymns, processing in with
O come, O come Emmanuel and ransom captive Israel. That mourns in lonely exile here, until the Son of God appear. Rejoice, rejoice, Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.
It was as if Michael remembered this twelfth century song deep within his soul. People had been singing this ancient chant for nine hundred years.
He settled into one of the pews with Leslie and bowed his head. He realized that he hadn’t said a prayer since his unwelcome visitor had come to the shop. Now was the time to forget about that man and his threats. He would rise and listen to the Christmas carols, hear again the Christmas story, receive his candle, and with Leslie at his side sing “Silent Night.” How beautiful the church was with all the candles lit and moving together. Hundreds of people sharing the same song, raising their little lights on high. It was his first experience in worshipping with his fellow man and he understood how important it was for the human race to have this spiritual experience.
At the end of the song, he extinguished his candle just as everyone else was doing and received the final blessing.
Out on the sidewalk on their way home, Leslie linked her arm in his. “Wasn’t it a beautiful service?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Did you go to Christmas Eve services in Ireland, Michael?”
‘Of course.”
“When the pastor read the Christmas story, I couldn’t help but think about my baby. I’m quite sure he’s a boy. Do you think it’s silly, Michael, that I’m so sure it’s a boy before we see the ultrasound?”
Michael had learned by now that his wife often asked him trick questions. Do I look fat in this dress, Michael? I didn’t cook the roast too long, did I? Didn’t you think the mashed potatoes were a little lumpy? His answers must always be positive, regardless of what he knew to be the truth. “I don’t think it’s silly at all, love. You’re a mother now and mothers often have correct premonitions about their children.”
“I’m a mother now,” she echoed in an awed tone. “I guess I never really thought about it, that I’m a mother already.”
In their bedroom, Michael stood on his side of the bed, undressing when Leslie said, “Make love to me, Michael.”
“It will be my pleasure, my love.”
He had no experience with lovers, married, pregnant or otherwise, but it seemed to him that Leslie was more passionate, freer than she might have been if she were worried about becoming pregnant. Her caresses were more intimate, more demanding. She gave him pleasure after pleasure until he could no longer hold out. She carried him to what must be a human heaven, so intense was his delight. Then it was his turn. She murmured, “You know me so well, Michael. It’s like you can read my mind.” He felt so close to her, as if they were truly one.
Then he discovered on Christmas morning how quickly that feeling could evaporate.
“You got me a dish drainer?” Leslie sat on the floor under the Christmas tree at the front of the store with the Christmas wrappings all about her of the presents her family had sent. She’d said she wanted to save his present until last.
“A dish drainer?” Tears glistened in her eyes. “It’s because I’m fat and pregnant, isn’t it? You thought a dish drainer was all I deserved.”
He pushed aside the blizzard of wrappings and sat down next to her to put his arm around her. “My love. That’s what you said you wanted.”
“I didn’t say I wanted it for Christmas.”
He knew it would be futile to argue with her. “What did you think would be in your Christmas package?”
“I thought you would gift me with that beautiful cameo pendant and matching ring that came into the store three weeks ago. I did go on and on about how beautiful I thought they were.”
His stomach twisted. He’d sold the cameos a week before Christmas and was happy with the profit he made. There would be no retrieving them.
“I am so sorry, Leslie. I sold that set to an older woman who came in and admired it. You didn’t say you wanted it…”
“Do I have to come right out and say I want something? Can’t you tell when I’m hinting for something?”
“No, Leslie, I can’t.”
“You’re so obtuse. How can you be so obtuse?” She rose up out of the mound of discarded Christmas wrappings, grabbed up her “gift” an
d stomped around the presents her family had sent, a beautiful fisherman’s knit sweater and matching cap from Laura, a necklace made of turquoise from her mother, a matching peignoir and robe set for her hospital trip from Dorian, and a four books off the best seller list from Jake and Gabe, and stalked toward the stairs. “I’m going right up with my wonderful Christmas gift and put it in its pride of place next to the sink.”
Michael watched her march up the stairs. Would he ever be able to figure out this woman he’d married?
His heart heavy with despair, he began to gather up the wrapping paper to carry it into the back room. Leslie appeared on the steps, her face blotched from crying. “Now what are you doing? Don’t throw away that wrapping paper. I wanted to save it. I can salvage some of it to use in the window display.”
“Fine.” He threw the sheets of wrapping paper down on the floor. He might have been an angel, but he was a man now and his limit had been reached. “There it is. Now will I be doing something wrong if I go upstairs and make myself a cup of coffee?”
“Of course not, Michael. My goodness. Are you angry? You never get angry. What have you got to be angry about? I’m the one who got a dish drainer for Christmas.”
“There is a first time for everything, my dear wife.”
“You didn’t even ask about my present for you.”
“I thought you wouldn’t want to give it to me.”
“Of course I want to give you your present. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Why, indeed? I’ll get my coffee first, if you don’t mind, while you straighten out your wrapping paper and decide where you are going to keep it.” In his robe and slippers, his back militarily straight, Michael climbed the stairs, thinking he didn’t understand his wife at all.
I watched him go. He looked offended. How could he be offended? I was the one who got the stupid dish drainer. How could he have thought that’s what I wanted for Christmas? I didn’t understand him at all. “Merry Christmas, Michael,” I whispered.
Some Kind of Angel Page 16