Storm in a d cup, p.12
Storm in a D Cup, page 12
I pretty much trudged through the next few days without him, preparing meals, directing Caterina and Rosina, my precious housekeepers, with our changeover days and guests and meeting up with Renata for lunch.
‘Where’s that husband of yours gone, to the States again?’ she asked over our pasta alla carbonara.
‘Uh-huh.’
‘With that flaky blonde?’
‘Renata, please don’t rub it in. I’m pissed off enough as it is.’
‘Shut up. Tell me all!’
So I did. Marco was away on business too, only without the blonde. My kids played with Renata’s younger ones as we enjoyed a bottle of vino rosso and each other’s company. Warren was fake-wrestling with Graziano, Renata’s boy, while Maddy had momentarily shed her princess aura and was braiding little Chiara’s long black hair.
‘What else is wrong?’ she asked.
‘You should see the way even Maddy was on my case,’ I whispered. ‘I think she likes Genie Stacie more than she likes me.’
Renata took a huge swig of her wine and I followed, enjoying the taste of our hard work in the vineyards. It had taken years to get it right. Just like my relationship with men. And myself. And Maddy.
‘Silly. You are the most likeable mom there is. And besides, Maddy doesn’t count – she’s a teenager, an unreliable species.’
I grinned at her and nodded. ‘See, Renata? That’s why I love you so much. You always take the drama out of everything.’
She took my hand and smiled. ‘You will be fine. Your family is safe. Don’t let a paper doll scare you.’
We drank to that and turned our heads over a loud rumble, then a roar followed by a loud honking as a red Ferrari materialized as the dust settled. Renata paled and said, ‘Wait here.’
Warren and Maddy looked up and followed me following Renata to the gate. There, in flesh and blood, stood Leonardo Cortini, otherwise known as Leonardo il Bastardo.
What the hell was he doing here?
Leonardo closed the car door and strode up to Renata, his face so close to hers, the chicken-wire gate being the only thing between them. He stepped back when we all appeared in his line of vision.
What was all this about? And why was Renata suddenly so pale? My memory went back to the afternoon I’d crossed paths with Leonardo on the road between Renata’s property and our own. Come to think of it, I’d seen his car several times, but had thought nothing of it as Renata’s farmhouse was on a crossways, so he w
asn’t necessarily going to hers rather than just past hers. But Marco had told me that Renata had almost married the bastard. Was Leonardo trying to get his own back? Was he trying to get her back? Could it possibly be…? No. Renata would never do anything like that. She was a fantastic woman. Yet… she had loved him once. If my theory of Flames Rekindled was something to go by, maybe Renata still felt something for him? How many times had he driven up that road in the hope of seeing her?
‘What do you want?’ I demanded, pushing my big body before Renata’s scrawny little form. I could take the impact better than her any day. Besides, I’d always wanted to sock him good. For all he’d done to those poor women, many of them too young to know any better.
‘Nothing,’ he said with a shrug. ‘I… need to talk to Marco.’
‘He’s not here now,’ Renata said softly, her eyes lowered as he eyed her hungrily. ‘Please go,’ she whispered.
He made to move toward her, but I took a step forward, pretending to be brave, and Warren, good soul that he was, stood next to me, his jaw determined, his eyes unwavering. Warren was not new to confronting men, least of all his own biological father Ira, years ago in Boston on that night of unleashed madness.
Leonardo gave him a once-over, registering my son’s tall, strong body and figuring he would have the crap kicked out of him. His mouth clamped shut in frustration and he spun on his heel, leaving us all standing there in shock.
‘What the hell did he want?’ Warren growled.
A question I couldn’t bring myself to ask Renata. It was so obvious he was back on her case. After all these years. Or… had this been going on ever since?
‘Nothing. He’s been pressuring some local businesses to close by not allowing bank loans…’
‘Can he even do that?’ I asked.
She shrugged. ‘Officially, no, but he’s in cahoots with the bank manager. They’re bosom buddies, so…’
‘Do you guys need a loan?’ I asked. ‘You know—’
‘Erica, please, not here…’
I shut my mouth. ‘Right. Sorry.’
‘He’s supposed to be like some real lady-killer or something?’ Maddy asked, but no one answered her.
‘Well, he’s gone now, kids. You can relax.’
‘Thank you,’ Renata whispered, her eyes not meeting mine.
‘What is it you’re not telling me, Renata? Is he bothering you?’
‘Me? Of course not. Stop worrying about me all the time. I’m fine.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to stay until Marco gets here?’ I asked.
Renata shook her head and attempted a patient smile. ‘I’m all right.’
‘No, Renata, you’re not all right. Look at you. Marco told me… about you and Leonardo,’ I whispered as the kids gathered their things, Chiara showing her long braid off to Warren who patted her on the head, a big smile now splitting his face. He loved kids.
Renata stared at me, then shrugged. ‘That was a long time ago.’
‘Yes, but you were the one that got away, in a sense. Did it take you a long time to get over it?’
She pursed her lips and looked at me. ‘Sometimes it’s very difficult to get rid of some people, no matter how hard you try.’
‘You’re telling me. Renata, what does he want? You can tell me – I’m your friend.’
But she stood in silence, her jaw working. I could see that she needed a real good cry, and if she was anything like me I knew she needed to be left on her own. ‘Remember that.’
‘I will, Erica. Thank you.’
‘And you’re sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like…’ I faltered. ‘You wouldn’t be the first person to have… an affair.’
At that, her head snapped up and our eyes met. Hers were angry. ‘I think you should go,’ she said.
‘I—I’m so sorry…’ I whispered, realizing what I’d said.
Renata turned away from me, busying herself with her earring. ‘You need to go, Erica.’
‘OK, Renata. But I really am sorry. Please forgive me.’
So I drove my family home, sad at how such a happy afternoon had been ruined by a dirty bully and my own big mouth. So I decided to keep a closer eye on her from now on.
‘That’s so awesome, a man wanting another man’s woman so much he’ll even come to your front door in broad daylight,’ Maddy swooned as our gates swung open.
‘As opposed to what, sending you impersonal text messages or emails?’ I countered. These kids today. ‘And besides, he’s not in love with Renata.’
‘Oh, no?’ Maddy snorted. She was still mad at me. ‘And what do you think he wanted from her, candies?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I think he’s a very bad man who likes to push people around.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he thinks he can.’
*
Which got me thinking. Had he bullied Renata into seeing him again? Or had it just happened, for old times’ sake, and she couldn’t get out of it because the pull of a past flame was just too strong to get away from? Or because there was something missing in her marriage? Or was I imagining everything? And if so, then what business did he have hovering around Renata’s house? Did he want to take her down memory lane? Did he want her back? And how did she feel about that? As much as she and Marco were solid, would she entertain a little foray into the pleasures of adultery? I just didn’t know.
But it was common knowledge that Leonardo was good in bed, and we all know what married life is like after you’ve had the kids and the years have dragged by. Or so they say. Me, I’ve never thought about anyone else. And it had better be the same for Julian.
And then the thought – was Julian going through the same thing with Genie Stacie? OK, he wouldn’t cheat on me (right?) but maybe all these memories from his carefree, jet-setty past were coming to the fore?
I guess it’s normal for everyone to compare their past to their present, to see how they’ve done for themselves in life. Personally, anything after Ira would have been a huge improvement, but I’d be lying through my teeth if I didn’t admit that with Julian I actually lucked out a million times over.
But when he looked back at his life and where he was now, did he think the same thing about me? Now I know what you’re thinking. That he did, and that he was happy with me, because I’m your average underdog who got a long-deserved break, and for that I thank you. It’s nice to see our kind finally getting a piece of the pie.
But say, for argument’s sake, that when Julian looked back and analyzed his own choices… that I didn’t come up among his best? And say that he wished he hadn’t made the decision to come to Italy (not so absurd, seeing as he is constantly leaving it) and that he actually felt trapped in this Tuscan life with me, and that he longed for the days when he was free and didn’t have to report back – or even come back?
And say that the only reason he did come back was that he felt duty-bound to do so because in a moment of mad love, he had adopted my two kids?
And say that he didn’t have the heart to tell me any of this, but was waiting for me to figure it out by myself so he wouldn’t have to be the heart-breaker?
Well, one thing was sure. If he could have his cake and eat it too, so could I. Who said he was to be the only one enjoying the simple pleasures of life outside the family sphere? And who said I was to wait patiently, like Penelope forever weaving on her loom, for her man to come home?
*
The next afternoon as I was down in the front garden giving my brand-new (and hunky) gardener Piero instructions, my cell phone rang inside my pocket. I squinted at the sunlit screen and Julian’s face beamed up at me. Despite myself, my heart skipped a beat. Damn, would I never be indifferent to his charm?
‘Hello?’ I said.
‘Hi, honey, how are things?’ he asked from the other side of the Atlantic Ocean as if he could do anything about it otherwise.
Exactly the way you left them, would have been my first response but I bit my tongue. After all, I was supposed to be working on us, at the end of the day. I didn’t want to make things any worse, did I?
‘Good, everything’s good,’ I said as coolly as possible, when all I really wanted to do was say, I miss you. When are you coming home?
‘And the kids?’
‘The kids included.’
‘Good, good. Sorry, honey, but I’ve got bad news. I’m going to have to cancel my flight home,’ Julian said.
Bingo. What did I tell you? I know my chickens, they say here in Italy. Only I think the real chicken here was me. No, actually, it was him as well, because he didn’t have the guts to come right out and say how things really were. But there was no use starting yet another one of our arguments across the ether, was there?
‘What? Why?’
‘I’m so sorry, but this producer wants me to meet some financers.’
‘Erica, how do you like it – is it big enough for you?’ Piero asked from the back door, referring to a new rosebush I wanted planting.
‘Who’s that?’ Julian asked.
Shit. I covered the mouthpiece but it was too late. I hadn’t told Julian about Piero yet. Years ago we’d agreed to make joint decisions on everything, but he wasn’t around when I needed to hire another gardener. So much for breaking it to him gently.
‘Uh, that was our new gardener, Piero.’
Silence.
And then, to make things worse while trying to make them better, I explained, or tried to. ‘I needed him to plant my bushes.’
Silence again on the other end as I could hear him trying to make sense of it and it wasn’t looking good. ‘You mean you’re meeting more money people?’ I asked, trying to get the conversation back to safer ground. ‘That’s great!’
‘You hired a gardener without even telling me? I thought I was in charge of your bushes,’ he added.
Yeah, so did I. ‘You were in charge. And you did a great job. But you’re never around anymore, and they need tending to.’ OK, this was getting farcical. So I tried to explain. ‘I’m not good with plants – you know that. Remember my succulents, the ones on my windowsill in Boston? Remember how you used to water them just in the nick of time?’
‘Erica, what the hell?’ Boy, he wasn’t letting this one go, was he?
‘Are you jealous?’ I asked hopefully.
‘Bloody right I am,’ he swore, his Liverpudlian accent at its most obvious when he was angry, which was very rare.
‘Good. I’m sorry, but you were away. I needed the job done. Be thankful I didn’t need anything else instead.’
Dead silence.
‘OK, that was a joke.’
He sighed loudly. ‘You could have at least let me know what was going on.’
Piero looked at me expectantly. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute, Piero. Honey, I have to go.’
‘Piero Honey?’ Julian echoed me.
‘What?’
‘You just called him honey!’
‘What are you talking about? I called you honey, not him.’ I shot a glance at Piero who was waiting patiently. Luckily his English was non-existent. ‘Julian – honey, I have to go. Piero needs me.’
‘Indeed,’ Julian said, rather teed off.
‘I have to go now, Julian,’ I repeated.
‘Fine,’ he snapped. ‘Goodbye.’
‘Goodbye,’ I replied and pressed the red button.
So he was angry. Good. It served him right. If he could have Genie Stacie, I could have Piero. I wondered how we had managed to start this silly I’ll-show-you game. Although it was childish, it made me feel better. For about two minutes.
Had Julian jacked me up so much with how great I was all these years that the minute he was away I needed male attention? Shouldn’t it have been the opposite – that Julian had jacked me up so much I actually didn’t need any more attention? Was I at the point where I needed a man to keep me uplifted? Whatever happened to me, the old Erica Cantelli who ran her life and raised a family single-handedly while bringing home the bacon? Well, she got depressed and lost her confidence while trying to have a baby, that’s what happened.
Ah, but not for long! Because things would eventually change. Maybe even on a dime. Yes, why not? I could do this! Keep my man and give him a baby, no matter what Dottoressa Bardotti said – for all we knew, I could get pregnant in a few weeks’ time. And where did your smarty-pants theories go now, Doc? Huh? Too old and too fat my foot.
The next day I went out and got some more stinging nettles, famous for enhancing fertility. I wished I could call Renata up, just to tell her, just for a laugh. But she had been clear. She wanted to be alone.
12
Games People Play
One week later Julian came home.
At my mea-culpa-esque questions about his trip, he quietly answered that yes, he’d met the right people, established new contacts, and was now waiting to hear. But he didn’t want to elaborate, and did I mind if he had a nap because he was tired?
Too tired to just sit and talk with me? Oh boy. He was still cross with me. This was starting to look like when we last fell out. I prayed that would never happen again. I couldn’t take losing him.
Because I didn’t want to make him any more miserable than he already was lately, I still didn’t dare tell him about the IVF failure. Because he seemed less sympathetic every time, less worried and probably more concerned with other matters. I only wish I knew what they were. It seemed that lately my nearest and dearest had maxed out on me and needed their space.
‘OK,’ I said. ‘Uhm, good nap, then. And sleep well…’
‘Yeah,’ he answered distractedly and as he scooped up his cell phone off the counter, he leaned in, surprising me, and kissed me hard, almost angrily, as if he wanted to get back at me for the gardener and my bush joke. And make sure I knew he was still head rooster in this yard. That was a good sign at the end of the day then, right?
‘Does this mean you forgive me?’ I ventured.
He growled, ‘Don’t push your luck.’ And then he happened to look out the window to where said gardener, dressed only in a pair of teeny-tiny shorts, was washing his heavenly bod under the outdoor shower like in an old Coca-Cola ad. Or was it Levi’s? I can’t remember.
We both watched as the Adonis shook his wet mane of the excess water and rubbed his face and time seemed to slow down as the droplets seemed to reluctantly fan out around him, not wanting to leave. He was indeed something to look at. He also looked like I’d planted him right there and then with a script: barely clad hunk stretches his fab bod under the water jets in slow motion. Well, let’s be honest, I could’ve hired Mr. Alessi, Renata’s elderly gardener. But he didn’t look anything like Piero. Even a straight man like Julian had to admit it. I figured it was payback time for bringing Genie Stacie into the house.
‘Bloomin’ heck – is that him – the new gardener? Where’d you find him, in an issue of… never mind.’
I said nothing. He hated when I argued, because, according to him, I could turn a saint into a psychopath.
Julian’s mouth clamped shut too as he turned away from the window. Not good.
‘So,’ I said breezily. ‘Tell me more about your movie talks?’
‘Not now.’ And with that he plunked his bottle onto the counter and picked up his suitcase from where he’d left it, throwing his laundry into the washer just off the kitchen. Shirts, trousers, socks, briefs.
Shit. I had some major damage control to do here. ‘Tell you what,’ I ventured. ‘Why don’t we go upstairs and have a nice shower?’ Which was code for, Let’s have sex and forget about the whole thing, yes?
