Until I Saw Your Smile (45 page)

Angela turned to Matthew. “He was?”

“He's been watching us,” Matthew said. “He just called me from the jail.”

Angela wheeled on Novak. “They let him do that?”

“He has the right to make phone calls,” Novak said, “even if we don't think he deserves to have that right.”

“Angela,” Matthew said, “he knows quite a bit about us. He's been watching us for weeks, and he may have been in the alley the other night during or just after the storm.”

Angela held her elbows tightly. “He was coming back to finish the job.”

I don't even want to consider that possibility.
“He didn't, did he?” Matthew asked.

Angela breathed heavily.

“He didn't,
did
he?” Matthew repeated.

“No.” She looked at Matthew. “No, he didn't.”

“He's too much of a coward anyway,” Matthew said. “The techs are out there hoping to find something he may have left behind.”

“Like what?” Angela asked.

“Cigarettes,” Novak said. “Pall Malls.”

“He smoked a lot,” Angela said.

Novak took out her notepad. “How do you know this?”

Angela leaned back on the sink. “I smelled like smoke afterward. My clothes smelled like smoke. That's one reason I burned them.”

Novak jotted a few notes. “Warrick says you talked to him during the attack.”

Angela's eyes widened. “I was screaming at him, that's for sure.”

“What did you say to Warrick that night?” Novak asked.

“Why does that matter?” Angela asked. “I was screaming and cursing.”

Matthew moved closer. “He says you—and please understand I'm telling you what he told me; I don't believe it—he says you encouraged him with what you said.”

“He says I . . .” Angela pushed off the sink. “I didn't. Why would I encourage him to try to rape me?”

Novak flipped back in her notes. “Did you say, ‘Give me what you got, big boy. I ain't waiting all night'?”

Angela looked into Matthew's eyes. “Does that even sound like me?”

“No,” Matthew said. “It doesn't.”

“But maybe you said something
like
that,” Novak said. Angela shook her head repeatedly. “Why would I say anything like that? I was being attacked!”

“What
did
you say to him?” Novak asked.

Angela closed her eyes. “I don't remember.”

“Maybe you said something to set him up, you know, to lure him into a false sense of security before you fought back,” Novak said.

“I fought back the
entire
time!” Angela shouted. “I had bruises all over me afterward! I thought he was going to
kill
me!” She threw a towel into the sink, then rubbed the back of her neck, staring into the alley. “He wouldn't
do
anything. He just kept pressing on me, pushing me, pinning my head into the corner. All he did was talk, talk, talk. He kept threatening and threatening. ‘You want dis, don't you, bitch? You never had nothing like dis. You're gonna wish you had some of dis every night.' He wouldn't shut up!”

Did Angela grow impatient? His taunting was part of the torture. Did she want the torture to end?
“Did you say
anything
to him, Angela?”

“He was pressing up on me so hard.” She dropped her head, tears spilling into the sink. “He told me to say, ‘Give me what you got, big boy,' and he said he'd let me go. I wouldn't say it. I cursed him, and he pressed up on me harder. I could barely breathe.” She turned. “Matthew, I didn't want to say it.”

“He
made
you say it,” Matthew said. “I know you didn't want to.”

“I
had
to,” Angela pleaded. “I was afraid I'd pass out. He was squeezing the back of my neck and crushing me. That's when I finally said it. And that's also when I got angry. I cursed him again and I said, ‘I ain't waiting all night, motherfucker! You gonna do it or jack off in your pants? Give me what you got, big boy!' ”

Novak wrote furiously. “You said those exact words.”

Angela nodded.

“Did you relax?” Novak asked.

“What do you mean?” Angela shouted.

“Did you quit fighting him?” Novak asked.

Angela balled up her hands into fists. “Just long enough for him to think he was going to succeed. That's when he came all over my back and I kicked the living shit out his balls. As soon as that motherfucker hit the ground, he starting crying like a bitch, and I kneed him so hard in the nose I thought I killed him. I wished I had.” She blinked rapidly. “Oh shit. I'm sorry. I, um . . . I don't normally talk like that.”

Novak put her notepad away. “You were angry. I would have said a lot worse.”

Angela looked briefly at Matthew. “But I encouraged him.”

“
After
he tortured and threatened you,” Novak said.

“But I still let him think he could have me,” Angela said.

“You survived, Angela,” Novak said. “You did what you had to do to survive.”

Angela ran to Matthew and held him, weeping and shaking. “I'm sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Matthew said, rubbing her back. “You did the only thing you could do. No one on earth can ever blame you.” He lifted her chin. “You hurt him for life. You took away his manhood. You're a hero, Angela. And when they convict the motherfucker . . .”

Angela wiped her eyes. “You never use that word.”

“That's what Warrick is,” Matthew said. “When they convict him and send him away for a long, long time, you
will
be there to see it.”

Chapter 34

S
o that Angela would not have to appear in front of a grand jury, Novak arranged for a video team to come to the shop the next night after closing to tape Angela telling her story.

Her testimony was a carbon copy of her statement to Novak and Matthew, only without most of the cursing.

When it was all over, Matthew asked, “Do you feel better?”

“Some,” Angela said quietly.

“You know daylight saving time began over the weekend,” he said. “You can still see the sunset.”

“I feel like walking tonight,” she said. “I feel like going for a long walk.”

Yes!
“Where do you want to go?” Matthew asked.

“Wherever you take me,” she said.

Shoot. It's too late for Catbird to be open.
“Do you mind if we wander?”

“I don't mind at all,” Angela said.

They wandered six full blocks north to 6
^th
Street and The Cove as the sunset painted the western sky every shade of the rainbow.

“I have never danced with you, Angela,” Matthew said. “Want to dance a little?”

She peered at the crowd inside. “It looks so crowded.”

“I'm only going to focus on you,” Matthew said. “Those people don't exist. But if you say the word, we'll leave immediately.”

She took his hand. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

While the hip and trendy crowd bounced off the ceilings, the walls, and each other at The Cove, Angela and Matthew stayed locked together in a less crowded, somewhat quieter space, embracing, kissing, and sighing while the lights bathed them in green.

“I don't really think we're dancing,” Angela said during a rare slow song, Keith Sweat's “Nobody.”

“What are we doing, then?” Matthew whispered, sucking on her earlobe.

“Grinding,” Angela said, squeezing his left thigh with her legs. “I don't know about you, but I'm doing some serious foreplay.” She slid her hands into his back pockets. “I'm imagining you inside me.”

“You are?” Matthew whispered. “Where are your legs?”

“Up on your shoulders,” Angela whispered, squeezing his booty.

“Way up there, huh?” He kissed her neck. “And what am I doing?”

“You're making love to me.” She bit her lower lip. “And I'm about to come.”

“Yeah?” Matthew whispered.

She squeezed his booty hard. “I'm about to come right now.”

Matthew smiled. “Really?”

She arched her back away from him, her legs squeezing on his left thigh. “I am so wet,” she whispered. “Oh shit.” She snatched her hands from his pockets, pulled down his head, and tried to suck Matthew's tongue out of his head.

“Did you just . . .”

Angela nodded. “We have to go home now, okay?”

Matthew nodded and took her hand.

Matthew didn't mind the race back to Angela's apartment, and he certainly didn't mind when Angela disrobed and hopped up onto the back of the couch. She guided him inside her, resting her legs on his shoulders while gripping the couch with her hands.

“Make love to me,” she whispered.

“This couch is exactly the right height,” Matthew whispered, plunging in and out.

“I feel weightless,” Angela whispered. “Go deeper.”

Matthew ground as deeply as he dared, pulling on her booty. “Damn, you feel nice.”

“Harder,” she panted. “Harder.”

Matthew threw his hips into her again and again. Angela's mouth was open, her eyes rolling back.

“I don't want this to end,” Matthew whispered.

Angela pushed him back, turning and resting her stomach on the back of the couch.

“Are you sure?” Matthew asked.

She looked back. “Yes.”

Matthew kissed both her cheeks, straightened, and entered her, holding her hips lightly. “You okay?”

Angela didn't look back. “Yes.” She reached back and squeezed his booty. “Don't be shy. I won't break.”

He squeezed her hips as she slammed her booty back into him repeatedly.

“Yes,” Angela panted. “Yes!”

A few thrusts later, Matthew lifted Angela into the air and carried her back to the bed, sitting opposite the mirror as Angela rose and fell in front of him, his hands squeezing her breasts, her hands busy below.

“I'm close,” he whispered, looking at Angela's eyes in the mirror.

“Me, too,” she whispered.

“Let's do this together then,” Matthew whispered. “Angela . . .”

They came together, finding each other's hands, rocking back and forth.

Angela smiled.

Matthew smiled.

There was nothing left to say except . . .

“I love you, Angela.”

“I love you, Matthew.”

Angela slept beside him through the night.

She didn't have a single nightmare.

Chapter 35

M
atthew and Angela fell into a blissful routine that left them both exhausted, yet content. After working all day, they walked into the night as far as Angela wanted to go. They went fifteen blocks north to Vinnie's to eat some pizza. They bowled a few games at The Gutter before watching an entire game of kickball at McCarren Park more than half a mile away from the shop. They walked west, hand-in-hand, to eat salmon mozzarella rolls at One or Eight and to sip mai tais at a midnight showing of
Big Trouble in Little China
at indieScreen. They even walked halfway across the Williamsburg Bridge to watch the boats and bathe in the lights of Manhattan.

Whenever they finally returned to Angela's apartment, they reinvented the
Kama Sutra,
adding a few more positions they practiced in front of the mirror long into the night and early morning. They were very good at practicing. It reminded Matthew of a never-ending game of Twister
.

They did lots of laundry together.

They even shared the hot water in the shower.

Angela was a
very
good washcloth.

When La Estrella began offering coupons on the first day of spring, Angela was ecstatic. “Coupons are the last act of desperation before a business closes for good,” she said. “I am winning this coffee war.”

As the weather changed and Williamsburg warmed and turned green, Matthew's caseload picked up.

Unfortunately, most of his cases involved divorce.

A couple straight out of
The Sopranos
came into Angela's shop one day, the woman dressed in too-high heels and too-tight jeans, her jet-black eyebrows visible under stacked blond hair, the man wearing a long, black-leather jacket and sporting an Elvis pompadour.

“You the marriage counselor?” he asked Matthew.

“I don't want counseling,” the woman said. “I want a divorce.”

“Let's see what he says first,” the man said.

Is it my turn to speak?
“Please be seated.”

The man sat opposite Matthew, and the woman reluctantly slid in beside the man, saying, “Move over.”

The man didn't move.

The woman sat on the edge of the seat rolling her eyes.

Nice guy.
“What are your names?” Matthew asked.

“Jacobo and Sandy Antonelli,” Jacobo said. “We drove all the way up from Dyker Heights to see you.”

Was that a challenge?
Matthew slid over two copies of his fee schedule. “Here are my fees.” He let them look at the prices before asking, “Mr. Antonelli, what makes you think you two need counseling?”

Jacobo straightened his jacket. “We just hit a glitch in our marriage, nothing major. A glitch.”

“You fucked Lorena!” Sandy shouted.

Jacobo turned his head to Sandy. “You fucked Rolando!”

Oh boy.
“Please keep the language civil. We're in a public place.”
Though these two would probably curse each other during Mass.

“My apologies,” Jacobo said, scowling. “But it's what happened.”

“Who's Lorena?” Matthew asked.

“My sister,” Sandy said. “My
youngest
sister, barely twenty-one.”

Nice.
“And who is Rolando?”

“My cousin,” Jacobo said.

Family affairs.
“And how long have these affairs been going on?” Matthew asked.

“It only happened once, I swear,” Sandy said.

“Same here,” Jacobo said. “So, one time.” He shrugged. “That makes it a glitch. Can you fix us?”

“Jacobo, I want a divorce,” Sandy said. “I don't want counseling.”

I could charge Jacobo the hourly for the counseling and Sandy the full seven-fifty for the divorce. It would be a package deal.
“I'll start with Sandy. Sandy, what led up to the affair?”

“He fu . . .” She looked around. “He
slept
with my sister.”

“So as a result,” Matthew said, “you slept with Rolando to get back at Jacobo.”

“Yeah,” Sandy said. “Jacobo doesn't have any brothers I'd sleep with. They ain't handsome at all.”

Jacobo shot his cuffs, dropping his arms to the table. “You
wish
you could sleep with my brothers. They would
never
sleep with you. They got character. So who did you end up with? Rolando, a second cousin on my mama's side.”

“He's more of a man than you are!” Sandy shouted, waving her long fingernails in Jacobo's face.

“Please, quiet down,” Matthew said.

Sandy turned away from Jacobo, crossing her arms. “He started it.”

These are grown children.
He looked over at Angela, and Angela shook her head sadly.

“Jacobo,” Matthew asked calmly, “why do you think the marriage can be saved?”

“It was a one-time deal,” Jacobo said. “We both messed up. Water under the bridge. Let bygones be bygones, right? One glitch shouldn't end a marriage.”

If only it were that easy.
“Sandy, why do you think the marriage
can't
be saved?”

“I can never trust Jacobo again,” Sandy said. “He did my sister! In our bed at our house!”

“I told you I thought she was you!” Jacobo shouted.

“She looks nothing like me!” Sandy yelled. “And everybody in
his
family and everybody in
my
family knows he did her. I can't face anyone anymore.”

These two need something to keep their hands busy so they don't put their hands on each other.
“Want some coffee?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Jacobo said.

“Sandy?” Matthew asked.

“Decaf if you got it,” Sandy said.

Both of you are getting decaf whether you like it or not.
“One moment.” Matthew went to the counter, where Angela was already pouring their coffees. “What do you think?”

“They never should have gotten married in the first place,” Angela whispered.

“I kind of agree,” he said, sighing. “I can't please both of them, though.”

“Then don't please
either
of them,” Angela said.

Matthew nodded. “That could work. I like that idea.” He picked up their cups and put them on the table. He sat and watched them sipping their coffee.

“Good coffee,” Sandy said.

“It's all right,” Jacobo said. “So, what are we gonna do?”

“Nothing,” Matthew said. “Sandy, you don't deserve a divorce.”

“What?” Sandy said.

“And Jacobo,” Matthew said, “you don't deserve your marriage.”

Jacobo slammed down his cup. “What?”

“After what I've heard,” Matthew said, “you two should
never
have gotten married in the first place. Never. What were you two thinking?”

“Hey, now,” Jacobo said, “at the beginning—”

“As far as I can tell,” Matthew interrupted, “you two have absolutely
nothing
in common other than sleeping with family members to get your revenge on each other. You could have done that without a ring and a marriage, right?”

“Jacobo, you gonna let him say that about us?” Sandy asked.

Ah, the protective instinct is kicking in.
“Really, what were you thinking, Jacobo? I think I know. On the day you got married, you looked into Sandy's eyes and thought, you know, I think I'll bang her younger sister one day.”

Jacobo leaned forward. “I did no such thing!”

“And Sandy, the second after the kiss, you were already lusting for Rolando, weren't you?” Matthew asked.

“Rolando wasn't even at the wedding!” Sandy snapped.

“Hey now, you got no right to say these things about us,” Jacobo said. “You hardly know us.”

“You cheated on her, right?” Matthew asked.

Jacobo only blinked.

“Right?” Matthew said.

Jacobo nodded.

“She can't trust you,” Matthew said. He turned to Sandy. “Sandy, you cheated back. He can't trust you. This is no glitch, Jacobo. This is serious because it involves trust. There is
no
way that either of you can get that trust back, so why even try? This conversation we're having is a waste of time. If I could, I'd dissolve your marriage this second.” He opened his briefcase and looked through some papers. “I'll try to find the quickest way to get you two away from each other. Now, are you going to split the cost of the annulment?”

“The what?” Jacobo said.

“The annulment,” Matthew repeated.

“It's not on this sheet,” Sandy said, tapping on the fee schedule with her nails.

“You weren't listening to me,” Matthew said. “I said you two should
never
have been married. Therefore, you should get an annulment instead of a divorce.”

“How is that different?” Sandy asked.

“An annulment makes it seem as if the marriage never took place,” Matthew said. “It erases everything between you. Each of you goes away with nothing but what you had before the wedding. Your marriage will cease to exist permanently. My annulment fee is two thousand dollars.”

“But it's not on the sheet!” Sandy shouted.

“It doesn't happen that often that two people, such as yourselves, are so ill-suited for marriage,” Matthew said. “There's nothing left to save, so let's make it go away forever. Two thousand dollars, please.”

Jacobo shot a look at Sandy. “But we have two kids. Jacobo Junior and Silvia. Who gets them?”

I will pray for them every night for the rest of my life.
“You'll have to put them up for adoption or turn them over to child protective services,” Matthew said quickly.

Angela coughed and turned away.

“What?” Jacobo shouted.

“Jacobo, if the marriage no longer exists, the children can no longer exist either,” Matthew said. “If you want a full annulment, they have to vanish, too.”

“Are you crazy?” Sandy shouted.

“No crazier than either of you for getting married in the first place,” Matthew said. “Two thousand dollars, please.”

Sandy turned out of the booth and jumped to her feet. “Come on, Jacobo! This man is out of his mind!”

Jacobo slid out of the booth and swaggered to the door. “You gotta be the
worst
marriage counselor on earth!”

Matthew stood. “Are you two going to stay married?” he shouted.

Several customers turned from Matthew to Jacobo.

“We
have
to stay married for the kids,” Sandy pleaded. She stepped close to Jacobo. “They need their father.” She grasped the front of Jacobo's jacket. “I need you, too.”

Jacobo put his hands on her shoulders. “I couldn't live without you, Sandy.”

Matthew smiled and checked the clock. “That session only lasted fifteen minutes. The charge is twelve-fifty.”

A few customers smiled and nodded at Matthew.

Jacobo blinked. “What?”

“The marriage counseling session is over,” Matthew said. “Twelve-fifty, please. You can put it in the tip jar.”

Sandy pulled Jacobo close. “Pay him, and let's go.”

Jacobo put three fives into the tip jar.

Angela gave him two-fifty in change.

Jacobo and Sandy left the shop holding hands.

A few customers clapped.

Matthew bowed slightly and went to the counter. “I heard you coughing during my session, Miss Smith.”

Angela laughed. “When you brought up the adoption, I nearly lost it.”

“I don't think we'll ever see them again,” Matthew said.

“I would have charged them two hundred on principle,” Angela said. “I have never had to give out change for money in my tip jar.”

“They have kids,” Matthew said. “Maybe they'll do something nice for Jacobo Junior and Silvia.”

“The way they were looking at each other, I think they're going home to work on child number three,” Angela said.

Thanks for the opening.
“What about you? Think you should be having a baby?”

“I'm, hmm,” Angela said. “I'm not even married, Matthew.”

“Do you want to be?” Matthew asked.

Angela rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

“Just checking.”
I need to make another call to Catbird.

After the “Antonelli Miracle,” word raced through Brooklyn and beyond that a lawyer at Smith's Sweet Treats and Coffee could save anyone's marriage for twelve-fifty over a cup of coffee. Many couples came in skeptical and left holding hands. Several couples returned to thank Matthew; a few even became regular customers.

One couple, Richard and Colleen O'Hara, came for a session that tested Matthew's abilities and tried Matthew's patience. After an hour of forward and reverse psychology, sound arguments and illogical threats, Matthew gave up.

“I think it's hopeless,” Matthew said.

“That's what we thought about our marriage, too,” Richard said. “You're good, though, Mr. McConnell. You were very convincing. I wish we had used your services earlier.”