Beauty (2 page)

They cut back. His night at the bowling alley became a once a fortnight thing. That truly sucked, and he wasn’t happy. Paulie found himself working extra shifts, longer hours.

‘Jesus! Borrow the fucking clothes,’ he hissed at Ellen.

She pouted. ‘I can’t, Paulie. I don’t want Susan DiAngelo’s castoffs. She’ll tell all the girls. They’ll laugh at us.’

He nodded, grimly. Saving face was very important around the neighbourhood.

Then the teething started.

‘Fuck!’ Paulie tossed in his bed, staring at the ceiling, their bedside alarm clock saying 2:15 a.m. ‘Won’t that goddamned kid ever shut up? I have to
work
.’

Ellen dragged herself out from under the covers, teary-eyed from lack of sleep, and walked to the closet to pick the baby up. He was bigger now, and his cot filled almost all the small space.

‘We need a bigger apartment,’ she said, weakly. ‘Like, with a second bedroom.’

Paulie couldn’t disagree. He worked still more hours, took on a second job at weekends and went to his local
capo
for help. Paulie Kane was exactly the kind of guy the mob took care of, wanting little in return: he worked their sites, didn’t bitch about joining any unions, took on overtime and kept his mouth shut about the things he saw there.

And he had
no
ambition. Guys like that, the fodder, prospered.

They gave him a rise. Then another. Within three months, they were renting a bigger apartment, a place with a tiny second bedroom of its own.

Sex resumed, and Paulie liked it when Ellen was happier. He took on another job on Sundays, when most of the guys were resting. Six months moonlighting at the bowling alley added a little pot to their savings, and soon they had a deposit down on the longed-for three-bedroom colonial on the Tuckahoe borders. It was more Eastchester, the lousy end of town, but Ellen didn’t care. She had a tiny scrap of garden and they could see a church spire from their bedroom window. The fence in the back was chain link, not picket, but this was their dream and everything was going so well. Ellen had plans to train as a hairdresser when Johnny went to nursery next year; she could make good pocket money doing a shampoo and set for the old ladies that wandered into the village’s only salon during the daytime.

And then the disaster happened.

Just when they were on top of it. Just when he was getting straight. The baby was sleeping nights and Paulie was back to bowling in the alley, not cleaning up behind the bar.

Ellen got pregnant.

‘Jesus! You’re kidding?’

She whimpered, looking grey. ‘The doctor ran the tests, Paulie.’

He was stunned. ‘What the fuck happened?’

Ellen shrugged. ‘The pills didn’t work, I guess.’

No use saying Paulie should have used a condom. Ellen thought she’d been OK, taken most of her pills through the cycle, but she did forget things sometimes, got busy, got distracted by another diaper or the pasta on the stove . . .

‘You forgot.’ Her husband’s voice was tight with accusation.

‘No way, Paulie. I took them every day.’ Ellen was so definite, she’d almost convinced herself.

‘We can’t. We don’t need more.’ Screw what his mother said; Paulie Kane had no intention of being a big Irish family. His small, neat family suited him down to the ground. With horror, he glanced at his wife – still slim, with those perky tits. Would they survive another go round? He liked Ellen’s body, liked how she kept herself pretty, kept herself lithe and sweet in his bed. Soon that handspan waist would soften, grow, she would pack on the pounds, her tits would be milky, motherly, far from anything he wanted to know about.

A surge of fury bubbled deep within his belly.

‘Get it seen to.’

Ellen’s eyes widened. ‘Paulie, no. No.’

‘What are you, some kind of God-botherer?’

They were Catholics – sort of. Not that they went to Mass outside of Christmas and Easter, but that was the tribe – St Patrick’s day and going to your friends’ kids’ Holy Communions. Paulie didn’t know if he believed in God and he’d certainly not discussed it with Ellen. Their church wedding was fun, but so what?

Paulie believed in Paulie. And perky tits. And weekends off.

‘We can’t afford another kid.
Get it done
.’

And, although Ellen ran into the next room crying like a baby, he was unmoved. He went to the bar and got drunk, then spent the night crashed on his friend Mikey’s couch, just so as to ram the message home.

Paulie thought that would do it. But, when he came back from work the next night, Ellen was waiting for him.

‘I can’t.’

She sat at the kitchen table, her hands twisted in her lap. Ellen had never defied Paulie before, but he could see instantly that she was about to now.

‘I went down there,’ she said, ‘to the clinic. And they put me on the table and poked around and I said, “I need some time to think,” and I got up and ran back here. I can’t do it.’

Ellen Kane looked sick.

‘You got pregnant on purpose,’ Paulie accused.

‘The hell I did! I don’t want another baby, either.’ Ellen turned her big green eyes towards her husband. ‘But, Paulie, you know how it is. People know I’m pregnant.’

His heart sank. ‘What people? How do they know?’

‘Mona Ruffalo. And Agnes Monticello knows. They were in the doctor’s when I got tested – congratulating me and such.’

Paulie was never going to graduate the Ivy League, but he had a good amount of native cunning. He saw immediately where this was going.

Mona and Agnes were both soldiers’ wives, part of the Italian ruling clique that controlled all the sites locally. They were fat and greasy and wore too much make-up, not like his Ellen, but their husbands were mafiosi – made men – and they gave Paulie his orders.

Crime round here ran strictly on its own morals. Steal from the poor, but never show disrespect; fuck all the whores you want, but out of sight of the family; kill husbands, brothers, sons – but don’t abort a baby.

He wasn’t Italian. He would never rise, not really. But Paulie could be one of the best-paid worker bees, somebody the boys liked to drink with, trusted and rewarded. The
famiglia
didn’t like abortion. Might give their own wives ideas.

‘We have to do it,’ Ellen said, and burst into tears.

Paulie kicked the garbage can, but made the best of it. He went to the
capo
again, explained the predicament, got a little more money and a stern shake of the head.

At least the house had three bedrooms.

‘
No more mistakes
,’ he hissed to Ellen.

The little mistake, Dina, grew unwanted and unconscious in her mother’s belly. She didn’t hear her father’s sighs of disappointment when the scans reported back that it was a girl. She didn’t hear her mother privately curse and rage at the gods because they had given her another baby.

There would be plenty of time for that once Dina kicked painfully out of the womb and tried to make herself heard in a world that wanted to ignore her.

Paul Kane stopped at a red light and glanced back at the baby. She was sleeping – that was good. He related to babies best when they were sleeping.

‘Hey, it’s not so bad,’ he said to his wife. ‘We can make the best of it, right?’

‘Right,’ Ellen said, wearily.

The first thing she’d done when she came round was ask for her purse. Inside were her birth-control pills, the ones she’d lumbered to the pharmacy to purchase last month. They said breast-feeding protects you, but Ellen wasn’t taking any chances – ever again.

She looked over at the sleeping baby and felt nothing but resentment. This one
was
going to ruin her figure, empty their bank account and keep her away from her little Johnny. Plus, the Italians always said girls were the difficult ones.

‘A girl steals her mother’s looks,
’
cackled Mary Kane, her mother-in-law. The old witch.

Ellen hoped to feel something for the baby, like she had when Johnny was born, but there was nothing. The most she could say for Dina was that labour was finally over.

‘It’s not so bad,’ she lied. ‘And the baby’s beautiful.’

That was what you were supposed to say about girl babies, even when they looked like bald pink rats, like this one.

‘She is, right?’ Paul agreed, with equal enthusiasm.

Duty done, the new parents drove home, determined to forget about Dina as much as was humanly possible.

But she
was
beautiful.

The pink rat opened her big eyes and, after a little while, a soft thatch of dark hair appeared on the bald head. Even in her Baby-gro, Dina was something special: pale skin, raven dark hair and those wide blue eyes that started to deepen to green. Ellen had green eyes too, but not like this. Dina’s were as bright as a clover field, richly coloured, striking in her soft little face. Her tiny nose was delicate and her lips were full; she was a gorgeous little baby.

Ellen enjoyed the compliments at first. Even if she didn’t have those maternal feelings, nobody needed to know. She cuddled and kissed Dina and pushed her in her chair alongside little toddler Johnny, and everybody congratulated her on her ‘beautiful family’. Johnny was the only one to truly love Dina, not that she understood it yet. He would stand for hours over her bouncer, trying to interest his sister in a threadbare stuffed dog or his old set of plastic keys. Dina loved Johnny back, and smiled and laughed whenever he was around – a little chortling baby laugh that even Ellen thought was cute. Dina kept Johnny quiet, so that was another plus for her.
Best toy ever
, Ellen thought to herself.

Dina was given her brother’s stuff, even a navy blue romper suit with an anchor print. She looked good in everything.

Paulie went back to being ignorant. He couldn’t worry about the home fires. The mortgage was a struggle, and the building trade wasn’t going so well. There were extra jobs, moonlighting. He didn’t want to hear his wife’s complaints.

As Dina grew, her beauty just increased. There were angelic brown curls when she was three, and Ellen had to put her in little dresses. Dina loved to draw, to paint, to pick out clothes – just like Momma.

Maybe it would make them closer.

But Ellen was getting older. The sparkle was draining from her eyes. She was still stylish, but fewer of Paulie’s friends ogled her when she visited the building site. He was irritable, snapping at her when he got home. More interested in dinner than sex.

And Dina grew bigger. So carefree. So pretty.

Ellen looked at her daughter resentfully.

She caused all this
.

One stupid mistake, and they were back slaving for every cent.

‘Oh, your little girl’s so pretty.’

‘What a cutie!’

‘She’s adorable. She’s a real
beauty
. Where did she get those eyes?’

Ellen would force a smile. ‘My eyes are green.’

‘But not like that,’ Tony Verzano said, admiring Dina as she romped around in her little pink dress. ‘She’s so stunning. You must be proud.’

Ellen wanted to be proud of
Ellen
. She wanted the attention, was used to it.

Why is Dina even here?

Nobody could see at night when Dina held out her little arms to her mother to be snuggled.

‘I’m busy with supper.’

‘Go get in your bath.’

‘I have to practise Johnny’s reading.’

The little girl would screw up her face and cry.

‘Stop making that racket.’ Her mother held up Rabby, Dina’s favourite stuffed rabbit. ‘If you don’t behave, I’m throwing him in the trash.’

Dina’s round mouth opened wider with horror. She lowered her arms from her mother and stumbled closer to save Rabby.

Ellen threw the toy at her. ‘Behave, Dina. Go and be quiet.’

Clutching the rabbit to herself, little Dina Kane went to her tiny room to look at picture books and be quiet. She had dollies there – Daddy liked to buy her dollies; it assuaged some of his guilt.

She would dress the dollies up so they looked cute and stylish, like Mommy. If she was more like Mommy, perhaps Mommy and Daddy would like her.

And, meanwhile, she waited for Johnny to come back from pre-kindergarten. He always gave her a hug.

In the kitchen, Ellen Kane was cooking, whistling to herself to drown out the sounds of Dina’s stifled sobs. But that girl was always there, hanging around like a ghost. Dina Kane was always a problem.

Chapter Two

‘This is an excellent piece of work.’

Peter MacAllister handed the term paper back to Dina Kane. His eyes met those startling green ones, fringed with the thick black lashes.

‘Thank you, Mr MacAllister.’

She smiled, and it was like the whole classroom lit up.

At sixteen, Dina had legs that went on for days. She had pale skin that never seemed to catch the sun, but that just played up the raven hair and bright green eyes. Her face was almost pre-Raphaelite with an even nose and full lips.

Peter MacAllister realised he was staring.

‘You have an excellent grasp of algebra,’ he blurted out. ‘Have you thought about pursuing math later? At college?’

The green eyes clouded.

‘I’m not sure about college, Mr MacAllister. We can’t afford it.’

‘Really? Surely your mother has money?’

‘She needs all she’s got,’ Dina said, defensively. ‘My mom works so hard.’

Her teacher hesitated. Perhaps he should drop it. But Dina Kane
deserved
to go to college. She was the one really motivated, driven student he had in his entire class.

Eastchester public schools didn’t send many to the Ivy League. They were underfunded and overcrowded. Dina was different. From her first days, the teachers had marked her out. Eager to please, to be liked, she sought more from them. She worked incredibly hard, always looking for approval, and she was bright – intensely so. She had a particular gift for creative writing, math and chemistry. Dina loved mixing up potions and experimenting; her enthusiasm was a bright spot in a room full of sullen, resentful pupils.