by Chris Dolley
It had an annoying kernel of plausibility. But...
“So why the interest in gene therapy? Why were we searching Abbiati’s home for medical files?”
“Because there was a good chance he wasn’t human, and what better way to determine that than to get hold of his medical files? If he’s a demon, he’ll steer clear of all hospitals, X-ray machines, and blood tests.”
He looked her straight in the eye. He had to be reading her thoughts, too. Which made it even more annoying. He’d be able to gauge how well his explanation was going down and modify his story accordingly. But he did sound plausible.
She tried one more question. “You were specifically looking at gene therapy.”
“To see if he’d had his DNA tested. Look, if you want, I can take you to see this Brian Trafford. After we’ve caught Daddy that is. I expect Brian’ll be easy to find.”
Brenda stared at the road ahead, while trying to mask her prime thought: Oh, you’re good, Brian. But I don’t trust you an inch.
Soon Brenda was trusting him concerning several inches. Namely her bust size. They’d just pulled into her mother’s street and, knowing her sister, Susan would be at the window, curtain pulled back, mouth set and toe tapping on the floor.
So Brian had better make the change and disappear before the car came into Susan’s radar range.
Brenda pulled over several doors down.
“You can do this, can’t you?” she asked. “If you’re not fully recovered, we can turn round.”
Brian cracked his knuckles. “Relax. I’ll have you presentable in seconds.”
“And you’re not going to do anything weird, are you?” She had visions of arriving on the doorstep with an extra boob on her back. “Because this really means a lot to me. It’s my mother. It’s my family. And it’s going to be hell anyway without you making it worse.”
He sat back, giving her a mock startled look. “You have my word as a spawn of Satan.”
Brenda rolled her eyes.
Her eyes were still in mid roll when Brian reached out and touched her arm. Her body began to tingle. She looked down. Her clothes were changing. No, Brian! You promised!
Shock gave way to amazement. He’d changed her clothes, but in a good way – he’d given her that dress she liked in Chantal’s store window. The expensive one. The one she was thinking of saving up for.
“You haven’t stolen this from the store window, have you?”
In her mind she could see a brick lying on a sidewalk, shattered glass, alarm bells ringing...
“Of course not. The only place I stole it from was your mind. I knew you liked it, so I gave it to you as a present. And I’ve restyled your hair.”
Aaaaarrrggghhh!
She couldn’t reach the mirror quick enough. What was it going to be? A Mohawk? A blonde afro?
Neither. It was a style she’d considered a few months back, but wasn’t sure she could pull off. She moved the mirror to the left and right. It ... it looked great. It really suited her. And together with the dress and her old boobs and ... well, forget the nose, she couldn’t have everything. But still, she looked great. She looked elegant and confident. She looked like a person who could out-Susan Susan.
“Thank you,” she said, not knowing what to say. “It’s....”
“It’s nothing,” said Brian. “You have a great night. You deserve it.”
And with that unexpected compliment, Brian vanished.
Brenda spent a few seconds just sitting there, hands on the steering wheel, psyching herself up. Even with the new hair and dress this was going to be a stressful evening. Eventually she slipped the car into gear and drove the extra hundred yards to her mother’s house. Bob and Susan’s giant Hummer loomed in the driveway. For a second Brenda wished she’d brought the Jag. Or at least a photo she could show everyone when Susan started sniping.
Calm down, advised the inner Brenda. You’re dressed to kill. You’re on time. And no one – not even Susan – is going to rattle your confidence tonight.
She walked up the drive, rang the doorbell, took a step back, smoothed her dress, patted her hair, whipped up a confident smile and...
Her mother opened the door. And, as she did so, the biggest bunch of flowers Brenda had ever seen appeared magically next to her. They were being thrust towards her mother by ... Brenda could not believe it.
Fabio!
Chapter Twenty-Two
Brenda’s heart reached speeds that had been known to kill lesser individuals. But then they hadn’t been standing next to Fabio. Brenda was. And it was a young Fabio. In his prime. Early thirties. All hair and muscles.
He looked fabulous. Book cover fabulous. Fashionably windswept and disheveled as though he’d just stepped from a sword fight on a wild Scottish moor. His frilly white shirt was more unbuttoned than buttoned, and his jacket struggled to contain his bulging shoulders.
“You must be Susan, my Brenda’s beautiful sister,” he said in a lyrical Italian accent. Brenda’s knees almost gave way.
So did her mother’s. Brenda had never seen her so shocked, or so girlish. It was a toss-up which was open the most – Mom’s mouth or her eyes. She looked from Fabio to Brenda, to the flowers, then back at Fabio. And almost melted on the doorstep. Years fell away as she transformed into a giggling schoolgirl.
“I’m Brenda’s mother, silly.”
Silly? Brenda couldn’t believe the transformation. Who was this impostor standing on the doorstep, pretending to be her mother? Her real mom would never fall for the ‘you look like sisters’ line in a million years.
But it was Fabio.
“No!” said Fabio, affecting a style of shock that only a Mediterranean heartthrob could carry off. “You no look one day over thirty.”
If Brenda’s mother had been made out of chocolate, there’d have been a gooey mess on the doorstep by now. She giggled, she simpered, she buried her face in the mass of flowers and inhaled deeply. And then she turned to Brenda.
“Who is he?” she mouthed, and then regained sufficient composure to smile and ask, “You never said you were seeing someone.”
“I am Fabio,” said Brian before Brenda could answer.
Brenda clung to the same bemused smile she’d been hiding behind since Fabio’s materialization. ‘Why do you always push it, Brian? Why couldn’t you call yourself Bruno or Rafael? You’re impersonating a real person!’
Whose picture was undoubtedly adorning at least one of the books on her mother’s bookshelf.
Brian ignored her and bent forward, his eyes never leaving Brenda’s mother’s. He swept up her right hand in his, and kissed it.
“Holy shit!” said Angelica, Susan’s nine year-old daughter, who’d just appeared in the doorway. “Auntie Brenda’s brought a man with her, and he’s kissing grandma!”
Teams of wild horses couldn’t have dragged Susan to the door quicker. The door flew open. Susan’s mouth followed suit. And then her brain must have overloaded. There was just too much to take in at once. Brenda looking like she’d stepped off a catwalk. The most gorgeous man she’d ever seen standing next to her. Her mother holding the biggest, most exotic bunch of flowers imaginable. And Angelica had just said ‘shit’ in company.
“This is Susan,” Brenda told Fabio. “And she’s not my daughter.”
Brenda and Fabio – mainly Fabio – were ushered inside. A movie star couldn’t have received more attention. Vases were found for the flowers, then Fabio was guided into a sofa, and Brenda was thrust next to him. Angelica sat at their feet and Susan and her mother hovered in front – alternately offering them drinks and nibbles and firing off questions.
“How long have you been seeing each other?”
“Where did you meet?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were bringing someone?”
Meanwhile Bob, Susan’s husband, manned the spotlight shining into Brenda’s eyes. Well, he didn’t, but Brenda felt like someone was. They’d barely fielded one question when the next was
shot towards them. There was a limit to how fast Brenda could lie.
Not Brian though. He was loving the attention. Hamming it up with the occasional hair toss and an Italian accent to die for.
“Where do you work, Fabio?”
That was Brenda’s mother. Pleasantries over, now time for the bottom line. How much do you earn, and are you fertile?
“I am doctor.”
Brenda thought her mother was going to swoon. Handsome, Italian, and a doctor.
“A doctor!” She interrupted her swoon to give Brenda a knowing look. What are you waiting for, Brenda? There’s a bed upstairs. Go get me grandchildren!
“Your mother must be so proud,” she continued.
“No,” sighed Fabio. “It is long story. Very sad. Many castles.”
“Castles?”
Brenda didn’t think Fabio’s fan club could get any more excited, but they just had. Angelica was practically cuddling his shins. Susan was on the edge of her seat and Mom was designing wedding invitations. Even Bob, who rarely got excited about anything other than work and Angelica’s school reports, had a glint in his eye – though that was probably down to the prospect of having a well-connected brother-in-law in need of financial advice.
“Si,” said Fabio. “Very sad. My father he want me marry la Marchesa Luisa.”
“What’s a Marchesa?” asked Angelica.
“A duchess,” said Susan, almost shushing her daughter with the speed of her reply.
“But I say,” continued Fabio, lapping up the attention. “Papa, when I marry, I marry for love, not castles.”
Brenda’s mother shot her new favorite daughter a look, her eyes brimming. Could this man get any better?
Brenda had a sneaky suspicion that he would. Brian never knew when to stop. Just as she knew that she was the person who’d have to pick up the pieces when Fabio disappeared into the sunset. And put up with years of put-downs from her mother. Why did you let that lovely man get away, Brenda? What were you thinking?
‘Don’t go too far over the top, Brian. I have to live with these people.’
“My papa,” said Fabio, suddenly looking as downcast – and twice as cute – as a very large abandoned puppy. “He very proud man. He say I spit on eight hundred years of family tradition. So....” Fabio shrugged, one of his giant elbows nearly knocking Brenda’s cognac out of her hand. “He disinherit me. I have to find job. I study hard to become doctor. I do a leetle modeling in Milan to ... how you say? Put bread all over the table?”
“You modeled in Milan,” said Susan, using the same hushed tones that her mother had used at the news he was a doctor.
“Si. Giorgio is good friend. I know him many years. He say, ‘Fabio, you come Milan and work for me. I design special clothes just for you.’“
“Giorgio Armani!”
Brenda thought Susan was going to stand up and applaud. She’d put her hands together and almost bounced into the air.
“Si. I work three, maybe four year in Milan then, when I become doctor, I come to United States.” He sighed again, and back came the big, sad puppy.
“I no talk to my mother, la contessa, for five years. Still. No worry. I think Doctor Fabio sound better that Count Fabio. Yes?”
The jury was out on that one.
“What do you do in your spare time?” asked Bob. “Do you play golf?”
Brenda waited to hear the name Tiger dropped casually into the conversation, but Brian must have learned restraint.
“No. I no play golf. All my spare time I spend with my Brenda.” He flashed Brenda the kind of smile that could undo a bra strap from fifty paces. Brenda was sure she heard two twang close by.
“And my second job, of course,” continued Fabio.
“You have a second job?”
“Yes. I am volunteer fireman.”
There went the third bra strap.
“You’re a fireman, a doctor, a model, and a count?” asked Angelica, her eyes widening so far that her eyebrows were in danger.
“And he’s Italian,” said Brenda. “Which, in poker terms, I think ranks as a royal flush.”
Only Bob and Fabio laughed. Angelica didn’t get the poker reference, and Susan’s and her mother’s eyes had glazed over as their thoughts drifted perilously close to a full-on Fabio fantasy daydream.
“It hard work being fireman,” said Fabio. “But I love it. Yesterday I have to climb tree to save leetle kitten.” He turned to smile at Brenda. “I love pussy.”
Brenda had been sipping on a particularly fine cognac. Not any more. It left her mouth in a fine spray of remarkable force. Some may even have taken the scenic route via her nostrils.
“Auntie Bren!” cried Angelica, jumping up and swatting at her clothes. “You got that all over me.”
Brenda apologized, in between the choking, the blushing, and the mental scream of: ‘Brian! What are you doing? You can’t say pussy in front of my mother!’
Brenda’s mother, who had taken most of the cognac spray, looked like she needed the dowsing. It wasn’t just embarrassment that was reddening her face. She looked uncomfortably hot. “I think I’ll check on dinner,” she said, getting up.
“I’ll join you,” said Susan.
The interrogation settled down as the evening progressed. Brian was over the top and fabulous, fielding every question with wit and charm, inventing amusing anecdotes and flirting outrageously. He’d always been funny, but there was something about the Fabio persona that really made him shine.
Was it just his looks? Looking like Fabio, he could probably recite the telephone directory and make it sound sexy. Or was it the accent? Or the easy charm? The smile. His naiveté. Brian’s Fabio was like a big handsome innocent who seemed genuinely charmed by everyone around him. He asked as many questions as he fielded. Which was probably a good stratagem. The fewer facts he let slip about his history, the better. Susan was an inveterate Googler.
And he’d taken the family spotlight away from Brenda. No one was interested in sniping at her dead-end secretarial job any more. Her mother even commented on her hair. How it suited her. And her dress. Brenda hadn’t received a compliment from her mother in four years. Not since her divorce.
Which made the evening almost enjoyable. Brenda could relax – up to a point. However restrained Brian was being at the moment, she knew he was only ever one heartbeat away from another pussy moment. Or worse.
With dinner ready the party moved through to the dining room and still everyone was enjoying themselves. The food, as usual, was superb. Steak with mole sauce and a lime honey vinaigrette.
“I must have this recipe,” said Fabio.
“You cook?” said Brenda’s mother.
“I am Italian. We love food. Tell me. This sauce. I can taste chocolate, no? And cumin. Cinnamon, I think. And a leetle nutmeg.”
Brenda was impressed. He was reading her mother’s mind, getting her to think of the recipe and reeling off the ingredients. She’d be his forever. Food may be the path to a man’s heart, but it was an eight-lane freeway to her mother’s.
Not that her mother needed much encouragement by this stage. Brenda had never seen her so girlish. It was like the second coming of Tom Jones. Another minute and underwear would be flying across the dining room table.
The only person for whom Fabio’s spell appeared to be wearing off was Susan. She’d become noticeably quieter during the past ten minutes. Was she jealous? She was certainly used to having her side of the family center stage at these get-togethers. Bob would have won another promotion or a big fat bonus. And Angelica would have moved up another belt in some obscure oriental martial art, or have just passed a piano exam, or be auditioning for the lead in the school play.
“Brenda?” said Susan as the main course concluded. “Can you help me in the kitchen?”
It was not a request.
Brenda followed her sister into the kitchen. Susan found the sink, turned round, folded her arms, and glared.
“He’s an escort, isn
’t he?”
“Who?”
“Him! Count doctor fireman Fabio.”
“Of course not!”
“Yeah, right. What are you thinking, Brenda? Bringing a ... gigolo into Mom’s house! Are you that desperate? Are you paying for sex, too? Is he going to strip during dessert?”
“If we’re lucky.”
Brenda thought Susan was going to explode. Her arms reached for the ceiling and clawed at the air.
“This isn’t a joke, Brenda!”
“No, it’s not, Susan. Every year I come here and every year you put me down. Well, not this year. And if you want me and my boyfriend to leave, then you can explain to Mom why.”
“Explain what?” Both sisters turned at the sound of their mother’s voice. She was standing in the doorway holding a tray full of plates.
Brenda glared at her sister, daring her to speak up. “Well?”
Susan backed down. “Nothing,” she said and left.
Brenda drifted past Brian as she returned to her seat and sent him a thought. ‘Susan thinks you’re a prostitute.’
‘Really?’
‘Apparently I’m so sad and desperate I have to pay male escorts to accompany me to my mom’s.’
‘So, you’re not paying me?’
Brenda kicked him under the table.
Dessert passed off without incident. Susan put on her party face, and with the exception of a few hard stares at both Brenda and Fabio, no one could tell she’d just accused one of the guests of being a prostitute. Even her mother’s usually infallible radar failed to pick up on Susan’s behavior, dazzled as it was by the brilliance of Fabio’s hunky Mediterranean charm.
And later, when the meal had been cleared away and the party had moved back through to the living room, Brian caught Susan’s arm and asked her to walk with him.
o0o
“You can’t con me,” she said. “I know what you really are.”
Brian led her through the French Windows onto a deck at the back. “You no love your sister?”