Vanni: A Prequel (Groupie Book 4) (6 page)

Each and every Christmas was a disappointment, despite how hard she tried to make it nice for me. Our resources were so limited, my name usually ended up on a tree in a mall somewhere, so good Samaritans could patch up all the holes with presents that would miraculously appear under my tree.

For a kid, a present with your name on it means you’re in the club. Somebody loves you.

How hard it must have been for Mama. She probably had just as many dreams and plans as I did. But life made a habit of kicking her in the teeth.

That all changed when we moved in with Aunt Susan, who gave us the home we’d always wanted.

Now I am an orphan in every sense of the word. Just days ago I was planning for this grand future, and now I didn’t even know where I’ll be living when 2004 gives way to 2005.

Fortunately Lori, though undeniably saddened by my aunt’s death, isn’t burdened by the same crushing sorrow that I am. The next day, she calls Father Genovese first thing. As it turns out, Aunt Susan had all her arrangements in place. Even in death, she is looking out for all of us, trying to ease our burdens and make our lives a little better.

Lori then calls the mortuary where my aunt’s body has been delivered. She schedules an appointment to finalize the funeral arrangements, and to bring in the clothes in which we wanted Susan buried. She asks me if I have a preference. I shake my head. “Blue,” is all I can offer.

We both love the color blue.

Lori puts together an outfit, one of Susan’s nicest blue dresses, with a lace overlay. She wore it for my high school graduation, which at the time warranted a special celebration. I was a problem kid, so that diploma was a victory not only for me, but for those who whipped me into shape. Tops on that list? My Aunt Susan. It was her accomplishment every bit as it was mine.

After I dress to go with Lori to the mortuary, I pause only briefly to pull a couple of gifts out from under the tree. I bought them for Susan. I want her to have them, and this is my last chance to give them to her.

The mortuary isn’t that far from the house, so we brave the snow and the cold to walk the mile or so it takes to get there. I clasp Lori’s hand in mine, but we say very little on our journey. I say even less as we approach the modest brick building housing the funeral home.

Funeral home
. What a depressing fucking name for a building. The décor inside isn’t much better. It looks like an actual home, which is supposed to be comforting, but it’s not. I know behind several closed doors are caskets filled with corpses. The sickly sterile stench, mixed with an obnoxious combination of fresh flowers, nearly chokes me. I can’t fathom what my aunt is even doing in a place like this.

The director, Bob or Frank or Johnny or fuck-all, greets us, shakes our hands, and speaks in hushed, sympathetic tones. It’s almost as if everyone is afraid to speak too loudly for fear of actually waking the dead. It lends itself to this whole charade, that the bodies in this wretched place were actually sleeping guests, rather than human remains.

Remains
, I think with a sinking gut. That’s all that’s left of any of us, eventually.

He leads us to his office, where his assistant takes the clothes from Lori. He tells us what arrangements my aunt had prepared in advance. While they talk about the wake and the funeral service, I stare at the crucifix hanging behind the funeral director’s desk.

It’s all meaningless to me now.

Lori steps up to the plate like a champ. She loves Susan almost as much as I do, and her faith is equally important. Thanks to Lori, I know my aunt will have the respectful sendoff she wanted. As we walk back to the house, I hold Lori close to me. I’ve never needed her more, and that scares me.

It reassures me how strongly she hugs back.

When the guests come, she’s the one who manages everything. I sit in Susan’s chair and itch for another drink, but I won’t tarnish Aunt Susan’s memory amongst her closest friends by turning into a profanity-spewing drunk for everyone to see.

Instead I sit quietly, and nod through all the stories from all the people who, in their fruitless attempt to make me feel better, pull my nerves to the breaking point. How little it comforts me to hear that Aunt Susan is likely teaching Jesus to play piano in heaven now, when her piano sits silent across the room. When her bedroom is locked tight like a tomb, or her kitchen isn’t full of the delicious aroma of her cooking, and each and every thing I see or hear is a reminder of her loss.

God could have anyone in all of time and space that he wanted, from Beethoven to Liberace. Susan was all I had, and it fucking hurts that she’s gone.

Lori shoos all our guests away by eight o’clock that night. I start drinking and do not stop until I pass out in Susan’s recliner.

We hold the vigil on the 28
th
of December, and her funeral on the 29
th
. Both our brownstone and the parish itself are filled to overflowing.

Fortunately, for the wake, I’m allowed to drink all I want. It makes it easier to stomach all the eulogies given as each sad guest extols Susan Faustino’s many virtues to the grieving crowd. My nerves are dead by the time we make it to the funeral. I barely even crumble as I spot the golden eighth note around her neck as I pass by the casket to offer my final respects.

Her color has been artificially restored, so she looks like an old woman sleeping within the satin interior of a cozy box. She doesn’t look like Susan, though. Her dress barely fits over her shrunken body, and her eyes look as if they have been sewn shut, and they probably have been.

There is no twinkle to be found, no smile to remember. She is, simply,
gone
.

It makes my job as pallbearer much easier.

I don’t have to volunteer for this job. Plenty of good strong men are willing to do it for me, including Tony, who shows up with his entire family for the ceremony.

But honestly it is the last thing I could do for my aunt, and I want to do it.

I carry her to her final resting place, where I stand, stoic as a statue, as she’s lowered into the ground.

With every fiber of my being I want to throw myself on the casket, to pull her out of that cramped little box and keep her with me always. But these are her wishes, and I will abide, even if it kills me.

As each hour passes, I pray that it does.

“
My beautiful boy
,” I can almost hear her whisper. My chin trembles but I do not cry. I’ve thrown my fits in private, but I won’t do it here. Aunt Susan had spent more than a decade making me a man. By God I was going to act like one.

That night, all the mourners are finally gone as the macabre ritual completes. I still get screaming drunk, and this time I pull Lori to me, the first time in days. Her body is soft and warm and alive underneath me. I sink into her and it’s like piercing the fog that has surrounded me for days. I say nothing. I’m afraid to say anything. Fucking her on my aunt’s sofa in the middle of her living room, despite the watchful eyes from family portraits or even Jesus himself, from where he is impaled silently and forever on the cross, separates me further from that good Catholic boy Susan had raised me to be.

It’s a damn shame I have given up on being a rock star.

That’s where bad boys like me belong.

The days leading up to Susan’s funeral had flown by in such a haze I could barely distinguish them. The days afterwards, while we are all trying to put the pieces back together again, drag minute by excruciating minute. That New Year’s Eve is smack dab in the middle only serves to make it weirder. For such a festive holiday, I know I’ll never look at it the same way again. I spend the end of 2004 on my aunt’s couch alone, simply because Lori had to work.

Of course I’m not entirely alone. I have several bottles of booze to keep me company.

I pass out before the ball drops.

Santino had paid his respects at the funeral, where he offered me a week off, which I gladly take. I still don’t want to face life yet, not with everything up in the air. It’s kind of like picking up the pieces after a bomb detonates. I don’t know where to start.

“
How do you eat an elephant
?” I hear the echo of Susan’s voice asking me, something she had said in all those times I got so frustrated with music and homework and chores. “
One piece at a time
.”

The first order of business is actual business. At nine o’clock the first Monday of 2005, I sit across from my aunt’s attorney, Donald Meir, in his Brooklyn office. Like everyone else in my aunt’s life, her lawyer is from the neighborhood, someone she had known for years and obviously trusted implicitly.

I am not quite as convinced. I’m sure that he is about to toss me out of the only home I’ve ever known, and where I’ll go from there is anyone’s guess. What he says instead blows my mind. My mouth falls open, as does Lori’s, who has come along with me. “What do you mean, it’s mine?”

Donald links his fingers on top of the open folder in front of him. “She willed the house to you, Giovanni. You are her last living relative. Most of her estate is split between you and her parish, with you retaining most items of any value. That includes the house, some stock, along with her modest life insurance policy.”

He goes on, but I stop listening after ‘
the house
’. “I don’t understand. You’re not asking me to leave?” The news is so unexpected I think I’m in shock.

Donald chuckles. “No, of course not. Your aunt owned the property free and clear. Aside from property taxes, you don’t have a monthly mortgage or rent. In fact,” he adds as he pulls a piece of paper from the stack. “You have an income from her other investments.”

He slides the graph my way. A single number is circled. My eyes widen. “Are you serious?”

Donald shrugs. “Granted it’s not enough to live on. What is, these days? But it’ll help keep you afloat.”

I stare at him. I barely blink. What he called ‘not enough to live on,’ was more than my salary at Cynzia’s easy. I could take time off if I wanted. I could pursue music–

No
, I think suddenly. No, I can’t.

“And of course if you ever need additional income, you can always sell the brownstone. In today’s market, it could pull in a tidy little profit, especially now that the entire area is being renovated. You could sell it like that,” he says as he snaps his fingers.

“No,” I say at once. “I’m not selling the brownstone.”

That house has been in my family since the day it was built. I’ll never sell it. No matter what.

“Fine,” Donald says with a raised hand. “Just know there are options. Should I call the church and schedule a pickup for all the belongings bequeathed to them in her will?”

“As soon as possible,” I find myself saying. I feel guilty how relieved I am that most of her things will be given away. Sure, it’s charitable for the church, but deep down I hope that, with her things gone, I won’t feel as haunted every single night by every single shadow looming near her now dark, quiet room. “Tomorrow works for me. Noon, maybe?”

He nods as he makes a note of it on the folder. “I’ll let them know. I guess that’s it, then. Unless you have any questions.”

Since he has already blown my mind, I honestly can’t think of a single one. I shake my head as I rise from the chair.

Donald rises also, taking a long, slender envelope from the file folder. I know it holds a check. My knees nearly buckle under me when I see the number $38,492 under the
Pay the Amount Of
section.

“That’s her $50,000 life insurance policy less the cost of her final expenses. Again, I know it’s a modest amount. For the record I always advised her to get more.”

More?
I’m stunned there is even this.

I remain stunned all the way back out to the street, where we head back on foot towards the house.

My house
.

Lori threads her arm through mine. There’s a skip in her step that wasn’t there before. “Can you believe it?” she finally says. “We should go somewhere to celebrate.”

“We’re not going out to eat,” I decide at once, annoyed she’d even suggest such a thing. “We wouldn’t even have this money if she were alive.” My voice softens. I’m still so, so angry, but it’s useless to yell at anybody. “I’d rather have her here.”

“Vanni,” Lori admonishes. “Your great-aunt was a seventy-one-year-old woman. What did you think? That she’d live forever?”

I narrow my eyes as I glare at her. “Yes,” I say. She can judge me all she wants but my aunt was not old. She was not feeble. She had complete control of her senses and relative mobility. She also had more life in the tip of her pinky than most have in their entire bodies. The world has lost its color with her passing. Why can’t Lori see that?

She broaches the next topic very carefully. “I suppose now you have the freedom to pursue your music.”

My throat tightens. Yes, I suppose I
could
, but there is no way. Not now. I shrug. “Like Donald said, it isn’t a whole lot of money. I’d rather have it in the bank than gamble it on some kind of what if.”

She nods as her features relax on her face. I can tell she’s relieved that I won’t be pursuing a career in music, but I really can’t understand why. Like being a waitress in a New York City bar was any more secure.

It’s a moot point, so I decide to let the subject drop.

We compromise on dinner out by stopping in Cynzia’s, where I pick up my check and schedule. “You can take more time if you need it, Giovanni.”

I know Santino must be concerned. He actually got my name right.

“I’m fine,” I assure him. “Everything is done anyway, and sitting around that quiet house is driving me crazy. I could use the money, man,” I finally admit, which softens old Santino even more.

“Fine. I could use some help tomorrow. Dinah’s due any day, so she finally took her maternity leave.”

“I’ll be here with bells on,” I promise.

“Just the hairnet!” he calls after me.

It’s after nine o’clock in the evening when we return home. I carry our leftovers in a greasy flat box, which won’t fit inside our loaded refrigerator.

“Can’t we give this back to the church or something?” I ask Lori, but she shakes her head.

“It’s perishable. Speaking of church, who is supposed to be here tomorrow when they come for Susan’s things?”

“Shit,” I breathe as I bring my hand to my forehead. I had completely forgotten.

“I’ve got a late shift tomorrow,” she says as she finally finds a spot for the storage container full of our leftover pizza. “I can do it.”

I smile at her. She really has been my rock through this whole troubling period. I know there are no words to tell her how much that means to me. “Thanks, Lori.”

She stands to her feet and slides her arms around my waist, linking her hands behind my back. I bend for a kiss. “You taste like wine,” I mutter against her lips.

“So do you,” she whispers back.

I lift her easily into my arms, cupping her ass with both hands as I bring her mouth to mine for a more thorough exploration. She shudders against me. “Let’s go to bed,” she begs.

“Let’s stay here,” I offer instead, depositing her on the kitchen table. Her eyes widen as she stares up at me.

“Vanni,” she says with a slight shake of her head.

“Why not?” I ask as I pin her to the table with my weight on top of her. “Who’s going to stop us? It’s my house,” I finally say out loud.

She tries again. “Vanni. That’s just the vino talking.”

“Then let’s listen what it has to say.” I bury my face in her neck, dragging my mouth along her sensitive skin.

I don’t care if it’s the wine, frankly. I just need to feel
something
. I’m tired of feeling so fucking empty. Everything flows through me like wind through a dead, hollow tree. My hands are urgent as they slide up her body. It is such a warm body, so smooth under my palm. I rise to a standing position above her, keeping my eyes on her face as I peel away my shirt, which makes her lick her lips in anticipation.

She’s mine now and I know it. I can’t help but smirk in self-satisfaction as I crawl in between her legs for one of the best meals available to me on that table now that lovingly prepared Italian feasts were no longer an option. I spread her legs even wider before one of my large hands holds Lori open, to study her under the bright light. My tongue finds her clit easily and she writhes around me as I work my magic. Each cry gets louder than the last. It gets me so pumped. I feel so powerful, like a genie, there to grant her every wish.

I roll her onto her stomach and I take her from behind. I don’t ask for permission. She’s begging me to fill her, and I’m more than happy to oblige. It’s all I want to do. Blood pumps through my body as I start to feel something again, finally. Sure it’s something titillating, something naughty, but it almost has to be. Like jumping out of a plane or riding a bull, it’s an adrenaline rush to push back at some of the boundaries I had always accepted.

By the time I come I utter a warrior cry.

We spend another night on that tiny, cramped sofa in the living room. I know I’ll have to buy bedroom furniture again, considering I had decimated every single piece it in my bedroom upstairs. I’d destroyed the bedroom itself, which poses the question of what other rooms I can use going forward. The master bedroom on the ground floor is the largest of the three, but I wonder if I’m even capable of moving anything into Susan’s room after all her things are gone.

I’m glad I picked up a shift at Cynzia’s. The busy shift keeps me hopping all afternoon. I figure old Santino told everyone about my Aunt Susan, because the customers tip me handsomely all day long. My wallet nearly bursts a hole through my pocket by the time I head home.

When I open the door, I smell a glorious aroma from the kitchen. I smile as I head straight for the back of the house, where Lori prepares our meal. I slip my arms around her waist and bend to kiss her neck. “This is an unexpected surprise.”

She smiles wide as she turns for a kiss. “I was here all day, waiting for the church to pick up your aunt’s stuff. Remember?”

“Oh yeah,” I nod as I peer over her shoulder to see what she’s cooking. “What smells so good?”

“Roast chicken, garlic potatoes and steamed broccoli.”

I laugh. “I think that’s the healthiest meal ever prepared on this stove. It may go into shock.”

“I can cook all that other stuff,” she says. “I can make anything.” She spins around into my arms. “But I thought it may bring up too many bad memories. I know I’m just a pale substitute for the real thing.”

I hold her tight. “You are no substitute.”

She gives me a happy smile as she pulls me closer. “We can have a new start, Vanni. Your house. Your future. Our future,” she corrects awkwardly, hopefully. I’d never thought about a future I’d share with somebody else before. Right now it sounds damned good. I reward her with a deep kiss. She melts against me for a long, sweet moment before I push her away with a smile.

“Feed me first, woman,” I tease, which makes her giggle.

I head over to the table in the corner. I avoid looking at the kitschy salt-and-pepper shakers on the table. Aunt Susan collected them. She had a whole shelf devoted to them in the china cabinet in the formal dining room. She would rotate them out on a weekly basis, almost like a ritual. “It’s the only way I’ll get to enjoy them all,” she’d say when I poked fun at her for it.

Now looking at them reminds me of all I don’t have, which is something I’ve been trying to avoid like a bad habit after the last eleven days. I take them from the table and head straight for the china cabinet.

Only I discover as I pass through the swinging door to the formal dining room that I no longer have one. “Lori!” I holler.

She runs in behind me. “What?”

Her sweet voice does nothing to calm me. “Where’s my aunt’s furniture?”

“They picked it up.”

“What does a church need with a china cabinet?” Then it dawns on me what is also missing. “Where are the salt-n-pepper shakers?”

She seems reluctant to answer, sensing my darkening mood. “The people from the church. Susan wanted to give them something to remember her by. She assigned them all.” Her eyes fall to the ones in my grasp. “She wanted you to have those.”

I look down at the Laurel & Hardy figurines. We had spent many Saturday afternoons watching these shows after I came to live with her. I remember how her laugh was always so clear and true, full of life. It was contagious. Eventually I laughed more because her joy was infectious, rather than the slapstick comedy on the screen.