"Yes."
"Then you should go-it's important."
"You wouldn't mind?"
"Of course not."
Screw Oliver. He honestly didn't care. He was sending her to Europe
with an eligible, devastatingly attractive Italian lech.
"It's settled then," she said.
The next morning she had coffee with Pia in her apartment.
"You're going to Rome with Lorenzo?" Pia said, almost spilling her
coffee.
"Oliver seems to think there's nothing wrong with it."
Pia leaped up. "Ha! Howard wouldn't let me exchange a handshake with
Lorenzo Marcella! Those Italian men are lethal-especially when they
look like him."
"Why?" Lauren asked casually. "Do you think he's attractive?"
"What a ridiculous question. The guy is devastating-he looks like a
movie star.
It wasn't his looks that attracted Lauren, it was his attitude.
"When do your ads start appearing?" Pia asked.
"They'll be in the Christmas issues, which means they'll hit the stands
at the end of November."
"Wow, that's exciting."
"Can I see the baby?" Lauren asked.
"She's sleeping."
"Why don't we wake her?"
Pia grinned. "Why not?"
The private jet was the most luxurious form of travel Lauren had ever
imagined.
"It's nothing," Lorenzo said, with a sweeping wave of his hand.
His idea of nothing was a state-of-the-art cabin fitted out with stereo
equipment, a kitchen, a marble bathroom and a bedroom in the back.
The interior of the plane was decorated as lavishly as any penthouse
apartment. It was the company plane, but Lorenzo had full use of it
whenever he wanted.
"I'm sorry your husband was unable to accompany us," he said, strapping
himself into the seat next to hers, not meaning a word he said.
"I'm sure you are.
"No, really, bellissima. I would never pay attention to another man's
wife."
He could have fooled her. "Have you ever been married?" she asked.
"No, my princess, I have yet to meet the woman of my dreams.
Besides, we have but one life to live-why confine oneself to the same
meal every day?"
She wrinkled her nose. "You're beginning to sound like a
chauvinist."
"What is a chauvinist?" he asked innocently.
"You know what I mean-comparing a woman to a meal. That's hardly very
nice."
Watching her closely he said, "You are the most beautiful woman in the
universe. I love it when you speak. The way your mouth moves, the way
your lips quiver. Everything about you is so so tempting."
"You're full of it, Lorenzo."
It was her first trip to Europe and she couldn't help being excited.
Lorenzo was amused. "I have crossed the Atlantic so many times that I
have lost count," he boasted.
"Lucky you," she replied, fastening her seatbelt and tensing for
takeoff. Every time she flew it made her nervous.
Lorenzo seemed totally at ease. He took her hand and turned it palm
up.
"Ah you, too, will be very lucky," he said, studying her palm.
"I see it here."
"What, Lorenzo?"
"Did I not tell you that my grandmother was a gypsy? I read palms, I
can foresee the future."
"And what do you see in my future?"
"You will be very famous, and very rich. Ah, you notice this broken
line here-it means you will have a divorce."
"Lorenzo," she scolded, pulling her hand away.
"No, no, my princess, I am not joking." He took her hand again.
"Maybe lots of bambinos-two, three, ah, yes, four. He frowned. "I see
something else," he said, peering closely.
"What?" she asked, alarmed.
"I see they are not American babies-they are half Italian."
She began to laugh. "You're bad, you know that?"
"Ah, yes, I have been told many times. But I am not bad where it "And
where's that?"
"In the bedroom."
He had seductive eyes, a thin nose and sculpted cheekbones. She liked
looking at him, and so did the two stewardesses, who paid him avid
attention.
After takeoff they sipped champagne, ate a delicious meal, and then
Lorenzo watched a movie while she fell asleep.
He woke her gently when they were preparing to land. "Ah, bell issima,
you were exhausted. Twenty minutes and we will be in my home
country."
She struggled awake and went into the bathroom to repair her makeup and
brush her hair. What had her life become? Here she was on a plane
with a very attractive Italian while her husband had elected to stay
behind in America. She knew she was going to be tempted. It was
inevitable.
Let's see how you handle this one, Roberts.
I can do what I want.
There was a welcoming committee waiting to greet them. A small child
in a long white dress rushed to present her with a bouquet of roses.
She accepted it gracefully, although several of the thorns stuck into
her flesh. A television crew captured every moment.
Lorenzo introduced her to several people at once. They shook her hand
and kissed her on both cheeks. She was overwhelmed by all the
attention.
Lorenzo rushed her out of the airport into a limo, which sped through
the streets of Rome as if it was competing in a race. She hardly had a
chance to view the sights. The limo deposited her at the Villa
Marcella, where the guest suite was bigger than the apartment she'd
lived in when she was single in New York. "Tonight you will rest,"
Lorenzo said. "And tomorrow there will be a big reception gala in your
honor." He put both hands on her shoulders and placed a tender kiss on
each cheek. "I have things to do now.
Anything you want, just ring. Tomorrow, bellissima."
The next few days were magical. Rome was the most beautiful city she'd
ever seen. Lorenzo arranged a tour for her and she saw everything from
the incredible ruins of the Coliseum to the Appian Way and all the fine
buildings and monuments in between. She particularly loved the narrow
cobblestone streets and colorful sidewalk cafes.
She met Lorenzo's family. His father was an older version of him and
his mother was a frighteningly chic blond woman. Everybody treated her
like a queen. She visited the factory and met many of the employees.
Her picture was everywhere.
"They love you," Lorenzo said. "They have named you the innocent
American girl."
"I'm not so innocent," she said.
"You have that special quality Grace Kelly possessed. It's very
appealing to Europeans."
She'd expected him to make a pass, but Oliver was obviously right
-Italian men flirted a lot, but took it no further.
On their last night in Rome he invited her to dinner at an open-air
restaurant located near the bottom of the Spanish Steps. She'd
expected it to be the usual group of people, but it turned out to be
just the two of them.
"Tonight we enjoy the typical Italian meal," he said. "No champagne,
no caviar. We have pasta, a little fish, plenty of vino-we relax."
He amu
sed her with stories about his past and she found herself having
a wonderful time. Later he invited her back to his apartment.
"You will see the best view in Rome," he boasted. "Or maybe you'd
prefer to go to a disco?"
"No, I'd like to see your apartment."
She knew she was treading on dangerous territory. She'd drunk too much
wine and the city was so seductive, luring her to misbehave.
He held her captive with his eyes. "Are you sure, Lauren? I don't
want to force you to do anything you do not wish."
"All I'm doing is coming back to your apartment."
He smiled. "Yes, bellissima, that is all." Although they both knew
this was not the case.
His apartment did indeed have the best views in Rome and was furnished
most luxuriously.
"Now is the time for champagne," he said. "To finish the evening."
He poured them both a glass, put Billie Holiday on the stereo and held
open his arms. "Good Morning Heartache" serenaded her and for a moment
she thought about Nick. Then she closed her eyes and allowed Lorenzo
to sweep her into his arms. They danced slowly, their bodies pressed
closely against each other.
I wonder what Oliver is doing now?
Ha! Working. What else.
You never loved him, Roberts. Why did you marry him?
That's my business.
Lorenzo's fingers pressed through the thin material of her dress.
When he started to lower her zipper she didn't stop him. He peeled the
dress from her shoulders and expertly unhooked her bra.
She knew she was about to be unfaithful to her husband, but somehow she
couldn't stop herselœ retha Mae stared at Cyndra as if she'd seen a
ghost.
"Mama?" Cyndra said softly, shocked at how thin and wasted her mother
looked. "Mama, it's me, Cyndra."
Aretha Mae shook her head in disbelief.
"Can we come in?" Cyndra asked, standing at the door.
"Oh, girl, lookit you," Aretha Mae said, speaking in a low shaky
voice.
"You so pretty."
Cyndra's face lit up. "Yes, Mama, you think so? You really think
so?"
"I should be spanking your ass," Aretha Mae said, recovering her
composure. She peered at Nick. "And what you have to say for
yourself?"
Christ! This was just like being a kid again. "It took us a while to
find-you," he mumbled.
"I would've left you an address if I'd known where you run off to," she
said tartly-the same old Aretha Mae.
They followed her into the small room she called home. The place was
cluttered with stacks of newspapers and magazines. On the mantel were
two old photos of Luke, surrounded by several burnt-out candle
stumps.
"What are you doing now, Mama?" Cyndra asked, running her finger along
the mantel and finding thick dust.
"Don't work no more," Aretha Mae said, fiddling with the glasses
hanging on a string around her neck. "Don't have to. Got me some
money, enough to manage on.
"Is Harlan here?" Nick said, anxious to see him and get the hell
out.
"What you wanna know bout him for?" Aretha Mae said suspiciously.
"Is he okay, Mama?" Cyndra asked. "The tornado happened after we
left. We knew nothing about it-we only heard today. Were you all
right?"
Bout as all right as a person can be when their home gets destroyed,"
Aretha Mae snapped.
Cyndra sat down on the worn old couch. "If I'd known I would've come
back."
Aretha Mae pursed her lips. "You did right, girl, getting' out."
"I'm a singer now," Cyndra said proudly. "I got a record, they're
playing it on the radio. And Nick's in a movie.
Aretha Mae shook her head from side to side, her expression blank.
"Don't get out much," she muttered, her voice weak again.
"Maybe Harlan knows?" Cyndra said hopefully. "Where is he?"
"I don't see your brother no more," Aretha Mae said sharply.
"Isn't that why you moved to Ripley-to be close to him?"
Aretha Mae stared accusingly at them both. "Who told you those
lies?"
she demanded.
"Mr. Browning," Cyndra said, frightened by her mother's strange
behavior.
"You saw that cracker?" Aretha Mae sneered. "Why'd you see him?"
"We had to track you somehow."
"Why'd you go near him?" Aretha Mae asked, narrowing her eyes.
"You shouldn't've done that."
"Cause I had to find you."
"You found me, girl. Here I am."
"We heard about Primo," Nick said.
Aretha Mae began to cough, the harsh sounds racking her thin body.
w Cyndra jumped to her feet. "Are you all right? Mama? You sound
terrible."
"I feel fine."
"Have you seen a doctor about your cough?"
"Doctors! Ha!" Aretha Mae shrieked with crazy laughter.
"You should see one. You're too thin."
Aretha Mae frowned. "Don't go tellin' me what to do, girl."
Cyndra tried to put her arms around her mother. "I'm sorry I left
you.
I always meant to write. I know I didn't, but that doesn't mean we
can't be close now, does it?"
Aretha Mae darted across the room to escape her daughter's embrace.
"You always saw things your way, Cyndra. It always had to be your way
or'."
"That's not true," Cyndra objected.
"Oh, yes, it is."
"No, it's not."
"Where're you living?"
"We live in California. Los Angeles."
"That Hollywood place-fulla sex an' drugs an' all those bad things I
read bout," Aretha Mae said churlishly.
Cyndra laughed. "It's not full of sex and drugs. Maybe you'll visit
me one day. I'd like that."
"I wouldn't."
"So tell us about Harlan. Is he working?"
"You don' want nothin' t'do with him."
"Why not?"
"He got himself in trouble."
"Maybe we can help," Nick suggested.
"You don' wanna help him, oh dear me, no."
"That's our" Aretha Mae glared at him. "You don' wanna help no pansy
boy.
"What?"
"Pansy boy. Sells himself down on Oakley Street. Gets in a car with
anybody, he does. He ain't my son no more. Luke's my son-the only one
I care about. Him and Jesus."
"Jesus?" Cyndra said, glancing quickly at Nick.
"Yes, girl, Jesus. An' you better learn to repent your ways.
Otherwise, Jesus gonna shut you out, an' your fancy black ass gonna
burn in hell."
"Mama, I never did anything wrong."
"Oh, yes, you did wrong, girl," Aretha Mae said, her eyes burning
feverishly. "Oh, yes, you led Mr. Browning on. You led him into
Satan's bedroom."
"I didn't," Cyndra said, her eyes filling with tears. "You know I
didn't."
Aretha Mae sat down in an old chair, wrapped her arms across her chest
and rocked back and forth. "Deny all you want, but Jesus knows, Jesus
sees."
Nick took Cyndra's arm. "We gotta get going'."
"Don't say that, Mama," Cyndra said, pushing his hand off. "Don't say
that to me.
Aretha Mae cackled. "An' the guilty shall burn in hell. An' the
fire'll take out their eyes. An' a girl like you-a temptress-will be
the Devil's playmate. You done things no decent person can forgive."
Cyndra was frantic. "What are you talking about? I didn't do
anything. Benjamin Browning raped me-you know it."
A strange smile snaked around the corners of Aretha Mae's downturned
mouth. "You sinned, girl. Mr. Browning-he be your daddy.
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