Bella Fortuna (24 page)

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Authors: Rosanna Chiofalo

BOOK: Bella Fortuna
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“Come on, Valentina! You're being unfair. I was a kid—and a guy. Most guys do not think with their heads at that age.”
“Oh, you were thinking with your head, all right—just the one between your legs.”
“Stop it, Vee! That's not you. You're sounding really ugly.”
“Why? Because I'm not being my usual sweet, forgiving self for once? I should've known you were no good. After all, you did make out with the likes of Tracy. For all I know, you probably even slept with her. And maybe that night wasn't the only night. You probably met someone else when you were in Munich, and that's why you stopped e-mailing me. And now, there's someone else, and that's the real reason why you can't marry me anymore. Just own up to it, you coward. Own up to the fact that you don't love me anymore, and you never did.”
“I do love you, Vee. I'll always love you.”
“Stop!” I hold up my hand. “Stop with the lies! I'm tired of them.”
“Vee, please! I know you're upset. You have every right to be mad at me. But please. You've got to believe that I do love you and care about you. I can't go through with this wedding, knowing that there's a chance I could hurt you more down the road. Please, I don't want to end things this way.”
“But you are ending things this way. You're the one who's doing this. What did you think? It's a month before our wedding. People have given me gifts already. Deposits have been placed. Our house? What are we going to do about that, Michael?”
“I'll handle it all. I'll sell it. I'll give you your portion of the down payment. I'll even give you my portion. I'll take care of it all. I promise.”
“What am I supposed to say to people? And my family! Oh God! My mother. This is going to kill her!”
“This is going to kill my parents, too, Vee. They love you and were so happy about us getting married.”
“And my dress! My dress! Do you know how long it took me to complete it? All those hours I stayed up late after the shop closed. And then I even altered it after you walked in on my fitting and didn't like it. And for what? For nothing.”
“Valentina, I want us to be friends. I know you're mad at me. But we've known each other since we were kids.”
“I'll never forgive you, Michael.”
“Not now. But maybe in time.”
“I don't think so. Michael, I'm just going to ask you one favor.”
“Sure, whatever you want, Valentina.”
I want to laugh at his words. He knows what I want. I want to marry him, but he doesn't care. It's what he wants, and that's all that matters to Michael.
“I'm going to get out of the car. I'll take the subway back to Astoria. Please don't insist on driving me home. I need to be alone.”
“Okay, but let me at least drive you to the subway station so you don't get drenched.”
“No, that's fine.” The tone in my voice convinces him to not argue with me.
Before I step out of the car, I look at Michael, knowing this will probably be the last time I see him in a long time, if ever. He's staring at me. Tears are forming in his eyes. I hesitate for a moment and then quickly get out before I change my mind. It's still raining but not as heavily as before. Opening my umbrella, I walk away without even a glance back, making my way toward the subway station on 71st and Continental Avenue. As soon as I know I'm out of sight of Michael's car and that he's not following me, I walk over to the front steps of the closest house and sit down. The houses on this street are more modest than the McMansions where Michael had parked. I start sobbing, making sure to shield my face with my umbrella should anyone be walking by.
I feel empty. The man I've loved for so long doesn't want me. I suddenly realize with horror that I never gave Michael back my engagement ring. I stare at it—a reminder of a broken promise. Pulling it off, I throw the ring into my purse. A strip of white skin encircles my finger where the ring sat.
What am I going to say to my family? Noticing a livery cab waiting at the red light, I suddenly realize the last place I want to be is on a crowded subway. Running over to the cab before the light changes, I motion to the driver to roll down his window.
“Need a ride, miss?”
“Yes, I'm going to Astoria.”
“Hop in.”
The rain is getting heavy again. Staring out the window, I take some comfort in the fact that the weather is as miserable as I'm feeling.
12
Guinea Trash
W
hen the cab pulls up in front of Aldo's apartment building, it's five p.m. I pray he's home. Unable to face my family yet, I decide to go first to Aldo's. After college, Aldo had gotten his own place near Astoria Park. I'd been surprised he didn't move into Manhattan, even after his salary had increased at Christie's.
I press down on the buzzer and wait to hear Aldo's voice come through on the intercom. No answer. I should've called him first. I press the buzzer again. Just as I'm about to leave, static comes through over the intercom.
“Yes?”
“Aldo, it's me. Valentina.”
“Vee? What are you doing here? Is Michael with you?”
I start choking up.
“Vee? Can you hear me?”
“Yes. Can I please come in? I'm . . . I'm alone.”
“Of course. Come up.”
Aldo buzzes me in.
I climb the stairs to his third-floor walkup apartment. My body feels so weary with each step I take. Aldo is waiting for me when I reach his floor. His TV is blasting out into the hallway. From the sounds of it, he's watching repeats of that horrible show
The Real Housewives of New Jersey
. It escapes me how he can watch that show. The way they portray Italian Americans. Guinea trash. That's what my mother calls them. This brings a smile to my face. Aldo loves anything reality-based, and the trashier it is, the more he loves it.
“So you're watching that garbage again?”
“One of these days I'll wean myself off.”
Aldo smiles, but he isn't fooled by my banter. His face shows concern when he sees me, which reminds me that I didn't check my makeup in the cab. Gobs of mascara must be pooling under my eyes.
“Come in. I'll get you a drink. And don't try to refuse. From the looks of you, only Jack Daniel's will do.”
I step into his apartment. As usual, the place is immaculately clean. Instantly, I start to feel calmer, remembering how much I used to love hanging out in Aldo's apartment. But I haven't been here since I got engaged. Again, the wedding planning had ruled my life. I feel guilty as I realize that I haven't been the best of friends the past year.
The décor is modern. Aldo has decorated the apartment himself in hues of cream and chocolate brown. An ivory microsuede couch sits in the center of his living room. A shaggy chocolate brown rug rests on the floor between the couch and the 70-inch flat screen TV. Have I mentioned how much Aldo loves TV? When DVRs first came out, he'd wasted no time in getting one.
“Now I won't miss all of my favorite daytime talk shows!”
He'd beamed at me when he announced his new purchase.
One of our favorite pastimes is to microwave popcorn and watch awards shows where we can drool or gag over celebrities' gowns.
The living room is split so that a sofa table behind the couch divides the room into an office and dining area. A glass pub table with four barstools stands in the corner. Aldo always keeps fresh flowers in a vase on the pub table. Even his bedroom has fresh flowers. Right now a beautiful cluster of periwinkle hydrangeas stands in a short round vase.
He's added to his art collection since I was last here. Aldo has become more of a serious art collector in the past two years after he received a huge promotion at Christie's. When he got laid off, he exclaimed, “Well, if I don't find a job in a year, at least I can sell some of my art.”
As if! Aldo would rather go without food than sell his children, which is how he has referred to his art collection on several occasions.
I walk over to look at a black-and-white ink drawing of a woman lying down. Only the top half of her body shows, and her face is hardly discernible.
“Do you like that one?”
Aldo comes and stands by my side as he hands me a White Russian. He was only joking when he mentioned the Jack Daniel's. He knows I'd be out cold with just one sip of whiskey.
“Yes, very much. Who's the artist?”
“He's an up-and-coming New York City artist who goes just by one name: Niko.”
“Sounds intriguing.”
“Exactly. And his art conveys the same mysterious element, as I'm sure you can see from that drawing.”
“Do you think he'll go far?”
“Yes, I do, but the art world can be very fickle. It doesn't all depend on talent.”
“You can say that with any career. In fact, you can say luck is just as much a factor in almost every facet of life.”
I can't help thinking how unlucky I've been in love. Maybe I'm not destined for love. Tears start filling my eyes.
“Valentina, what happened? Why aren't you with Michael right now?”
I take a huge gulp of my cocktail.
“It's over.”
“What do you mean ‘it's over'? What's over?”
“The wedding . . . Michael and me . . . all of it.”
I start crying hysterically.
“Oh my God!”
Aldo takes my drink out of my hand because it's shaking so hard. Another second, and his carpet would've been ruined.
“Come here.”
I collapse into Aldo, who's still holding my White Russian with one hand as his other hand pats my back.
“It's okay. It's okay,” Aldo coos. I'm crying into his shoulder. I can smell his Cool Water cologne. He hasn't strayed from this cologne since it first came out in the early nineties.
“Let's sit down, and you can tell me all about it. That is, if you want. I understand if you're not ready to talk.”
I sit down on the couch.
“Here, finish your drink. It'll make you feel better. I'll go make you another.”
He rushes to the kitchen. Before I know it, he's returned with my second White Russian and a box of tissues.
“I added a little extra vodka to this one.”
I don't even give my usual fight when he makes my drinks too strong. I've never been much of a drinker. But he's right. My nerves are starting to feel less shaky.
“I'm sorry, Aldo. I didn't mean to just completely lose it.”
“Vee! Your fiancé just broke things off with you. Did he? Or was it you?”
I give him an exasperated look. “Would I be such a wreck if I was the one who ended it?”
“Sorry! Sorry! I just didn't want to assume anything since I don't know the details yet. Anyway, your engagement is off. You have every right to have a nervous breakdown! I mean, don't have one! But you know what I mean. I'm sorry. I'm not being very helpful right now, am I? I'm just still so shocked myself.”
“That makes two of us.”
“So you didn't see this coming at all?”
“No.”
I stop to blow my nose as the tears come back.
“I thought everything was fine.”
“Well, what about earlier today at the shop? I know you said you'd come down with a case of the ‘Bridal Blues,' but I sensed there was more.”
“I guess I did notice Michael had been distancing himself a bit from me the past month or so. But I thought I was just being paranoid, and I knew how busy he'd been at work since he got that big promotion. And I've been so busy at the shop and planning this stupid big wedding. I was neglecting him. I've even neglected you, and I'm sorry for that, Aldo. We haven't hung out as much since I got engaged. I shouldn't have let my wedding planning swallow me up.”
“Vee, I didn't feel neglected by you. Please! This is what happens when people get engaged. Plus, you were making your own dress on top of all the demands from work. And I don't think you were neglecting Michael.”
“I should've made more time for him. I should've insisted we see each other during the week in addition to the weekends.”
“Stop it! You're playing the blame game. You're not the one who broke the contract. He did.”
“Well, there was no contract. We didn't get to the marriage.”
“He made a promise to you, Valentina, when he gave you that ring. Where is it, anyway? You didn't give it back to him, did you?”
“I forgot to, but I will. I can't keep it.”
“Of course, you can. Think of it as payment for damages rendered. You can sell the ring, not that it's going to cover all of your wedding-related deposits.”
I hadn't even thought of the financial repercussions of Michael's decision. But then I remembered how he said he would take care of the house. But still, we both put money into the deposits. He was losing just as much as me.
“I can't keep the ring, Aldo. I won't. It's not the right thing to do.”
“And breaking off an engagement one month before the wedding date is the right thing? Screw him! Stupid pig! Now, that's what I call true guinea trash. No class at all. He acts like he's got it, but I always knew he was nothing more than a wannabe.”
Though I'm furious with Michael, I can't agree with Aldo's assessment of him as guinea trash.
“So what did he say? Why the sudden cold feet?”
“He just said he couldn't go through with the wedding anymore. He said he doesn't want to get married. I asked him if there was someone else. He swore there isn't, but I don't believe the only reason he ended it with me is because he doesn't want to get married.”
“You're probably right, but who knows? Maybe he did realize he's not the marrying kind. But did he ask you how you would feel if you didn't get married but continued to be in a relationship?”
“No. He knows I'm old-fashioned and want the commitment. And how would he face my mother after making an arrangement like that? My mother would just as good as disown me.”
“You underestimate your mom, Vee. I know she's from the Old World, but still. She loves you. If it made you happy to just be with Michael and not make it official, she'd be happy for you even if she was a little disappointed that you weren't tying the knot.”
“Well, that wouldn't be good enough for me. I've dreamed about this day since I was a kid. What little girl hasn't? I want to have children. I'm not going to have children with a man who can't even commit to marriage.”
“True. I didn't think of that.”
“He told me he was doing this for me as much as he was doing this for him.”
“Uh-huh. And I'm Brad fuckin' Pitt.”
“I know. He's full of it. I told him I didn't believe him. I can't believe I forgot to give him the ring back. Now I'm going to have to face him again. It's not like I can mail it.”
“I would. But if you insist that he get the ring in person, I can return it.”
“Thank you, Aldo.”
I start crying again just at the thought of Aldo's gesture. I can't stop crying.
“Just let it all out.”
“I can't believe this is happening to me.”
“Listen to me, Valentina DeLuca. This hurts like hell and will keep hurting like hell for some time. I'm not going to deny that. But you
will
get over this and that piece of guinea trash. I promise. And unlike that swine, I keep my promises.”
“I hope you're right. I just can't see not having Michael in my life anymore. I've known him my whole life. But I can't even imagine ever being civil toward him or friends after the way he broke my heart.”
“Don't worry about that. Just think about yourself. Lean on your family and me. We're here for you.”
“My family! This is going to kill them, especially my mother. That's why I came here. I couldn't go home just yet and face them like this. I'm so embarrassed.”
“What? He's the one who should be embarrassed. You've done nothing wrong. You hear me?”
“I know, but I can't help feeling like that. All those people who gave us gifts at the shower and others who have been sending gifts. And I just can't help but feel like I somehow have let my mother down.”
“First of all, the shower gifts you'll return so there won't be any guilt involved there. And your friends will understand. He's the one who is the villain here. If I were Michael, I'd hightail it back to Germany. He's going to get the worst looks from everyone in the neighborhood. You think Beady Eyes have a staring problem now? Wait till they hear what he did to you.”
I laugh. Suddenly, I remember how coldly Antoniella acted toward him that night five months ago when we were having dessert at the bakery.
“I think the Hunchback had his number all along. She even subtly tried to warn me.”

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