Fairytales

by Cynthia Freeman

  Dominic looked at his wife, his eyes narrowed slightly in contemplation. Then, ever so fleetingly, the thought of Catherine’s Mama vanished. He smiled, “Catherine, just be you.”

  “I’m gonna be, Dominic. I surely am gonna be me for the first time in a long time. And the kinda wife I’ve dreamed of bein’ in a house like this.” Then she walked quickly into the marble foyer where her happy voice echoed in the vast empty mansion, “Where’re my babies … Dom and Tory, get off that bannister and go look for your brothers.” When she saw Bobby soaking wet, Catherine laughed so hard, there were tears in her eyes. Then gathering them all around her, and with a grand sweeping gesture, she said, “This is our new home … it is indeed and this is where we’re gonna have the best time of our lives. I’m just about the luckiest woman in the world … and that’s a fact.”

  From that day until her seventh month, Catherine spent almost all her time at the new house with the contractor who was remodeling the kitchen and bathrooms, complaining about the costs, and taking their good old time to do the work. And the painter quit in the middle of the job because Catherine kept after him while he spackled the walls, watching for every tiny crack, but what broke the camel’s back was she decided the colors he had applied were not the same as she had chosen. Angrily, he walked off the job.

  At this point, she became irritable and terribly fatigued. Each evening, after the children were put to sleep, she would collapse exhausted on her bed and fall asleep immediately.

  Dominic was away on a case and would be for a few more days. At eleven o’clock that night, Catherine began to have excruciating pains. Her breathing labored, she called Dr. Vincente on the phone and told him to please come immediately. He was there within minutes. After examining her, he said, “Catherine, I’m going to take you to the hospital.”

  “No … no … I can’t go. I’m only in my seventh month; Dominic’s not here and I know I’m gonna die,” she screamed hysterically.

  “Now, Catherine, listen to me,” he answered as he put his arm around her shoulders, “you’re not to think of such terrible things … many women have premature babies. You’re a healthy young woman. Now, you must be calm, everything is going to be fine, just trust me.”

  “I do, but it seems everythin’ has been against me with this child and now, when I need my husband more than ever, where is he … ?”

  “Catherine, you’re not thinking rationally. Dominic had no more idea that this would happen than we did. I’ll phone him later. Where is he staying?”

  “The number is on my nightstand.”

  “Fine, now I’ll get your coat and we’ll go.”

  “No, I want to see my children first.”

  “We don’t have time for that. I’ll just tell Anna. Now rest for a moment.” He hurried from the room and was back before she could protest.

  The delivery was terribly difficult, and in her agony, she screamed out for Dominic. For a while, Dr. Vincente wasn’t sure if the baby was alive … he had lost the heartbeat.

  After eight hours, finally, she was taken to the delivery room where at last her child was born. He weighed only four-and-a-half pounds and was placed in an incubator. In the interim, Dominic had been notified by Dr. Vincente. For a moment, he could not recover from the shock of being told.

  “Is she alright? Tell me everything.”

  “Look, Dominic, let’s not waste any time … just get here as fast as you can.”

  “How is she,” Dominic asked, afraid of the answer.

  “She’ll be fine, but it’s not very promising for the baby.”

  “Oh, my God,” Dominic cried out, “I’m leaving immediately.”

  “When do you think you’ll be here?”

  “In about six hours if I can get a plane … tell her I love her.”

  He arrived just in time to see Catherine being wheeled out of surgery to her room. He followed behind, but was asked to wait since Mrs. Rossi was under sedation and that the nurse had a few duties to perform. Nervously, he paced the floor. When Dr. Vincente tapped him on the shoulder, he was startled as he turned around. “Come, sit down, Dominic.”

  Taking out a cigarette, he drew the smoke deeply into his lungs. With fear in his voice, he asked, “How is Catherine?”

  “She’ll be alright.”

  “And the baby?”

  Dr. Vincente shrugged his shoulders, “I’m not so sure, Dominic, he’s very tiny and we had a difficult time trying to start the breathing. For a while, it was nip and tuck, but we’ll watch him very carefully.”

  Dominic broke down and sobbed. Finally, he said, “It’s a boy.”

  “Yes … and he’s alive.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Thank God, indeed. It’s nice to know he’s on my side when I need him and in this case I sure did.”

  “I’m just sick that I wasn’t here.”

  “How could you have known this would happen anymore than I did. Everything seemed to be going so well.”

  “I’m away so much. I know I’m missing a lot.”

  “Come on, Dominic, don’t punish yourself. A man does what he has to do. Everybody makes compromises, trades one thing for another, including doctors. Now I think you can go in and see Catherine.”

  Dominic stood by the side of the bed and waited for Catherine to awaken. When she opened her eyes and saw him standing before her, she said, “I missed you.”

  He kissed her, then answered awkwardly, “I’m … I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

  “I needed you, Dominic.”

  He just shook his head. Maybe he ought to give up and go into real estate … forget the dreams and the ambition. It seemed to be destroying them. His thoughts were interrupted by Catherine saying, “Dominic, have you seen the baby?”

  “No, darling, my main concern is you. I love you, Catherine, I love you.”

  He pressed her hand gently and swallowed hard, “What can I say?”

  The next ten days passed slowly and sadly for both of them, and when it came time for Catherine to leave the hospital without her child, her youngest, her Vincente, she was devastated.

  That first night was simply dreadful. Dominic tried to comfort her as best he could, but she would not be consoled … in fact, her nerves were so taut that she accused him of being responsible for the early birth, an accusation he knew was unfair, but nevertheless felt guilty about.

  He wanted to say, if you hadn’t made me feel impotent I wouldn’t have had any reason to leave, but he suppressed the desire to lash back. Quietly, he said, “No, Catherine, I don’t think that my leaving had anything to do with this.”

  “Then you’re sayin’ that I’m to blame.”

  “Catherine, please … nobody’s to blame.”

  “But you are blamin’ me, I just know it down deep in your heart.”

  “Oh, Catherine, please … how could I blame you for anything. It’s just something that happened … an act of God. Please, Catherine, stop crying, it isn’t doing you any good. Now let me give you a sleeping pill and try and get some rest.”

  “If anythin’ happens to that child, I’ll never forgive you.”

  In the next weeks, she fell into a depression so deep that she refused to leave her room except to go to the hospital. When she returned home, she would collapse on the bed and cry. The children brought her no solace nor did Dominic. All she could think of in her confusion was what he had done to her. She couldn’t stand having him in the same bed.

  It wasn’t until a month later when the baby finally was strong enough to be brought home that her attitude changed. To add to her joy of the moment, she held in her arms the last child she knew she would have and took him to the nursery of their new home. She was overwhelmed with the feeling that somehow this new precious life was an omen that their lives would have a new beginning.

  But it didn’t quite turn out that way, did it, Catherine thought to herself as she watched the dawn break over the Arizona landscape. No, you’re damned right it didn’t. It
was six and she hadn’t shut her eyes all night. She felt empty, spiritually, emotionally and gastronomically. Getting out of bed, she went to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, washed her face and hands, put on some moisture cream and hand lotion, then went back into the bedroom. It was too early to call for breakfast so she opened a can of sardines, which she ate with crackers, peeled the foil off of the cheese and popped a cube in her mouth, then polished off the early morning snack with a few Danish cookies, which she dunked in cognac. Nothing was more tranquilizing than a little antipasto … that wasn’t exactly what Dr. Atkins would have approved of, but what the hell, thought Catherine. “Sardines in the morning, Mrs. Rossi?” “Yes, Dr. Atkins.” Let me give you a little of my expertise … doctor dear … you may know your carbohydrates, but I know what’s good for someone who’s ailin’ from a broken heart. Now, for instance, how’s your diet gonna help a woman who allowed her husband to get away from her … I ask you? Sure, you’d approve of the sardines and the cheese, but the crackers, the cookies and the cognac? Strictly against the rules, you say? Well, be that as it may, strictly between the two of us, who plays by the rules? Huh? Can’t answer that, right? Well, don’t feel too badly. I’m not so sure I can. Because all I know is I think I gave a lot to my husband, raising his children. Between the chicken pox, the mumps, the bumps and the rashes, I had my hands full, I can tell you. And while I was dashing off for fifteen years to the orthodontist, the obstetrician, the pediatrician, dancing school, the Boy Scouts, gettin’ the boys off to summer camps, the Girl Scouts, piano lessons … Whew! And tryin’ to furnish a beautiful house for Dominic to entertain those important people in, bein’ a charmin’ hostess and smilin’ when all the time I resented it because it was all for him … long before he ever thought of runnin’ for U.S. senator. Well, it wasn’t easy, I can tell you that, and while all this was goin’ on, Dominic was runnin’ in twenty different directions. Sure, he asked me to go with him, but he knew I couldn’t leave. In the beginnin’, I was so damned consumed with those seven kids and my house, I didn’t have time to notice how important he was becomin’. Then, all of a sudden, I woke up one mornin’ and Baby Dom was nineteen and away to school at Harvard and Tory was goin’ next year and the twins were fifteen, Bobby was thirteen and somehow different than the rest, in a way I couldn’t quite understand. He wanted to be by himself a great deal and read all kinds of weird books. I was a little worried about him, but I tried to be understandin’, knowin’ he was goin’ through an adolescent stage … and Gina Maria loved her Daddy so much, it made me feel absolutely superfluous. And Vincente was another source of worry because he was too small for his age and I kept taking him to a specialist for shots, but a lot of good that did. The doctor explained that he took after my side of the family, which didn’t satisfy me one iota. I knew all the time why Vincente was so small. The memory of my pregnancy was still pretty well fresh in my mind. And where was Dominic? Gettin’ richer and more powerful all the time. Do you think he appreciated what I was doin? When I asked, “What you doin’ all this for, Dominic?” He’d look at me as though I were askin’ if he was gonna bomb the Pentagon, then he answered, “What do you want me to do?”

  “Oh, come, Dominic, let’s not play that game again. You know damned well what I want.”

  He got red in the face and answered, “Well, what you want, I can’t do.”

  “Yes, I know … that sweet smell of success, as the sayin’ goes, really invaded your nostrils, didn’t it, Dominic?”

  “Look, Catherine, I’m going to tell you something, for a long time you’ve tried to hold me back and I tried to understand and be patient. Your problem is you can’t stand not being first. You’d like to have dominated me. I knew it … I wasn’t blind, I could have been a very satisfactory husband and made you happy. But you’re not going to dictate to me. I’ve given you the best life I know. You’re the most extravagant woman I’ve ever known, all you want are things … and I’ve gone along with you to keep peace but that wasn’t enough. You’ve pushed too hard … you’re trying to strangle me. It’s ironic, you once accused my family of holding on to me … Some joke. You’ve done the same thing with the children. Whenever I disagreed with you about anything, you always told me to stick to my business, that they were your children and this was your home. Your home … your children. What the hell is mine. You’ve played the part of the great martyr … but what have you done for me except complain about the difficulties you’ve had raising my children. They become my children when it suits you. Now, I’ll tell you one more thing. You’re jealous. I know that sounds crazy, but you’re actually jealous of my success, and you know something else? You’re mixed up because my success is yours, and if you weren’t so blind you’d know that.”

  “Okay … Okay … Dr. Freud. Go ahead, who else can you use? You’ve told me so often about the problems I have. Now suppose I tell you somethin’ since you haven’t spared my feelin’s. You’re a selfish son of a bitch who was never around long enough for me to have a life with. What the hell do you think I have except things? I’ve dominated and programmed my children, have I? Well, they turned out fairly well for someone who controlled their existence, didn’t they? Dom’s at Harvard followin’ in Papa’s footsteps. The only difference is, I’m gonna try and see that he has a little bit more responsibility toward a wife of his. I’m gonna try to impress him and my other children that their wives come first. Why, you were never here when they had a toothache or an earache or a bellyache or any other kind of ache. It was all over by the time you unpacked your suitcase. What kind of life did you give me, always dashin’ off hither and yon …

  “Well, if I hadn’t been dashing off hither and yon, as you put it, I wouldn’t have been able to provide all the gracious living you needed so badly to become a grand lady. A grand lady, so accustomed to the finer things in life, the things your Mama trained you for.”

  “Dominic, you’re a liar, a goddamned liar. Remember I’ve lived with you for twenty years and I know what makes you tick. I also know your little tricks. You didn’t do any sacrificin’ for us. You did it because you wanted people to say, There goes the great Mr. Dominic Rossi and that’s a fact and you know it. You gave me things to pacify me … why, I didn’t need things from you. I could have bought and sold you … and don’t you forget it.” With that, I got so mad … so mad, I ran over to Dominic and slapped him square in the face, a thing I shoulda done long ago, but he grabbed my wrist so hard, I thought he was gonna break it and that’s a fact. His face turned beet red and he had a wild look in his eye. Well, sir, I surely expected him to beat me, but if he did, I swear I woulda shot him … I mean it.

  “Don’t you ever do that again!”

  But I wasn’t scared and I screamed back, “What if I do … you gonna stop givin’ me things?” I suppose because he was afraid of himself and his Sicilian corpuscles pulsatin’ through his veins … he ran from the room, down the stairs with me runnin’ after him shoutin’ as I leaned over the bannister, “I’m goin’ home … you hear?” I don’t think he heard the last of my words because he was out and slammin’ the door behind him.

  Well, I packed myself up and with my children, went home to Mama with a heavy heart, I can tell you. But thank the dear Lord, it was June, I guess providence was watchin’ out for Catherine because school had just let out. Funny thing about life … the illusions and delusions … Thomas Wolfe was right, you can’t go home again. I’d been away from New Orleans for so long that the lovely hot summer exhausted me … and the lazy afternoons, sitting on the piazza gossipin’ with Mama and Rosa Ann bored me. I was like a fish out of water, my life had changed me so, I didn’t even realize how much of a stranger I’d become … imagine, in a place I’d thought of all these years as home. What I missed … really was my home, my own home where I was the mistress. I longed for that marble foyer and the antiques. I missed the feel of my own bed, the feel of cool linen against my body, my room. The excitement of overseein’ meals, directin’ things, tell
in’ the help how I wanted them done … I missed Dominic … of course not in the very beginnin’. I was too angry at first to even allow myself to think about him … I refused to regard him as an essential to my life. That’s why I was glad I could deprive him of the children … let him rattle around that big empty house without a soul to talk to … and I knew he would be hurtin’ when he was home, but, like all things, nothin’ is forever … time heals the wounds. It even gets rid of the anger and hatred until you begin to forget what you were so mad about in the first place … and o’course when you been livin’ with a man for twenty years for better or for worse, as the sayin’ goes, it’s hard to get him out of your system. I wasn’t fool enough to think that Dominic was gonna be callin’ like he had once before when I was a young wife and mother and him beggin’ me to come home. “Not tonight, Josephine,” as Napoleon told his lady … it was a man’s world even then. But after two and a half months, I couldn’t stand the silence. I called, after swallowin’ my pride. As I waited for the phone to ring, my heart pounded for fear Dominic wouldn’t be home. It jumped and skipped a few beats. You’d better believe I wondered what he’d say when he heard it was me. I was about to hang up when Stella answered, “It’s a de Rossi residenta.” Good Lord, how good she sounded, just hearin’ her voice, like money from home and that’s no lie.

  “Stella, this is Mrs. Rossi, how are you.” I laughed nervously.

  “Oh, Signora, benissimo grazie, e lei?”

  “Fine, Stella. Is Mr. Rossi there?”

  “Si, Signora, un momento.”

  It seemed forever before Dominic answered. His voice was strained, but he said, “Yes?” coldly. Nothing had mellowed him.

  I had to brace myself against the wall and take a deep breath before I responded to his aloofness. Finally, with my composure intact, I said, “Dominic, I’m comin’ home.”