No Ordinary Love (34 page)

“I want to go walking in the rain,” Aika said.

Tony came out of the bathroom. “I am ready.” He held out his hand.

Trina took it. “How hungry are you, Tony?”

“I am very hungry,” Tony said.

And I am very poor.
She took her purse from a hook in the closet. “Let’s go eat.”

While Angelo and Aika waited outside in the rain, Tony ordered two eggs and bacon to go inside the cramped Taylor Street Coffee Shop. “What are you eating, Trina?”

“I can eat some of your toast,” Trina said. She opened her purse and found a crumpled ten.

It was just enough.

Trina held the umbrella while they walked and Tony munched on a piece of buttery wheat toast between forkfuls of eggs. She didn’t know how she would pay the admission fee at the museum, but she didn’t care. She was having a romantic brunch under an umbrella with a handsome man.

When they entered the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, Tony held out his credit card. “I will pay,” he said.

Trina smiled. “Thank you, Tony.”

“I got this,” Angelo said. He handed his credit card over Tony’s hand.

Tony put his credit card back into his pocket. “Okay.” Tony looked out into the first gallery. “I hear the colors.”

“What sounds do they make?” Trina asked.

“All sounds,” Tony said. “Some are not notes. I will write many songs about the colors today, and I will play them tonight.”

“Can’t you just
look
at the paintings today?” Angelo asked. “Do you have to listen to them, too?”

“There are so many songs here,” Tony said. “I must write them.”

“I’m only asking you not to write a song for a couple of hours,” Angelo said.

“I will try,” Tony said.

“You have a fantastic memory, Tony,” Trina whispered. “You’ll remember all those songs later, and then you can write them down.”

“I will remember them,” Tony said. “Yes.”

Tony moved through the spacious museum until Pablo Picasso’s
Les Femmes d’Alger
(
The Women of Algiers
) stopped him.

“She is blue,” Tony said. “She has one white breast and one blue breast. She only has three toes. She has lost two toes. It should be easy to find two blue toes. The other woman has no face. I cannot see what she is looking at if she has no eyes. Why does she have one white breast and one blue breast, Trina?”

“I don’t know, Tony,” Trina said.

“She must have been very cold,” Tony said.

Tony saw music in the lines and designs of Jackson Pollock’s
Guardians of the Secret.
“This is not a painting,” he said. “It is a symphony, but it has too much bass.”

Henri Matisse’s
La Conversation
made Tony squint. “The women are pink and orange. That woman’s left arm is much skinnier and longer than her right arm. It is called
La Conversation.
Neither woman has her mouth open. They are not talking. They are listening to the colors shouting.”

Tony and Aika talked about René Magritte’s
Les valeurs personnelles
(
Personal Values
).

“How can a comb be larger than a bed?” Tony asked.

“It’s a symbolic painting, Tony,” Aika said. “It might mean we spend more time making ourselves look good than getting rest and sleep.”

“A shaving brush,” Tony said. “A match. A wineglass. Clouds on the wall. A mirror. A large pill. I do not have these personal values.”

“Maybe the artist is trying to say that these are society’s values,” Aika said. “A comb and shaving brush are vanity. The match, wineglass, and pill represent vices. The artist is holding up a mirror on our lives.”

“And we are living in the clouds,” Tony said.

“Right,” Aika said.

“The glass is empty,” Tony said. “It should be full. If we change our personal values, the glass will be full.”

Tony heard the violin playing in Georges Braque’s
Violin and Candlestick.

“The violin is playing very fast,” Tony said. “The candlestick makes music, too.”

“Light music,” Angelo said.

“Yes,” Tony said. “Light has music. The candlestick will play long after the violin strings break.”

“Why?” Angelo asked.

“Light does not end,” Tony said. “Light is eternal.”

Robert Rauschenberg’s
Collection
held Tony’s interest the longest.

“Pink, blue, red, yellow, black,” he said. “Drip, smudge, newspaper, cartoons.”

“Hey,” Angelo said. “Those are old newspapers from New York, Tony.”

Tony squinted. “There is much violence. There is much death. There is much color. There is much humor. This is a colorful life.” He smiled at Trina. “I will write all this as one song.”

“I can’t wait to hear it,” Trina said.

Tony also couldn’t wait to eat again. After a three-hour tour, they ate a late lunch at Caffe Museo, the high-end cafeteria inside the museum with decent orecchiette pasta and overstuffed pitas.

“This ain’t Brooklyn,” Angelo said, “but it’s good, isn’t it, Tony?”

Tony nodded. “My stomach is happy.”

While they ate, an impromptu autograph session broke out for both brothers. While Angelo signed copies of Tony’s biography and posed for pictures at one table, Tony signed napkins with a Sharpie at another.

Aika and Trina sat on either side of Tony and watched him laboriously writing his name.
He’s trying so hard to make his autograph legible, and it still isn’t. These people don’t care about legibility, Tony. Scribble your name! Heck, give them your initials.

A large-chested, wide-hipped woman in silvery designer slacks and a sequined black top prodded a young boy in front of Tony. “Hi, Mr. Santangelo,” she said far too loudly. “I’m Alice Tilton, and this is my son, Kirk.”

“Hello,” Tony said.

“Well, say hello, Kirk,” Ms. Tilton said.

Kirk didn’t look up. “Hello,” he said in a dull monotone.

Kirk has Asperger’s,
Trina thought.

“Eye contact, Kirk,” Ms. Tilton spat. “Look Mr. Santangelo in the eye.”

Kirk glanced up then back down at his shoes.

Kirk sees everything in this room all at once,
Trina thought.
Too bad his overbearing wench of a mother can’t see that.

Ms. Tilton sighed heavily. “Kirk, this is the man you saw playing the piano on your computer.”

Kirk nodded.

“Kirk plays the piano, too, Mr. Santangelo,” Ms. Tilton said. “He is a prodigy, just like you were.”

Kirk’s eyes seemed to follow a dust mote floating in the air.

“Did you find all of them, Kirk?” Tony asked.

“Find all of what?” Ms. Tilton asked.

Shut up, wench,
Trina thought.
Tony isn’t talking to you.

“I am speaking to Kirk now,” Tony said. “Please listen.”

Ms. Tilton folded her arms and shook her head.

I’ve seen better “the nerve!” poses,
Trina thought.
Tony is much more aware of the world than anyone else believes. He shut up Ms. Tilton without telling her to shut up.

“Kirk, did you find all the notes you were looking for today?” Tony asked.

Kirk shook his head slowly.

“Sometimes the notes hide,” Tony said. “Sometimes the notes move very fast. You will find them. They like to hide. It makes finding them more special.”

“There are too many,” Kirk whispered.

Oh, this is almost breaking my heart,
Trina thought.
Is this what Tony went through as a child?

“There are many, yes,” Tony said, “and you want to play them all.”

Kirk nodded.

“You do not look at the notes on the page,” Tony said.

“No,” Kirk said.

“And it drives his piano teacher crazy, let me tell you,” Ms. Tilton said.

Trina stared a hole in Ms. Tilton’s head.

Tony ignored her. “Your teacher is mad at you because you do not look at the notes.”

“Yes,” Kirk whispered.

“Your teacher says you do not play the right notes,” Tony said.

Kirk nodded.

“Your teacher makes you play the song until it is right,” Tony said.

“Yes,” Kirk whispered.

“You want to play something else,” Tony said. “You want to play the notes you see, smell, taste, touch, and hear.”

Kirk nodded.

“Your teacher is wrong,” Tony said. “There are no wrong notes. It is always right to play something else.”

Kirk smiled.

“Don’t you tell him
that,
Mr. Santangelo,” Ms. Tilton said. “I’m paying a large chunk of change so Kirk can have the best piano teacher in Northern California.”

Tony looked only at Kirk. “Stop paying the teacher. Kirk is too good to have a teacher. Kirk will always be too good to have a teacher.”

“How can you say that?” Ms. Tilton squawked. “You haven’t heard Kirk play.”

“I know he sees the notes,” Tony said. “They are always in front of his eyes. He is looking for them now.”

“But Kirk
has
to learn to read music,” Ms. Tilton said.

“He already reads music everywhere,” Tony said. “He sees the music now. He does not have to look at the paper anymore.”

Kirk nodded.

“My teacher lasted one month, Kirk,” Tony said. “Poppa sent him away.”

“I am not going to . . .” Ms. Tilton sighed. “I was on a
waiting
list for this teacher for a
year!
”

“Kirk needs no teacher,” Tony said. “Kirk knows that every sound is a right note. Every color is a right note. Every texture is a right note. There are no wrong notes.”

Kirk looked Tony in the eye. “Yes.”

“Keep looking everywhere for the notes, Kirk,” Tony said. “The notes will always be there waiting for you. And do not practice anymore. Just . . . play.”

Ms. Tilton pulled Kirk back to her voluminous hips. “Well, what do you know about raising a child with Asperger’s? Kirk has to have discipline. He has to have a routine.”

“Let him play,” Tony said. “That will be his discipline. That will be his routine.”

“Angelo!” Ms. Tilton shouted. “Your brother gives
lousy
advice! Put
that
in your next book about him! Come on, Kirk!”

Kirk didn’t move. Instead, he extended his hand.

Tony shook it. “Keep playing, and ignore your mother,” Tony whispered.

Kirk smiled again.

Ms. Tilton grabbed Kirk’s hand. “Good-
bye,
Mr. Santangelo.”

Tony smiled at Kirk. “Good-bye, Kirk. Remember the notes.”

“I will,” Kirk said.

Ms. Tilton dragged Kirk away.

Trina grabbed Tony’s hand. “You just changed that boy’s life forever.”

“And the boy’s mother hasn’t got a clue,” Aika said. She cut her eyes from Trina to another table. “Tony, will you be okay for a few minutes? I’d like to speak to Trina in private.”

“I will be okay,” Tony said.

Trina and Aika sat three tables away. “I just needed some girl talk,” Aika said. “And I can watch Angelo better from this table.” She shook her head. “Look at all the women getting Angelo’s autograph. He’s in hottie heaven.”

Trina watched Tony signing another napkin. “I don’t have to worry about Tony.”

“Sure you do,” Aika said. “He’s a man. And he still has a crush on me.”

“I’ve noticed,” Trina said. “It’s hard not to notice when Tony tells you . . . Never mind. So, do you think Angelo—”

“When Tony tells you what?” Aika interrupted.

Trina sighed. “When he tells you that he dreams about you, Aika.”

“Am I wearing blue underwear?” Aika asked.

Trina blinked. “You
know
about the blue underwear?”

“Oh my God, that was a guess.” Aika frowned. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Did Tony tell you about the . . . the thong already?” Trina asked.

“No,” Aika said. “Angelo told me. The first time Tony saw me at the Castle, I was going down to the kitchen for something to drink, and it was late, so I only wore a blue thong and a T-shirt. I didn’t know Tony was watching me.”

“Why would Angelo tell you about that?” Trina asked.

“So I’d remember to wear more clothes in the house,” Aika said.

“Have you?” Trina asked.

“I always wear shorts now, yes,” Aika said. “So I’m in Tony’s dreams wearing a thong.”

“Um, no,” Trina said. “I’m wearing the thong.”

“Really,” Aika said. “You’re wearing
my
thong.”

“I’m wearing
a
thong,” Trina said. “I don’t know if it’s
your
thong. Okay, yeah, it’s yours, and in Tony’s dream, he asks me to give it back to you.”

“We have to cut back on Tony’s consumption of root beer and sugar,” Aika said. “He has too much going through his head as it is.”

“Speaking of head cases,” Trina said, “how am I doing with Angelo?”

“You’re doing fine,” Aika said. “Really.”

“He seems to hate me,” Trina said.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Aika said.

“I obviously don’t feed Tony enough,” Trina said.

“Don’t worry about it,” Aika said. “Angelo is Tony’s overprotective parent. He’s Tony’s mother, father, and brother. It’s the ‘no one’s good enough for my brother’ kind of thing. I think you are
perfect
for Tony.”

“Thank you,” Trina said. “But I still think Angelo wishes I would vanish in a flaming ball of fire.”

“He’s only angry because you don’t take any of his Brooklyn he-man shit,” Aika said.

“Neither do you,” Trina said.

“He doesn’t stay angry with me for long. . . .” Aika smiled. “He’s good at making up with me.
Very
good.”

“Oh really?” Trina smiled.

“Yeah, he’s gruff and huffs and puffs, but Angelo is really quite a teddy bear,” Aika said. “Now if I can only get that teddy bear to pop the question. We’ve been seeing each other for a year. That’s long enough, isn’t it?”

“It certainly is,” Trina said.

“This is going to sound wrong,” Aika said, “but the more you pull Tony toward you, the easier it will be for me to pull Angelo toward me.”

“It doesn’t sound wrong,” Trina said. “It makes perfect sense.”

“But it’s so selfish of me to think that, isn’t it?” Aika blinked. “No, don’t answer that. I have to be selfish at my age. I
need
to be married, okay? I’m forty-two and don’t have many more years left to have children.”