Mrs Mariano: Part 1

by L Neil

  It’s the first time I have heard his voice since I left him and regretfully, it sounds just as warm and soothing as it always has.

  Frozen in place, I almost forget to respond.

  “Why don’t you ask Alex?” I reply. I had seen him parked across the street at work this afternoon.

  Frank blinks slowly before subtly glancing at my brother. He must be worried that I’m about to undo all his sucking up.

  “Well, you seemed happy,” he continues, choosing to ignore my quip. “That is, until you saw me.”

  My heart breaks at his words.

  He stands and tells Manny, “Thank you for your company. I am delighted that you have recovered so well.”

  Manny stands too, to shake his hand, and I panic for some reason. I don’t want Frank to leave, not really.

  Without another word, he passes me and exits through the front door.

  When I look to Manny, wordlessly seeking an explanation, he just shrugs.

  Just then, Dominic, Silvia and Isabella return from their trip to the store.

  They would have passed Frank at the front gate, so Dominic looks to me, trying to determine if I’m okay.

  Not knowing what to say, I look away from his concerned gaze and bid them goodbye soon after.

  At the apartment later, the crew is with me.

  Glenn brought his Ibanez and portable amp, Sebastian, his cello and laptop and Rob, his portable, electronic drum it.

  Eddie brought his adorable smile and endless compliments at even the most basic riff or beat or melody that we come up with.

  When we become thirsty, we slack off musically. But that’s okay. We all agree that a drink or two together was long overdue.

  ✽✽✽

  Unable to get Helena off my mind, I decide to do some recon work of my own tonight.

  In the cold night, I stand upon the rooftop of the building across the street, spying on her with her friends.

  There are no window coverings and the lights are on so I can see clearly as they drink, laugh and attempt to write music together.

  I know that I should not be jealous of the tall one, Sebastian. He is spoken for and she has given me no reason to suspect that she is attracted to him in that way. Still, any sane man would consider him a threat.

  The guitarist – I have forgotten his name – does not worry me. His messy hair, bulky piercings and leather bracelet are obvious signs of a mid-life crisis. My girl has better taste than that.

  The drummer is simply too young for her.

  But there is another male here tonight – one who is not in any reports or pictures, but he seems so...familiar with her.

  He smiles up at her like a coy groupie and then it hits me. The night I took her for ice cream…he had approached her, after her performance. They seemed like strangers then. So how did he end up here?

  Just now, he sits on the floor, crosses his legs and stares up in awe as she plays something on the piano.

  No, I do not like this one bit.

  ✽✽✽

  There is yet another majestic bouquet of flowers by the front door when I return home tonight. Today’s assortment consists of lovely pastel-shaded blooms with an accent of baby’s breath.

  Although there really is no point, I open the card and the message inside reads:

  I need you

  Still, he signs his name, as if there is any doubt about who sent them.

  The notes with other bouquets read: “I’m sorry”, “I love you", “I miss you” and “Please talk to me".

  The latter is a result of me refusing to answer his phone calls, which occur at different times of the day and night. Does he think that I don’t answer because he happens to call at inconvenient times?

  I do return his texts, however, although they are always blunt.

  When he asks if his wife is safe and sound, I reply, “Yes.” When he asks if we could meet, I am always “Too busy. Sorry.”

  “Perhaps another time?”

  I cannot bring myself to reply to such questions.

  I haven’t heard from him today and for some insane reason, it has made me worry.

  While he must think that I am being capricious by responding so brusquely, that is not the case at all. In fact, as the days go by, I find myself missing him more and more. If I were to see him again, I’m afraid that I would give into him.

  As much as I dreaded having to reply to him (and so rudely), it was nice to know that he still cared about me. It’s selfish, I know.

  So, today’s bunch of flowers is.... nice. I might actually put them in a vase today, instead of the garbage.

  Later, I travel in an elevator to the 40th floor of a high rise building in the city.

  Days ago, I received a call from the jazz club – they were trying to find someone to fill in for one hour at a charity event for terminally ill children and they thought I might be interested.

  Normally, I wouldn’t perform when I’m in such a state of despondency, but I couldn’t possibly refuse a cause like this. When they told me that they will pay one grand for the hour, I told them I would do it for free. Although my savings have dwindled and my wage at the music shop barely covers my living expenses, I couldn’t accept payment. It’s only an hour of my time and I had nothing to do tonight, anyway.

  I step out of the elevator and the mirrored doors close silently behind me. Following the directions that I was given over the phone; I turn right and push through the modern glass doors at the end of the hall.

  Suddenly, I am engulfed in the sounds of laughter and voices mingling over the soft jazz band. Apparently, the glass doors are soundproof.

  I was unsure of how to dress but I think I got it right in my long, simple burgundy dress. It fits to my curves quite nicely -if I do say so myself – and the long sleeves just pass my wrist, as I prefer them to.

  My hair falls down my back in waves. My heels, though hidden, are nude Christian Louboutin’s. Also, I opted not to wear jewellery tonight – I haven’t worn any since I removed the engagement ring from my finger.

  I may not look as extravagant as the other women in their shining gowns and necklaces, but I do look sophisticated.

  I scan the cheerful crowd and a short, round middle-aged man in suit tails waves me over. I could be wrong but, as I approach the man and the grand piano, I start to feel people watching me.

  Deciding not to allow anyone to gawk at me without objection, I raise my head and meet their eyes.

  It turns out I was right – there are a few sets of eyes on me. However, one of these belong to Wendy Teller and her kind, familiar smile calms my nerves. I have a friend here – I’ll be fine.

  I want to go to her but the short man, Andrew, is talking to me, telling me how pleased he is that I was able to fill in on such short notice.

  As the event coordinator tonight, his attendance is requested elsewhere immediately after introducing himself. He quickly informs me that if I wait nearby, I will be prompted when it is my turn to perform.

  Standing in place, I search for Wendy, but she isn’t where she was just a moment ago. That’s okay, I’ll find her later.

  Nerves returning, I can’t help but notice that the noise level has decreased somewhat, and a handful of people have resumed watching me. That is, until their attention turns to the small group of people who enter from the outside deck.

  At the front of this crowd is my smirking, confident husband.

  Beside him is a pretty blonde about my age. Looking like the perfect trophy wife, she wears bright red lipstick and a beige dress which is adorned with gold and silver sequins.

  I have never been so heartbroken. And never has it felt like a physical condition. My chest literally aches.

  He smiles broadly, looking far too content for my liking. Was everything a lie?

  With a desperate need to sob, I look between the two of them. Her arm is linked with his and she laughs loudly at a joke I didn’t hear, hanging off him as if he were a lifeline.

  I d
oubt that she is as jaded as I am. No one who has seen or done what I have would ever laugh so heartily in a room full of wealthy, connected people.

  When I look back to Frank, I find that he is already staring at me.

  I have always considered myself a survivor – no matter what life throws at me; I always decide that I need to keep going. But in this moment, I just want to die.

  How could he do this to me?

  The room is getting smaller. More people are watching. I need to get out of here – now.

  I turn and make my way through the guests and out the glass doors with the weakest, most unsteady steps.

  This hurts so fucking much.

  When the doors close behind me, the thick silence doesn’t provide me with any relief. Instead, as I rush down the hall to the lift lobby, it becomes increasingly difficult to breathe.

  He set this up, I suddenly realise.

  Why didn’t I think to question why I was chosen to fill in tonight?

  This is New Orleans – there would have been an endless selection of musicians who could perform a few Jazz numbers, even at such late notice. What made me think it was totally normal that I was recommended?

  And of course, I was going to accept it – it’s a charity event for sick children.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid!

  I press the button to go down and the sound of voices and music fills the hall. When the noise is cut off again, my heart races.

  I know it’s him coming for me. I tap the button repeatedly, knowing all too well that it won’t make the lift arrive any sooner.

  Come on!

  Without meaning to, a sob comes out as the elevator bell softly chimes.

  But he is suddenly here. His hand meets the wall beside me, and his arm blocks my movement.

  “Stop,” he orders, “just wait a moment.”

  I try to go the other way, but he pulls his other arm up and traps me in.

  Even being chased by someone playfully is scary. No one ever wants to get caught. And right now, I know that I can’t let this happen – I simply don’t trust myself to be this close to him.

  I turn around to face him. “Move,” I demand, finding my throat tight. I just want to cry. Surely, he can see that. Surely, he will just let me go.

  I lift my eyes to his, although I really want to squeeze them shut and pretend that he is not here.

  He is so close to me, concerned and wanting, as if he weren’t just with another woman.

  “I’m sorry I tricked you into coming here. And I’m sorrier that I foolishly tried to make you jealous just now.”

  “Who is she?” The question blurts out before I get the chance to decide if I want to know the answer.

  “She is no one. A stranger,” he quickly explains. “Honestly, I met her...” he waves his hand while he thinks, “...a half hour ago. While I was waiting for you to arrive, a not-so-brilliant idea formed in my…I thought-

  “You don’t need to explain,” I say, cutting him off.

  Confounded, he replies, “Yes, I do. You are my wife.” Suddenly displeased, he asks, “Or have you forgotten that?”

  I feel like I’m missing something. I’m supposed to be the mad one here. “What does that mean?”

  He leans in closer until our noses are almost touching. The familiar smell of whisky causes much havoc to my mind and body.

  Quickly, I flatten myself against the wall, needing to stop myself from automatically gravitating towards him.

  He inhales deeply, eyes hooded, able to sense my struggle.

  “Frank,” I start, attempting to snap us both out of it, “what did you mean by that?’

  He drags his eyes away from my lips and asks me, “Who is… Eddie to you?”

  My breath hitches and my mind plunges into panic mode, which is ridiculous because I have no reason to feel guilty about anything.

  I had known that I couldn’t keep Eddie a secret forever, no matter how cautious we were about not being seen together. And I had wondered how Frank would find out – if I would one day get the chance to tell him or if his spies would be the ones to inform him.

  I guess he knows now.

  “He’s a friend,” I reply, “and a very good one, I might add. So, if you have any plans on hurting him, I would cancel them, ASAP. Believe me, you don’t want to hurt someone I care about again.”

  He lowers his arms now and lifts his head, standing tall. “I wouldn’t dare. As I told you, I have learned from my mistakes.”

  A reformed madman?

  He smiles charmingly at me.

  No longer ensnared, I can breathe again.

  “He wants you though, you do know that?” He asks quietly.

  “No,” I reply, and mean it. “I don’t know that. And you can’t, either.”

  His face darkens. “About a week ago, I saw you at the apartment. He was watching you. You were playing-

  “How?” My heart races.

  “The lights were on. I saw it myself-

  “Wait, you followed me?”

  “Yes.” A simple fact. “And after that, I had my men shadow you more closely. Apparently, you have lunch with him at Molly’s almost every day.”

  His sharp eyes lock into my own. “I suppose that is where you met with him this whole time, right under my nose. Oh!” He exclaims suddenly, “And he’s one of Rizzo’s electricians, too! What are the odds?”

  His grin is terrifying.

  I swallow before responding. “Yes, he happened to work for Tony, and he helped with the apartment-

  “Were you two ever alone?” He asks, suspiciously.

  He wants to know if he needs to punish Dominic. Shit.

  “No. Never. And please don’t blame Dominic. He had no idea. I made sure of it-

  “Oh, I am aware that you made it very difficult for Dominic to do his job. Don’t worry, I have no ill will against him – at least not now that he is out of the picture.” Now that he fired him. “But back to this Eddie fellow-

  “No matter what happens between you and I, I could never be with Eddie.” I say. “I’m not attracted to him.”

  Although I shouldn’t have to explain further, I decide it’s probably a safe bet to convince him some more.

  “He is just a friend. I have had purely plutonic relationships with men in the past as I have right now. You know this. You’ve had me followed for most of my life.”

  He clenches his jaw but then grunts in approval.

  I may as well tell him the whole truth, too. “Besides, even if I tried… I would never love or want someone half as much as I do you.”

  He gapes at me softly. This seems to be a revelation to him.

  “You seem surprised,” I say.

  He moves now, only to wipe a hand over his mouth and look away briefly. When his eyes return to me, he asks, “Do you mean that? Truly?”

  Not trusting my voice, I nod in response.

  How could he not know?

  Pondering, he says, “I had no idea. I…” he tries to find the words, “I never dared to hope that you loved me anywhere near as much as…”

  With a quiet determination, he steps in closer and holds my face in his hands.

  Fingers laced in my hair and thumbs rubbing my cheeks, he gently begs, “Baby, come back to me… I will die without you…”

  He closes in until our lips are almost touching. With his smoky voice, he says, “I hurt too much.”

  And, God help me, he feels like home.

  I should just stop resisting – Manny has forgiven him and I believe him when he says he will never act against my will again. The aching loneliness I have endured these past weeks could be a distant memory if I just give in.

  Besides, it is simply impossible to deny him any longer. I want this man, without a doubt. Every part of me is screaming for him.

  Just as I am about to kiss those enticing lips, a female’s voice breaks the spell.

  “Mr Mariano? I was wondering where you got to.”

  Distracted as we were, we f
ailed to hear that anyone was approaching. And.... it’s the floozy that was hanging from him just moments ago. Definitely a mood killer.

  Frank’s breath shudders on exhale. His face then slackens as an unmistakable rage simmers within him. There is no doubt in my mind that his thoughts have turned homicidal.