Dina Santorelli (7 page)

"I'd
have it no other way." Mrs. Lapinski sat down on the leather bench, satisfied.
She inched up the bottom of her skirt to cross her legs and picked up the
newspaper.

The
front door jingled again, and Nada walked in carrying coffee. Reynaldo pointed
to the clock.

"I
know, I know. It's your brother's fault. He kept me up half the night. I fell
asleep in my car listening to the radio on my break."

"You
loved it." Ricardo reached for Nada across the counter.

"
Basta
,
Ricky! Get to work, please." Reynaldo grabbed Mrs. Lapinski's keys and pushed
Pedro into the garage ahead of him as Nada took his place behind the counter.
"Nada, please offer Mrs. Lapinski some coffee."

"I
know
that
..." Nada rolled her eyes.

Reynaldo
made his way to the front of the service station, followed by Pedro. "You know,
Rey, you don't look good." The two got into Mrs. Lapinski's car.

"No?"
Reynaldo started the engine.

"Why
don't you go get something to eat when you're done? Take Nada with you."

"Nada?"

"
Sí
,
you both have to eat. She's a girl. You're a boy. It might do you some good."

Reynaldo
pulled the car into the garage. "You think Ricardo would like that?"

"He
wouldn't mind."

"¿
De
verdad? Gracias, pero no
."

As Reynaldo
opened the car door, Pedro grabbed his arm. "Okay. Actually, Maria is supposed
to be coming by this evening, and Ricardo was hoping you could... I don't
know, send Nada on an errand or something?"

"Ah,
I see." Reynaldo took Pedro's hand off his arm. "Listen, little
hermano
,
don't worry about me. I'm fine. And tell Ricardo to fix his own women problems."

Reynaldo
got out and returned to the office, brushing past Ricardo, who ran over to
Pedro.

"So?"
Ricardo asked, sticking his head inside the passenger's-side window.

"He
said no," Pedro said.

"
Ay
,
no!" Ricardo put his head into his hands.

"He
said to fix your own problems."

"
Ay
,
no! Why doesn't he want to go with Nada? She doesn't have much to say. He won't
have to talk."

"I'll
go with Nada," Pedro said, smiling.

Ricardo
put his brother into a playful choke hold and wrestled him out of Mrs.
Lapinski's car and onto the hood until Reynaldo yelled at them from the office.

"
¡Sí,
jefe!"
Ricardo called out, releasing Pedro with a final shove.

"Why
can Rey go and not me, eh?" Pedro rubbed his neck.

"
Porque
,"
Ricardo said. "Just
porque
."

Reynaldo
returned to the garage with a pair of gloves.

"Rey?"
Ricardo clasped his hands together as if in prayer.

"No,"
Reynaldo said. He pushed a few buttons on the wall, and Mrs. Lapinski's car
elevated.

"You
don't know what I was going to say."

"You
always say the same thing." Reynaldo pulled the oil-recycling container out
from behind a garbage pail and swung it under the car.

"What?
I do not."

"
Sí
,
you do. You ask me to clean up your messes." Reynaldo pulled open a drawer and
rummaged through a pile of tools. Exasperated, he threw up his hands. "Where is
the oil-filter wrench?"

"Right
here." Ricardo held out his hand; the wrench dangled from his middle finger.
Reynaldo grabbed it, stepped under the car, and went to work on the drain plug.

Pedro
looked concerned. "Rey, are you okay?"

"I
think that bump on the head shook up his brains." Ricardo said, returning to
the office.

Pedro
stepped closer, leaning his arm across the bottom of the car. "Really, Rey, is
something wrong?"

Reynaldo
shook his head. "No, I'm all right. Just tired, I guess," he said as a long,
smooth line of black oil poured between them.

Bailino pushed open the newly
painted door, and powerful wails pierced through Jamie's body. Inside the
narrow, windowless room, lit only by a small floor lamp in the far corner, a
tiny, naked body was sprawled upon a table, kicking her feet wearily into the
air. Her pale, almost white skin was covered with large red blotches, mostly on
her cheeks and legs, and her puffy eyes were small slits of blue and white that
were hidden behind long strands of wet, curly blonde hair.

Jamie
stopped at the sight of the child, but felt a large push on the small of her
back and stumbled forward. Her sudden movement into the room startled the
little girl, who turned in Jamie's direction and fixed her eyes upon her. For a
moment, the crying stopped.

"MaBa,
MaBa," the little girl said to Jamie in between large heaves that shook her
entire body.

"What?"
Jamie asked. Her own voice seemed inaudible to her.

The
little girl's swollen lips quivered, and it wasn't until Jamie got a little
closer that she realized that the child was shivering. There were goose bumps
across her arms and legs, and her tiny hands were blue.

"Ma
... Ba..." the child said again, her breath slowing and her eyes drooping as
she used her hands to prop herself up, teetering on the table from side to side
as if exhausted.

Jamie
lurched forward, scooping up the little girl, who looked around the room as if
she were seeing it for the first time. Her eyes blinked, and two long tears
dropped to her cheeks. Jamie ran her hands along the sides of her arms to help
soothe the goose bumps. The red patches felt warm to the touch as her palms
grazed over them, and the child lay limp in her arms. Every few seconds, her
body shook and then would relax again, and she leaned her head on Jamie's
shoulder, her right hand reaching up to grab at her hair.

There
was movement at the far side of the room, and Jamie discovered a man that she
hadn't seen before standing in the darkness. The other men crowded the doorway
behind her and appeared as shadows formed by the sunlight coming in from the
windows of the outer rooms. She took off the jacket that Bailino had placed on
her shoulders, wrapped it around the little girl almost like a swaddle, her
dangling feet now tucked in, and buried her head into the little girl's neck,
breathing onto it in an effort to keep her warm. Snot dripped onto Jamie's
shirt from the child's nose, but her breathing had become even. Without
realizing it, Jamie rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet.

"Why
the fuck is the kid naked, Tony?"

Leo's
acerbic tongue cut through the silence.

"She
started cryin', and I didn't know what the fuck to do," Tony said.

The
baby picked her head up dizzily at the sound of the talking voices, but then
rubbed her runny nose on Jamie's shirt and lay back down on the wet spot.

"So
you take off her clothes?" Leo mocked.

"I
thought maybe she needed a diaper, but I couldn't figure out how to get the
fuckin' thing on, and what's-her-face was no help."

"Where
is she?" Bailino asked. Jamie could feel Bailino standing behind her and that
he was very close.

"In
the closet," the man said. "She told me to go fuck myself."

"So,"
Leo said. "Did you, Tony? Fuck yourself?" The driver snickered.

"She
locked herself in the utility closet. I shoved a chair under the knob and
figured she ain't goin' anywhere, so I let her stay in there and thought I'd
try to get the kid to stop cryin'."

"She's
not crying now, is she?" Bailino asked.

Jamie
could feel the eyes of all the men on her.

"Who's
this?" Tony asked, eyeing Jamie.

Bailino
ignored the question and left the room. After a few long seconds, Leo spoke.

"Nice
ass, huh?"

"Shut
the fuck up, Leo," whispered the driver.

"I'm
just sayin' the girl has a nice ass, Benny, that's all. I'm dreamin' in my mind
of how that ass would look in front of my cock."

"That's
all you'll be doing is dreamin'," said Tony.

"Who
the fuck asked you?"

There
was a knock, and for a brief moment Jamie felt her body straighten at the hope
that she would be rescued, that the limousine had been followed, and that she
and this unknown little girl would make it out of this thing. But as she heard
the knock again, Jamie saw through the open door that the sound was coming from
Bailino, who was tapping on another door across the basement floor.

"C'mon,
open up." Bailino had removed the chair that had been wedged under the knob and
was talking in a soft voice into the wood of the door.

The
men in the dark room gathered around the doorframe to watch. As Leo moved
closer, the cuff link of his suit sleeve scraped Jamie's arm; she leaned in the
other direction.

Bailino
put his hands on his hips and spoke once again to the closet door, his voice
growing tetchy. "Let's go, open the door," he said.

Nothing.

Bailino
reached into his pocket and took out a set of keys. He stuck one into the
keyhole, and as he whipped open the door, a vacuum-cleaner accessory
boomeranged out of the closet, nearly hitting him in the head.

"Stay
the fuck away from me," hissed a female voice from the closet.

Bailino
charged inside as violent shrieks reverberated through the house, causing the
baby to jolt awake in Jamie's arms and to scream again.

"Shut
that fuckin' kid up," Leo said.

Jamie
pressed the child's head to her shoulder so that her right ear was covered and
then cupped her left hand over the baby's other ear. She kissed her warm cheeks
and rocked her again as she watched in horror as Bailino came out from the
closet dragging a woman along by the hair and holding a rake in his other hand.

The
woman's voice became a shrill, constant scream as Bailino yanked her across the
floor, her long legs sprawled out under her, unable to find traction. As she
raised her head to bite Bailino's legs, Jamie noticed her face: She was a bit
older than her long blonde hair implied—her features were weathered, and there
were deep grooves across her forehead—but she had pretty, petite features, or
Jamie imagined she once did. Her tanned arms grabbed at the air, and all the
while Bailino said nothing and walked across the room as if he were pushing a
lawn mower leisurely across a front yard. He threw her to the ground, and as
she crawled toward the stairs, Bailino raised the rake up into the air and
heaved it down upon her head.

Jamie
gave a small, muffled yelp as blood spattered across the room. She could feel
urine dribbling onto her underwear and down her leg. With that one blow, the
tall, lean woman remained motionless on the floor, but Bailino continued to
strike until her skull cracked open and her face was no longer recognizable.

Satisfied,
Bailino motioned to the men. "Come with me." He stopped the tall, quiet kid
with his hand. "Joey, watch her, yeah?" Bailino said, pointing to Jamie. The
young man nodded and returned to his place outside the doorway.

"You're
leaving Joey with her?" Leo asked, pulling the blonde woman's body to the
corner of the room by her arms, while Tony threw a large blanket on the ground.
Not a word of instruction passed between any of the men, who performed as if
having done this routine many times before. The driver, Benny, rolled the woman
on top of the blanket as Leo and Tony held the corners to keep them from
bunching up. Then the woman who had fought for her life just moments before lay
compliant and quiet as they tossed the ends of the blanket over her and wrapped
her with twine. Bailino stood supervising, lost in thought, and then as if
remembering Leo's question, glanced at Jamie.

"She's
not going anywhere," Bailino said. A small smile curved up his lips, the same
smile that Jamie had seen at Bryant Park, as the four men hoisted the woman's
body up and across the room toward the front staircase.

Bailino
had spoken with a certainty and self-assurance that reminded Jamie of Bob, who
liked to offer his opinion on what Jamie was capable and not capable of doing.
She remembered how every fiber in her being would want to prove him wrong, to
vault over his wall of denial and defy his expectations. But as she stood there
in the dark room with the sleeping child in her arms, she knew in her heart
that Bailino was right: She wasn't going anywhere.

The low whirr of the ceiling
fan always filled Reynaldo with sadness. The metal blades sliced through the
dusky air with cruel efficiency, frightening the dust out from its hiding spots
and into the darker sections of the empty living room, and blowing the top of
Reynaldo's curly graying bangs away from his forehead. From the worn couch,
Reynaldo stared up, his hands folded behind his head, watching the blades go
round and round. How many times had he lay in this very spot in the past
forty-two years, he wondered. When he was a boy, his little legs were too short
to reach the third cushion of the couch, but now his feet dangled off its side.
He straightened his legs and pointed his toes as far as he could, scraping the
edge of the wall unit with the top of his big toe. Yes, he had gotten bigger.
But had he grown?

From
here, Reynaldo could survey all areas of the main floor of his home—the dining
room, kitchen, front door, staircase—while watching television, if he chose to.
Right now, the set was off; the screen was coated in a thin layer of dust in
which Ricardo had etched the word
jode
with his finger the last time he
had come over, which was Christmas. In the early days, there had always been
something going on in the house—people coming and going with trays of food; his
brothers sneaking this way and that, pulling one girl or another; his mother
having coffee with the neighborhood women; his father snoring on the recliner.
Reynaldo was ten years old when his grandmother fell ill and came to live with
them, and he gave up his bedroom so that she had a place to sleep, making him a
hero among his family members, his mother in particular. But for Reynaldo it
was a dream come true to be able to sleep in his favorite place, on this couch,
and even after his grandmother passed away, he never went back to his bed.