Dina Santorelli (28 page)

Mrs.
Lapinski walked into the house. She looked around the living room and waved her
hand in front of her face. "Gee, Rey, it's so stuffy in here." She stepped into
the kitchen and turned on the sink faucet, placing her hand under the water
stream and then picking up the back of her hair to wet her neck. The orange
balloon floated over her, and its string grazed her ear—she swatted at it
without looking up, thinking it was an insect.

"I
haven't been home... Listen, how did you know where I live?"

"C'mon,
Rey. We talked about it last year when I brought the car in for the flat.
Remember? We both know Connie who lives around the block."

"Oh,
that's right," he said. "But I don't remember giving you the house number."

"Yeah,
well, that Connie..." Mrs. Lapinski dried her wet hands on her shirt, leaving
handprint marks on the fabric over her breasts.

"Listen,
I don't mean to be rude, but you can't stay," Reynaldo said. "I have to go.
There's a family emergency."

"What's
the emergency?" Mrs. Lapinski reached up and pulled a loose thread from
Reynaldo's shirt.

"My
aunt is waiting for me..."

"Is
she sick?"

"No."

"Dying."

"No."

"Has
she fallen on the floor and can't get up?"

"No,"
Reynaldo said and then, from Mrs. Lapinski's expression, realized he had missed
some kind of joke.

"C'mon,
Rey, let's not play games. We're not kids. We're both in our early forties.
You're single. I'm divorced. What's wrong with having a little fun?" She
slipped her hand under Rey's shirt. "Oh... I love a man who's man enough not
to shave his chest."

Reynaldo
pulled her hand out and held it there.

"So
strong..." She said, leaning in.

"Enough.
I don't know how else to say this." Reynaldo walked back toward the front door,
pulling her along. "I think you should start taking your car to another service
station."

"You
gotta be kidding me?" Mrs. Lapinski ripped her hand from Reynaldo's hold.

"I'm
not," he said.

"What?
What's the problem, Rey? Am I too much woman for you?"

As
Reynaldo opened the door, Pedro came walking up the front porch steps.

"Maybe
you are," Reynaldo said.

Reynaldo
didn't know if her face was flushed because of embarrassment, anger, or because
it really
was
stuffy, but Mrs. Lapinski looked as if she were about to
burst into flames. She picked up her water bottle and headed toward the door,
stopping in front of Reynaldo. "You really
are
gay, aren't you, Rey?"

"Please
leave," he said.

Reynaldo
and Pedro watched Mrs. Lapinski hop on her bike, the tires bubbling beneath her
weight, and disappear down the block. Reynaldo went inside.

"Rey,
what are you doing?" Pedro followed his brother into the house.

"What
am I doing, Pedro?" Reynaldo picked up the mail and flipped through it.

"You
know what I mean,
hermano
. C'mon. You don't want Nada, you don't want
her." He pointed down the block in the direction of Mrs. Lapinski. "You are a
man. Act like one."

Reynaldo
picked up the issue of
Penthouse
and threw it at Pedro. "Here's your
mail,
hermano
. Why don't you be
man
enough to have it delivered
to
your
house?" Rey walked into the bedroom and pulled a suitcase out
from the closet and placed it on his bed. Pedro followed behind.

"That
woman is really into you.
Qué es tu problema
?"

Rey
threw a pair of blue briefs into the suitcase. "That's just it, Pedro. There's
no problem."

"Bullshit."

"Why
don't you go for Mrs. Lapinski, if you're so interested?"

"
Ewwww
.
Old." Pedro contorted his face as if he'd just eaten a lemon.

"Oh,
so, she's good for me, eh?"

"Rey... listen... Rey?" Reynaldo was opening drawers and pulling out pairs of
jeans and T-shirts. Pedro sat on Reynaldo's suitcase to get his attention. "Why
don't you take a vacation? I will stay with Aunt Ro."

"A
vacation?"

"Yeah,
you know, go someplace that you want to go. When was the last time you had a
vacation. Or had fun, real fun?"

Reynaldo
shrugged. The last vacation he had taken was more than twenty years ago when he
was a teenager and his twelfth-grade class spent the weekend in New York City for its senior trip. Even then his father was reluctant to release him from
his garage responsibilities for four whole days, but his mother had insisted
that "it was good for him to be with kids his own age." Reynaldo could still
remember sitting on the bus and watching the New York City skyline come into
view, the small, glinting buildings growing larger with every mile driven
south. Without any obligations other than checking in with his chaperone twice
a day for meals, he spent the entire weekend canvassing the city's museums,
eating hot dogs, and lying on park benches until his face sunburned. It wasn't
until he had climbed the bouncy steps of the coach bus to head back upstate
that he would again be around kids his own age.

"I
wouldn't even know where to go," Reynaldo said, holding a gnarled pair of
socks.

"Rey."
Pedro took the clothing from his brother's hands and placed it in the suitcase.
"No joke. I love you. You've been like a father to us since mama died and papa
moved south to chase wrinkled
panocha
. But, Rey, you are not our father.
We are grown men."

"Well..."

Pedro
punched Reynaldo in the arm. "You know what I mean. I can watch the garage for
a few days. What's the worst that could happen? Don't answer that."

Reynaldo
smiled. "But the taxes..."

"Leave
after that. Rikki and Terry are coming and will stay with Aunt Ro. You can meet
with the scary tax guy on Friday, and then go away for the weekend. Just go.
Drive until you don't want to drive anymore."

"I
don't know," Reynaldo said, closing his suitcase and dragging the zipper all
the way around its perimeter. "I may never come back."

When Jamie opened her eyes it
was still dark although the outline of the clouds through the windows were
visible, which meant sunrise wasn't far behind. She could feel Bailino's hand
on her stomach. He was sleeping right behind her, up against her. Spooning.

It
was difficult for Jamie to think about what had happened during the night
without feeling partly responsible this time. Bailino had been gentler, that
was for sure, but she had put up less of a struggle. That had been intentional,
and not. Everything was so blurry—for what was probably the first time in her
life, she was coloring outside the lines of what she had been taught was
appropriate and right, and she found it disorienting and scary, but strangely
liberating. She worried that if she ever got out of this, she would never be
the same, but at the same time it was that very thought that was driving her.

Charlotte stirred in her crib, and, as if on cue, Bailino
lifted his hand from Jamie's stomach, running it over the outline of her hips
before taking his hand away. Jamie got up from the bed and put on the T-shirt
and jeans that she had on the day before, which had been tossed onto the floor.
By the time she got to the crib, the sun was creeping up over the horizon,
illuminating Charlotte's wrinkled face as she peered over the top rung of the
crib. Her eyes twinkled when she saw Jamie, and she put her hands in the air.

"Up,"
she said, clear as day.

"Wow,"
Jamie lifted Charlotte high into the air. "Did you say 'up'?" she said in a
low, cheerful voice. It was difficult not to smile back at that happy little
face. "Did you just say 'Upppp'? Jamie lifted the little girl higher, and Charlotte cooed.

When
Jamie brought her back down, Charlotte pointed out the nursery door. "What do
you want, sweetie?" Charlotte leaned her body as far away from Jamie as she
could and pointed toward the far end of the bedroom, in the direction of the
baby grand piano, which was barely visible in the low light. It never ceased to
amaze Jamie the memory children had for the things they wanted.

"Oh,
I don't think we can do that right now, honey. It's too early."

Charlotte put her fingers together. "Mo," she said.

"
Shhh
..."

"Mo,"
Charlotte repeated, whispering.

"Not
right now..."

"No,
go ahead," Bailino said, sitting up on the bed. "I have to get up anyway." He
clicked the lamp on. When the piano came into clearer view, Charlotte stiffened
her body like a board so that Jamie would put her down, and she toddled over to
the piano. Jamie went to follow her, when Bailino grabbed her arm.

"I'm
going in the shower." He planted a firm kiss on Jamie's lips.

"Okay,"
Jamie said, her body tensing as Bailino released her and went into the bathroom
and shut the door. She glanced at the bedroom door, as was her habit, but it
was closed, the small red light aglow.

"Mo,
mo!" Charlotte was putting her hands on the piano key cover.

Jamie
pulled out the piano bench and sat down. She placed Charlotte on her lap and
folded back the cover, revealing the smooth black and white keys. Charlotte started banging, and the noise rocked the bedroom. Jamie had no idea where the
other men were or where they slept, or if they slept, but she couldn't imagine
anyone being able to rest through this racket, soundproofed or not.

Charlotte grabbed Jamie's hands and put them on the piano keys.

"Mo!"
she said, pressing them down.

"You
want me to play?
Me
?"

Charlotte clapped with glee.

Jamie knew one song. That was it. The theme from
Hill
Street Blues
—and only the first few bars. She'd taught herself how to play
it when she was eight years old for her mother, who was a big fan of the show.
She put her hands on the keys and as the first chord played, Charlotte clapped
along. It took lots of coordination to balance the excited child on her thighs
and use both hands to work the piano keys. Jamie smiled and kissed the top of Charlotte's head as she finished off with a dramatic, slowed-for-emphasis ending. After the
final keystroke, an abrupt sound came from behind them.

Someone was clapping.

Leo stood in the doorway of the bedroom.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

"Bravo," he said, one of the electronic keys dangling
from his right middle finger. He jiggled it in the air. "Lookee what I found,"
he said, gently pushing the door closed.

Charlotte lurched toward Jamie and buried her head into
her neck. Jamie held her firm and stood up.

"Your talents continue to amaze me," Leo said. There was
a wildness in his red, glassy eyes. She looked toward the bathroom.

"Who you lookin' for?" Leo sneered. He reached into his
jacket and took out a small handgun, the sight of which made Jamie's heart
thunder in her chest. He held it out casually, as if he were showing it off,
and then aimed it toward Jamie as he walked over to the small table near the piano,
pulled out a chair and put it under the knob of the bathroom door.

"Put the kid down." Leo came toward her, pointing the gun
at her head.

Hesitating, Jamie said, "I... She's... scared."

"Put the fuckin' kid down now, or I will." He pointed the
gun at Charlotte.

Jamie unclasped the small arms of Charlotte Grand from
her neck and placed her on the floor near the piano bench. Charlotte was crying
now. She tried to stand, but Jamie looked at her firmly and said, "No," which
caused Charlotte to wail and wrap her arms around Jamie's legs.

"You're a fuckin' beauty, aren't you?" Leo said. He was
standing so close that Jamie could smell the liquor on his breath. "You got
anything to say to me?"

She glanced at the bathroom door.

"Stop looking at the fuckin' bathroom door," Leo yelled.

Jamie reached deep down and pulled her own voice out from
its hiding place. "Let me bring the baby to the nursery," she said.

"Nursery? You think that's a fuckin' nursery. It's a
fuckin' closet. I don't care what you do in there. I don't care if you fuckin'
paint a fuckin' purple dinosaur on the walls and sprinkle rose petals across
the floor. It's still a fuckin' closet." Unsteady, Leo began to rock from side
to side and then looked at her quizzically as if she were the one making him
dizzy.

Jamie eyed the bathroom door again, compelled to look
despite Leo's warnings, as she had been in Bryant Park to see if Bailino had
been following her. She tried not to think about how baffling it was to want
the protection of the very person who had inflicted the most harm on her. She
almost yelped with glee when she thought she saw the doorknob turn.

"Who you lookin' for?" Leo taunted. "Your knight in
shining armor?"

Jamie said nothing.

"You're not going fuckin' anywhere." Now there was
banging on the bathroom door, a pulling so that the door was being ripped off
its hinges, and Jamie could hear Bailino's muffled yells.

Charlotte stood up again, her cries intensifying. "Shut
the fuck up," Leo told her.

"Leave her alone, you son of a bitch," Jamie yelled.

Leo slapped Jamie hard. Her face hit the wall, and blood
sprayed from her nose. Leo grabbed her shirt and banged her head against the
wall again as the baby screamed.

"Fuck you," Jamie managed, pushing against his bulky
frame, but Leo's strength, to Jamie's surprise, surpassed his tallness.

"Fuck me?" Leo pushed Jamie down on the floor. "Fuck me?"

Jamie kicked at Leo, who was unbuttoning her jeans and trying
to pull them down. He punched her in the left leg, which instantly buckled, a
sharp pain shooting up through her thigh. He continued fussing with the zipper
of the jeans, but she arched her body, making it difficult to remove them.
"Fuckin' whore," he said, unzipping his own jeans. "Fuckin'
Hill Street
Blues
," he laughed. "Be careful out there..."