Bella Fortuna (38 page)

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Authors: Rosanna Chiofalo

BOOK: Bella Fortuna
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God. I don't know what to say. I know you haven't—I mean, hadn't—been friends with her in years, but I thought you'd want to know. I'm sorry. Call me if you want.
Rita
My attention has been so fixed on the e-mail that I don't even notice Frederico has brought my
espresso
and left the bag of
biscotti
I asked for by my side. I take a long sip of the
espresso
. It's very strong, which is just what I need.
Rain droplets are beginning to form on the windows of the café. I just sit there for I don't know how long staring at each of the droplets as they get bigger and the rain becomes heavier. Numbness is all I can feel.
The memories come rushing back. Endless phone calls at night . . . trips with her family to Sunken Meadow Beach where she let me ride her bike as much as I wanted . . . reading in secret the book I bravely borrowed from the library on menstruation and sex . . . shopping together for our first training bras . . . double dating on our first dates behind our parents' backs . . . her lies . . . Michael kissing her in that dark alleyway . . . her having me beat up as my father lay dying . . . her coming to Sposa Rosa and asking for my forgiveness . . . my stubborn refusal to give it. And to think, it all began with shoelaces.
 
“Tracy, please tie Valentina's laces.”
I could tell Tracy had taken great pride in being singled out by Sister Irene to tie my shoelaces. Though she's a year younger, she seemed more mature than me.
She bent down and tied my laces quickly, showing off her skill. When she was done, she smiled at me, immediately erasing my humiliation. After all, I should've known how to tie my own shoes in first grade.
“Hi, I'm Tracy.”
“I'm Valentina.”
“I know. Just let me know if your shoes get unlaced again.” Tracy smiled tenderly at me.
And that was all it took—shoelaces and a smile—for us to become the best of friends. Who would have thought all those years ago in first grade that someday we would also become the worst of enemies?
After my father died, Tracy did feel horrible about what happened to me. She called me the morning of Baba's wake. At first, she tried to deny that she was the one who had gotten Cheryl and Lauren to beat me up. But she didn't realize that Cheryl and Lauren had told me they were beating me up because of the rumor I had supposedly started about our mutual friend Miriam and her boyfriend, Pat, being drug addicts. Tracy was the only person I had told that my neighbors all thought Pat was doing drugs because he hung out with Brett, a known drug addict. And because Miriam was dating Pat, my neighbors had also jumped to the wrong conclusion about her abusing drugs. I never thought that Miriam—or even Pat—was doing drugs. And I never told Tracy that I thought they were, but of course, she twisted my words and made it sound like I'd said it. When I told her I knew it was her because I hadn't told anyone else what my neighbors had said, she knew she couldn't deny anymore her involvement in getting my ass kicked. But even if I had told someone else, I would've still found out that it had been Tracy since everyone at school knew she got Cheryl and Lauren to beat me up. Cheryl and Lauren loved to brag after they kicked ass.
Tracy broke down crying and pleaded with me to forgive her. After a week of her calling me repeatedly, I finally caved and told her I forgave her. But they were just words. I didn't feel forgiveness in my heart toward her, and she knew it. Our friendship was never the same again. I couldn't forget what she'd done to me, and she couldn't get over her guilt. I saw it in her eyes whenever we'd run into each other. I was polite when I did see her, but little by little, I distanced myself from her. She still called me from time to time, lamenting over whoever was her current guy at the moment. I could tell, even then, that she missed me and the long phone conversations we'd had since we were in grade school. I listened but never really offered much. Once I started college, I stopped returning her calls. She finally got the hint. Though we lived in the same neighborhood, fortunately for me I never ran into her again until she came to Sposa Rosa with her cousin a few months ago.
Tracy had done more damage to me than just the physical injuries I'd suffered at Cheryl's and Lauren's hands. For she made it hard for me to trust, and though I formed friendships with other women, I never completely let my guard down around them.
Tracy had been my best friend. She'd made me laugh, and we'd had the best time just being girls as we grew up. The old Tracy I'd known was young, innocent, and looking to be loved.
That was it. She was looking to be loved—by her mother, who doled out discipline with a belt . . . by her father, who was emotionally distant . . . by the cool kids whose inner circle she always strove to be in . . . by all the boys she dated . . . even by me. But she'd had my love. Why couldn't she do right by me as I had done by her? Why had she betrayed me so many times? Maybe she'd felt that she didn't deserve my love or friendship so she hurt me before I could hurt her. After all, if the one person who was supposed to share the closest bond with her—her mother—could make her feel unloved, how was she supposed to give and receive love?
And with that last thought, I finally understood Tracy.
23
Sleeping Beauty
I
t's strange being back in New York after being gone for almost a month. A fine mist is coming down as my plane lands at JFK. Every time I fly back from overseas, the weather at home is overcast, matching my sad mood that my trip is over. But now, I'm down for reasons other than vacation being over.
I had decided to fly back home for Tracy's funeral. Stefano couldn't understand why I felt compelled to pay my respects to a former friend who had betrayed me so much. My family and Aldo were also shocked by my decision. But what disturbed them more was when I told them that I needed to finally forgive her. This would be a very small way for me to do so, as I had explained to Stefano.
“It's time I let go of what she did all those years ago. I've never really left it behind.”
Stefano hugged me. “
Va bene
. Go. Do what you have to do. I'll be in New York in a week and a half. I can't wait to meet my future mother-in-law who thinks so highly of Calabresi.” Stefano smiled at me. He knew just the right moment to make me laugh when I needed it most.
“I can't wait for you to meet them and my best friend, Aldo. I also can't wait to show you my city. Oh—and take you to all the museums!”
Stefano drove me to the airport the following day. We kissed about ten times or more before we parted. Tears were streaming down my face. He looked just as sad but tried to conceal it.
“Stop crying! I'm flying to New York in just ten days!”
“It's going to feel like forever!”
I finally smiled through my tears and blew a kiss to him. He blew one back to me and then crossed his arms over his chest.
“You'll be right here until I see you again.”
I copied him and crossed my arms over my chest. “You're in my heart, too.”
We kissed one last time, before I finally walked toward the security lines. I kept looking over my shoulder. Stefano stood there waving and smiling until I was out of sight.
 
Just thinking about my fiancé makes me tingle all over. I catch my smile in the rearview mirror of the taxi that's driving me to Astoria. But instead of going directly home, I decide to visit Tracy's mother first.
The cab pulls up in front of the two-story brick house that is mostly obscured by azalea bushes. Tracy's mother, Mrs. Santana, has a green thumb, but she takes it overboard. The little garden in front of her house is teeming with flowers and foliage. Gargantuan sunflowers tower over the little wrought-iron fence as if they know they don't really belong in such a tiny garden and are trying to escape. A rose trellis stands at the center, vying to be noticed. Tomato and zucchini plants occupy the back of the garden, along with basil, mint, sage, and thyme plants.
Weathered statues of dwarves and gargoyles that Mrs. Santana had first placed alongside the porch steps when Tracy and I were in grade school still sit in their same location. I walk through the enormous gate of Tracy's house, another element that seems out of place and should belong instead in front of a mansion. The rain starts coming down heavier, and a gust of wind blows the numerous wind chimes that hang at random spots in the garden and on the porch. Lifting my luggage up the steps, I notice the lights are out in the house. Maybe Mrs. Santana isn't home. Maybe this isn't such a good idea. But just as I'm having this thought, the front door opens.
“Valentina! I thought that was you. I was in my sunroom, watering my plants, when I noticed the taxi out front. I didn't recognize you right away. I thought whoever it was had the wrong house, especially when I saw your luggage. It's good to see you. I'm sure you heard?”
“Yes, Mrs. Santana. I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say. I was in Italy when my sisters gave me the news. I just came straight from the airport. If this is a bad time, I can come back.”
“No, no. Please come in. My husband needed to get out for a bit. He's been beside himself and so restless since this happened. I'm all alone.”
The weight of her last sentence seems to have struck with her. Her eyes get this faraway look. Just when I think Mrs. Santana is handling Tracy's death with amazing calmness, I see she's not.
I follow Mrs. Santana into her kitchen, and although I insist I am fine, she still decides to brew a fresh pot of coffee. I suppose it helps to keep busy. Her kitchen looks as immaculately clean as it always has. Her hands are shaking as she measures the heaping teaspoons of coffee. Adjusting to the time zone difference and now with that strong coffee Mrs. Santana is making, there's no doubt that I'll be up all night. But I don't say anything.
“It's really so kind of you to come here, Valentina. You've always been my favorite of Tracy's friends. I don't know if you ever knew that.”
“Actually, yes, I did. Tracy told me that you and Mr. Santana approved of me.”
“Oh, we did, especially in high school when she began to hang out with some of those other characters. I guess I can understand why the two of you grew apart. You always had a good head on your shoulders and would never get yourself mixed up with such trash. But not Tracy.”
Mrs. Santana gets that faraway look from earlier again.
“Well, she was young, and a lot of young kids rebel.”
“But
you
didn't.”
“I wasn't like most typical teenagers. You really can't go by me, Mrs. Santana.”
“Yes, I can. Why couldn't Tracy be more like you? Maybe if she were, things would've ended differently.”
“Mrs. Santana, go easy on Tracy. It's tough figuring out who you are, especially when you're a teen.”
“I only ever had one wish for that girl, and she couldn't manage to do that.”
Suddenly, I can see why Tracy had so many issues. Her mother is super-critical and tough to please. No wonder it had been so easy for Tracy to abuse our friendship. How could I have expected her to be more compassionate toward me when her own mother showed so little compassion for her, even now after her death? I suddenly remember the numerous beatings Tracy had suffered at her mother's hands.
“Just one wish. God couldn't even give me that. It's not like I ever asked Him for much.”
Mrs. Santana's voice is filled with anger and bitterness.
“May I ask what that wish was, Mrs. Santana?”
“I only wanted her to find a decent boy and get married. You think I didn't know about all those boys she ran around with in high school and all through her twenties? She tried to hide it from me, but I'm not blind—or deaf. I was so humiliated hearing all the gossip about her in the neighborhood. People would think they were talking low enough when they'd see me picking my produce at Top Tomato, but I would always hear every one of their ugly words about my daughter. No matter what, she was still
my
daughter.”
Tears fill Mrs. Santana's eyes. I guess she does have some compassion after all.
“But you're right, Valentina. I shouldn't be so hard on her. She was finally beginning to get on the right path. About a year ago, the boys disappeared. She was either alone running in Astoria Park or going to the cafés on 30th Avenue with a few of her girlfriends from the hair salon where she worked. I asked her if she was planning on dropping another surprise on me. I thought maybe she had become a lesbian since I only saw her hanging out with girls now. She told me she was taking a long break from guys, but that she hadn't become a lesbian. I was relieved to hear that, and I was also glad that she wasn't dating a string of guys at the same time anymore. But I told her she shouldn't take too long of a break from dating. Her biological clock was ticking, after all. She needed to think about finding a good man to settle down with. And she did. Though at first, I was mad about whom she'd chosen.”
Mrs. Santana brings over my mug of coffee and sits down opposite me at her kitchen table. She takes a long sip of her coffee.
I wait, dying to know if it's anyone I know. But Mrs. Santana has gone quiet. The poor woman's brain must be on overload with all that's happening.
“Who was Tracy dating, Mrs. Santana?”
She jumps. “Oh, I'm sorry. My mind seems to be wandering all over the place. It was Snake God.”
“Snake God?” I'm shocked.
“Yes, yes. I couldn't believe it either when she told me. But then it seemed to make sense given the rebellious nature Tracy had displayed since she was in high school. I just thought the girl would never change. This is who she was. But Snake God, I mean, Brandon, ended up being a pleasure. He wasn't the same cocky young man carrying around that stupid python anymore.”
Everyone in Astoria called Brandon McKenzie Snake God because of his penchant for walking around the neighborhood shirtless and keeping Monty, his six-foot python, coiled around his neck. Instead of minding the nickname, he loved it. And it was no wonder. He actually seemed to think he was God the way he paraded around town with his tanned muscled body. Snake God's best assets were his toned arms, pecs, and washboard abs—and of course Monty, which he used to attract girls. Michael had once told me that Snake God used to say, “Monty's a chick magnet, dude.” But I couldn't see it since most girls I knew were terrified of snakes. I always thought Snake God was probably compensating for his lack of, how should I put it? Manly measurements.
“I guess Tracy didn't mind Monty?”
“Oh, I guess you hadn't heard. Monty died about a month before Tracy started dating Brandon. He was so upset. Tracy saw him sitting on a bench in Astoria Park one day and crying. Can you imagine macho Snake God crying?”
“No, I can't.”
“Neither could I when Tracy told me the story, but she said he was blubbering like a little boy who'd just discovered Santa wasn't real. Anyway, Brandon was just sitting there crying in public, not caring if anyone saw him or what that would do to his macho image. Tracy was on her daily run through the park and walked over to Brandon when she saw him crying. And from that point on, they were inseparable. Tracy helped him overcome Monty's loss.”
“Wow.” I can't help noting the sarcasm in my voice even though I hadn't intended to sound sarcastic. This is all just too bizarre, even for Tracy. I still cannot picture her with Snake God.
Mrs. Santana stands up and goes over to the fridge. She takes a picture off the front.
“Here's a picture of the two of them this past summer in the Florida Everglades. It was a dream of Brandon's to go there, and he asked Tracy to go with him.”
I look at the photo magnet. Snake God
has
changed. Though still muscular, he isn't sporting the obnoxiously pumped-up muscles I'd remembered. He no longer shaves his head. His hair is now long enough to show its sandy blond color and tousled curls. He has his arm around Tracy, and they're both smiling. Tracy looks different, too. Her hair is still very long, but she's wearing very little makeup, taking about five years off her age and giving her a more innocent look. I don't think I'd ever seen her look this pretty before, even though she's wearing a baseball cap and a tee that says
Snakes Rule
. There's a glow in her face and eyes that I'd never seen. She looks happy. And then it suddenly dawns on me that I'd never really seen her happy.
“What does Brandon do for work?”
“He's a construction worker. Makes really good money, too. Of course, I had hoped Tracy would've married a professional, someone with a fancy desk job, but after what that girl put me through, I was just happy she found a nice boy who she was crazy about. You know she'd never brought any boy home to meet me? Brandon was the first one.” Mrs. Santana shakes her head. “Tracy was smart. She might not have had the school grades, but she had common sense smarts.” Mrs. Santana points at her head as if I don't know what she means.
“She knew all those other boys were garbage and weren't good enough for her to bring home. That's why she waited. And she was right. I just know they would have gotten married if she hadn't—”
Mrs. Santana breaks down crying. I pat her hand, feeling helpless.
“I'm sorry. I still can't believe she's gone. For all the trouble she gave me in her younger years, I still would have her that way if it meant she could be alive. Sure, I was so ecstatic that she seemed to be finally growing up and calming down. But now, she's gone. It's as if she wasn't meant to be good or have some good in her life.”
“Oh, don't say that, Mrs. Santana. Think of it this way. She was happy the last few months of her life. I've never seen Tracy look the way she does in this picture. Isn't it better that she experienced real love and happiness, even if it was just for a short time? It would have been worse if she died and didn't get a chance to have some happiness in her life.”
“That's true. That's true. Oh!”
Mrs. Santana sniffles, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands. “I tend to look at the negative too much, I guess. Tracy always told me that. Well, it is what it is. God wanted it this way, and I can't do anything about it. But it would have been nice if I could've just seen my only daughter getting married.”

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