by Bev Prescott
Words were momentarily trapped by Isabella’s tongue-tied reaction to the innocent greeting. Then again, Madison was standing right beside her, wearing only a sports bra and shorts. “Good, thank you,” Isabella managed to say.
Madison took off her boxing gloves and pulled an Army sweatshirt out of her bag. As she yanked the shirt on, she studied Isabella’s eye. “It does appear to be a lot better. The swelling has gone down quite a bit. I hope the things I show you today will help keep you out of trouble next time. The best thing to learn is how to get away from an attacker.” She picked up her bag. “Come on, follow me.”
They turned left out of the sparring room and entered a smaller room that had four large bags suspended from the ceiling, one in each corner. Mirrors lined the walls. A wooden bench ran along the length of one wall. Madison straddled it and motioned for Isabella to join her.
“Have you ever boxed before?” Madison asked.
Isabella sat down facing her. “You’re kidding, right?” She shifted her weight to sit more comfortably. “To be honest, until today, I never thought of it as a sport. You changed my mind about that, though. I enjoyed watching you.”
“Most people aren’t open-minded enough to give it a chance. If they did, they’d realize there’s a lot about boxing that’s useful in other parts of life. It doesn’t have to be about violent men beating each other to a pulp. After we go through a couple of self-defense techniques, I’ll teach you how to hit the heavy bag. There’s the speed bag, too. I love to meditate to its rhythm. You should try it.”
“Maybe I will. How is boxing useful in other parts of your life?”
Madison took two white Velcro straps out of her bag. “Besides being an excellent workout and stress reliever, it helps me keep my mind and body connected. I’ve found that the two work best when they function together. I prefer to keep all of my senses sharp. That way, I can protect myself from whatever life, or the people in it, throw at me.” She unraveled the Velcro straps. “I hope that didn’t come out sounding paranoid.”
Isabella recalled that Madison had spent time in Iraq. “No, it didn’t. Remember, I work with war veterans. I can’t imagine being in a place where every morning you get up could be your last. I would suppose it’s hard to let go of that even when you’re home. I’d probably feel the need to always be on guard, too.” Isabella pointed to her eye. “Obviously, I could use a lesson in learning to pay better attention to what’s going on around me. Speaking of which, what are the straps for?”
Madison took Isabella’s right hand and turned it palm up. “You’re more perceptive than you give yourself credit for. I’ll have to keep that in mind. The straps are for protecting your hands when you hit the bags. You’ve got lots of fragile bones that are easily broken. I want you to avoid that.”
A spark of sensation began in Isabella’s fingertips and traveled all the way to her heart. She’d never experienced anything like it. Its power startled her. Pay attention, she reminded herself. “You never said anything about the possibility of broken bones.”
“That’s because I promised not to let anything bad happen to you.”
“Are you always so confident?”
“Only when it matters.”
Isabella struggled with an abundance of unfamiliar feelings. She wasn’t supposed to have these sorts of reactions to a woman. “How long have you been boxing?”
Madison took Isabella’s other hand to wrap it. “Since I was a little girl. When my dad was young, he was an amateur boxer in Chicago. I used to hang around the gym with him. He taught me how to box.”
“Did you grow up in Illinois?”
“Born and raised.”
“Are your parents still there?”
Madison paused momentarily. “My father died in a car crash when I was in high school. Mom still lives in Illinois, though. She’s remarried now to the kind of man she thought my dad could never be.”
Isabella caught a flicker of sadness in Madison’s eyes.
“Another reason I like to box is that it reminds me of him. My mother was wrong. He was a good guy, despite his problems.” She gave Isabella’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Okay, enough talking about sad things. It’s time to teach you how to protect yourself.” She stood and pulled Isabella to her feet.
“I’m sorry about your dad.”
“It’s all right. I wish I hadn’t brought it up. My family’s a subject I rarely discuss with anyone.”
“I’m glad you did. It helps me know you better. Bobbie told me you’re one of the best women boxers around. Why don’t you compete?”
“I was right about you being perceptive.” Madison moved to face her. “I’m not interested in hitting or being hit by anyone else. I box solely to challenge myself. Besides, there are very few people other than Jerome and Bobbie I trust enough to spar with.” Madison placed her hands on Isabella’s waist. “All right, the first rule of self-defense is to run from trouble before it has a chance to get you first. Try to run away, because fighting should always be the last resort.”
Madison moved around behind Isabella without breaking contact. “More often than not, an attacker will come at you from behind. I’m going to put my arms around you and talk you through what to do next.” She slid her arms around Isabella and wrapped her into a tight embrace.
The pounding of Isabella’s heart made it difficult to hear what Madison was saying. She hoped it wouldn’t give her away. What had been butterflies earlier was now a rumbling freight train. Can this be happening?
“Focus in the mirror so you can see what you’re doing. I want you to take a foot and bring it up right below my knee. A person’s shin is a vulnerable spot. If you rake the side of your foot as hard as you can down the length of your attacker’s shin, you’ll probably cause enough pain for him to momentarily let go. Then, run like hell.” Madison squeezed her tighter. “Please remember we’re only pretending.”
Isabella couldn’t breathe, let alone think. If this was just a simulation, why was Madison holding her so close? Enchanting warmth came off of Madison’s body, or maybe it was coming off of her own. She wasn’t sure. An epiphany as crisp as a cloudless winter sky took shape. It was as unsettling and confusing as it was crystal clear. Oh my God. I’m physically attracted to her.
The door to the room opened, and Bobbie popped in. “Hey, Maddie, sorry to interrupt the lesson, but Jerome’s next group is due in ten minutes.”
Madison let go of Isabella. “No problem, Bobbie. We’ll wrap it up now.”
Bobbie left, closing the door behind her.
“I guess you’re going to have to come back again if you want a chance to hit the heavy bag. I’m sorry we didn’t get more done today. I didn’t realize the time had gone by so quickly.”
To Isabella, the room felt suddenly cold with Madison’s arms no longer around her. Even though she was standing right next to her, Madison and her warmth were a million miles away. “I definitely want to come back sometime. Learning to box with you would be fun.”
“Here, let me help you with those hand wraps.” Madison freed Isabella’s hands.
A chorus of voices began singing in Isabella’s head—the words she used to hear when she was about to do something that neither her mother nor the nuns at her Catholic school would’ve approved of. “Don’t do it. It’s a very bad idea.” The naysayers almost always prevailed over her desires. Occasionally, however, desire won, and in a split second, she would move forward with her actions, knowing full well she’d suffer the consequences later. Desire won.
Isabella blurted out, “Would you like to come to my place for dinner tonight?”
Madison put away the wraps. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”
The disappointment was crushing. “Another time then, when you’re not busy, maybe.”
“Ignore my bad manners. You just caught me off guard. I’d love to join you for dinner. Sometimes my mouth gets ahead of my brain.” Madison seemed uneasy.
“Happens to me all
the time. Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you can come. I live over in the North End. Is six all right?”
“Sure, that’s fine. Can I bring anything?”
“Just you.”
“Okay, let’s go find Bobbie. She’ll have something for you to write your address and phone number on for me.”
Isabella followed Madison back into the lobby. Bobbie greeted them warmly. “Hello again, ladies. I hope you enjoyed your workout. I apologize for having to interrupt.” She shot Madison a look that Isabella didn’t comprehend.
Madison picked up a pad of paper and pen from Bobbie’s desk and handed it to Isabella. Isabella scribbled her address and phone number on the top sheet and gave it to Madison.
“I’m going to walk Isabella to her car. I’ll be right back,” Madison said to Bobbie.
Bobbie grinned. “I’ll be waiting. Good to meet you, Isabella. I hope we see you here again soon. Feel free to stop by anytime.”
Isabella and Madison walked to Isabella’s car. They stood awkwardly by the driver’s door, and Isabella impulsively embraced Madison. She whispered in her ear, “I’m really glad to have met you.” She sensed every inch of Madison’s body next to hers. Holding her close felt right. The chorus of voices picked up their usual refrain: “Don’t do it, it’s a very bad idea.” The softness of Madison’s cheek next to hers was like velvet. The contradiction in her emotions made her light-headed. Isabella closed her eyes. Is she feeling the same things?
Isabella let go. “I’ll see you around six, then.”
“Yeah, that sounds good.”
Isabella got into her car. As she drove away, she wondered if she really knew herself at all.
* * *
“All right, Maddie, out with it. Don’t hold back. I want the whole story. Who is she?” Bobbie propped her elbows on the front desk and stared at Madison.
Madison sat in the chair next to Bobbie’s desk. “I met her about a month ago working at the VA clinic. She’s a social worker who takes care of veterans. I like her. That’s it. We’re just getting to know each other.”
“And the reason she gave you her address is that you have a date tonight?”
“She’s making me dinner. It’s not a date.”
Bobbie shrugged. “Call it what you want, sweetheart. But I know what I saw. The way that girl was staring at you says otherwise. You and I have known each other for years. I haven’t ever seen you that mesmerized by anyone.”
“Okay, I admit it. I’m captivated by her innocent charm and stunning good looks. She lights up the room when she walks into it. I don’t want anything from her other than friendship, though.”
“Why?”
“I’d rather keep my life uncomplicated. If I let my fascination with her get out of hand, it’s only going to bring me trouble. I’m still on active duty in the military, and with Iraq looming in the background, my having a crush on a woman—who apparently has a boyfriend, by the way—could only lead to disaster.”
Bobbie sighed. “You overthink everything. Besides, don’t you ever get lonely?”
“Yeah, but at least loneliness doesn’t hurt. I refuse to fall for her.”
Bobbie shook her head. “You don’t get to choose who to fall in love with or when it happens. Love chooses you when you least expect it, and you certainly don’t have any control over it. Love just is.”
“That may be, but don’t I have control over what I do about it?”
“You think so?”
“I do.”
“Whatever you say. At least try to have a little fun while you’re kidding yourself. Maybe it’s time to let go of your self-imposed isolation. You might be surprised by what happens.”
Chapter 5
Isabella parked in the designated space in the garage of her condominium. She grabbed her shoulder bag from the passenger seat, but instead of going to her unit, she decided to go for a walk to clear her head. Fresh air might help. Plus, some shopping was in order if she was going to make dinner for Madison.
Isabella’s grandmother taught her to cook. Like her grandmother, Isabella prided herself on making people happy with food. For the Parisi women, cooking was as much a form of artistic expression as it was sustenance. She planned to make her grandmother’s North End homemade pasta with white truffle. She could put it together in a couple of hours, but it would taste like it took the whole day.
She stepped out of the dim light of the parking garage into the bright sunshine of the noon sky. The cold morning had transformed into a delightful early spring day. The warmth drew North End residents out of their winter hibernation in droves. She loved this busy part of Boston with its old brick buildings, colonial history, and Italian culture. Hanover Street was bustling with people as she headed toward her Uncle Alfonso’s market, the Napolitano. Many considered it one of the best in all of the North End. There, she’d find the freshest imported Italian ingredients, including delectable white truffles, a variety of oil-cured black olives, cheeses, and the finest Parma prosciutto—all necessary ingredients for the dinner she’d make for Madison.
Isabella was so focused on planning dinner that she failed to consider her appearance. She was still wearing the workout clothes she’d worn to Bixby’s. Then there was her eye with its purplish black bruising crying out for attention. The bell over the door at Napolitano’s chimed as she entered the market. Her uncle, Alfonso Parisi, came out of the back room.
In a thick Italian accent he bellowed, “Isabella, my child, what happened to you?” He came around from behind the counter and tilted her chin gently with his hands to better see her eye. He muttered something in Italian she didn’t understand, even though she spoke the language well. With her uncle’s accent and his penchant for peppering his outbursts with swear words and slang, she frequently struggled to translate his comments.
Alfonso’s daughter, Sophia, rushed in from the storage area. “Papa, what is it? People can hear you two blocks away.” She caught sight of her cousin. “Isabella, what the hell happened?”
Damn this eye. “It’s fine, really. If you must know, I tried to break up a fight at the veterans’ shelter. One of the guys inadvertently hit me. He never would have done it on purpose. It was an accident.”
Alfonso eyed her with suspicion. “Well, it doesn’t look like it was an accident to me. Perhaps the guy needs to be taught the lesson to keep his paws off of my niece. I can call in some favors with a few people I know. Gli spezzero' le gambe! This kind of job is right up Joey the Toad’s alley.”
Sophia patted Alfonso on the shoulder. “Papa, no one is going to break anyone’s legs. Besides, Joey wouldn’t hurt a fly. You’ve been watching those Al Pacino movies again, haven’t you?”
Alfonso regarded his daughter. “My child, there are things you will never know about your father. I guess it is best we keep it that way. Why run the risk of falling off of the pedestal you keep me on? Go ahead and hold steadfast to your naïveté, my darling.”
In Isabella’s opinion, Alfonso was one of the sweetest and best men around. He liked to hide it with a tough-guy persona. Nonetheless, it was entirely possible he could call in a few favors, if he chose to. “Thanks, Uncle, but the favors won’t be necessary.” She touched her eye as if she might be able to gauge the sight of it with her fingertips. “Is it really that bad?”
Sophia looked at her a sympathetically. “Yeah, I’m afraid so. What did Maria say about it? I can’t imagine your sister thinking this is a good thing. Or what about your parents? They can’t be happy, either.”
“They haven’t seen it yet, but they probably know all about it. I’m sure Ben has told Maria by now. He hates that I work at the shelter. I think he hates it even more than my parents do. I’m hoping it fades enough for them not to notice before I see them.”
“With your brother John returning from Italy next week, you don’t have much time for it to get better,” Sophia said. “You’ll be at my restaurant this Friday to celebrate his coming home, won’t you?”
“You know I will. I wouldn’t miss that. We’re all thrilled that John’s going to be the priest for Michael’s wedding.”
“Yes,” Sophia said. “Michael’s fortunate to have a brother in the priesthood.”
The bell above the door chimed as a large group of shoppers came in.
Alfonso spoke to Isabella. “Accident or not, you need to be more careful. Such a beautiful girl should not be placed in harm’s way, let alone be walking around the city looking like a barroom brawler.” Alfonso hugged her and kissed both of her cheeks. “Now, I’m sure you didn’t come here to get a lecture from your uncle. Plus, it’s getting busy in here. What would you like today?”
“I’m making grandmother’s pasta with truffle butter for a friend tonight. I’m hoping you have fresh white tartuffe.”
“You are in luck. Luigi brought us some white tartuffe from the Langhe yesterday. How much will you need?”
“One ounce would be plenty. I’d also like enough of the best Parma prosciutto, fontina, and asiago for two.”
Sophia put on an apron. “Papa, I’ll get the tartuffe.”
“Excellent. Isabella will also likely want a nice bottle of Barolo to go with her feast. No?” Alfonso busied himself with gathering her items.
“You read my mind, Uncle,” Isabella said. “No one is better than you at pairing the right wine with food. One of your best bottles of Barolo would have been my next request.”
“How is Nana, by the way?” Sophia asked as she brought over the tartuffe. “I haven’t been able to get to see her in a couple of weeks.”
Isabella leaned against the counter and watched him and Sophia amass the ingredients. She breathed in the delicious smells of imported Italian delicacies. “Grandmother is fine. She really seems to have adjusted to living with Mom and Dad. She even cooks for them a couple of nights a week.” She thought about her parents and their visit to her place last week. Oddly, something about her new friendship with Madison made them feel distant, almost absent.