Fairytales (15 page)

“Oh, are you really … well, let me tell you, Roberto is a very, very sensitive boy who has a whole set of ideals you don’t understand.”

“And what you don’t understand is he’s turning into a radical, a Commie radical.”

“How dare you say that about your own son?”

“My God, are you so blind or deaf you didn’t hear or see what happened?”

“I heard and I saw … and it’s nothin’ but a phase that all children go through. Where’s your understandin’?”

“I understand that the others aren’t like that. Now, how do you account for that?”

“It’s because you want to think of them as livin’ in your image, followin’ in your footsteps … that’s why you can’t believe one of
your
sons could be a free, independent soul.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Catherine, wake up, that boy’s becoming a nutty radical.”

“No, he’s not.”

“Okay, Catherine, if that’s what you want to believe, okay …”

“Well, I have a deeper perception … a more esthetic value of sensitivity than you do.”

“Fine … fine, but I’m warning you, if we don’t try and straighten him out, I’m afraid to think of what he’s going to become.”

“Well, I can tell you what he’s gonna become … an artist of whom I’m gonna be very, very proud.”

“Then, you don’t think anything’s wrong in his reactions.”

“No, I don’t.”

“And you’re not going to try and help straighten him out?”

“There’s nothin’ to straighten out… he’s an individualist who’s got to have room to breathe and I’m gonna give him that room.”

Dominic shook his head. “Alright, fine, but I’m going to try to talk some sense into him. At least, I won’t have a guilty conscience.”

“You listen to me, Dominic. If you do one thing to destroy his ideals, I’ll fight you tooth and nail.”

He glared at Catherine. Angrily he said, “Okay … Now, if you don’t mind, since this is Sunday, I’m going to see my mother.”

“Fine … be sure and give her my love.”

He stopped the car, got out at the first telephone booth he came to and called Victoria. Thank God, she was home. He heard her say, “Hello?”

“Darling, how good you sound.”

“Oh, Dominic, I’m so happy you’re back.”

“That makes two of us. Are you busy?”

“Never, not for you.”

“I’m coming over.”

“I can hardly wait.”

When he let himself in, Victoria ran to his waiting arms. “Oh, God, how good you feel,” he said, kissing her on the neck, her lips, her face.

“Darling, I’ve missed you so,” she said, barely able to catch her breath, “it seems like you’ve been away forever.”

“I have been.” Then with the greatest urgency, they made love … violently, greedily, then tenderly, and then quietly until all the need was spent and they lay there in each other’s embrace.

Dominic broke the silence, “Sweetheart, I have to go back to Chicago in ten days on that same case, and this time, come hell or high water, you’re going too.”

“Did you clear it with the board of directors?”

“Yes.” He laughed. “I don’t think the board of directors is about to ask again in a damned big hurry.” Momentarily he remembered Florence and next summer, but pushed it aside, refusing to dwell on that. When the time came, he’d face it.

In the month that followed life took on a pattern for Victoria and Dominic, accepting those moments together as the most special, important things they had. Whenever it was possible for Victoria to leave her practice, she went with Dominic. It was those times that compensated for the loneliness which, naturally, she felt, but life and love was good between them, so that even during the absences Victoria tried to hold close to her heart the souvenirs of their last encounter. And the memories did sustain her. But—then the months slipped away and it was June once again, and when it came time to tell Victoria why he had to go to Florence, she was shaken. No matter how logically one accepted things, when it came to affairs of the heart, it wasn’t simple to be completely reconciled in situations without regret. However, she said her good-byes with as little outward display of emotion as possible, which was far from what she felt. And then in the month that Dominic was away she tried to involve herself in work even more than usual and accepted every invitation. She called friends whom she had neglected for some time, played bridge, went to the symphony … anything to try and keep her equilibrium, but the most difficult times were those moments when Dominic called via long distance or sent letters which she read over and over, crying all the while.

As for Dominic, he tried speaking to Bobby, father to son, patiently, trying to reach him, but in the end doubted it did any good. Catherine, on the other hand, felt Dominic was merely confusing a young boy of sixteen, trying to turn his mind around to Dominic’s ways of thinking.

After remaining in Florence for a week, they left Bobby in the care of the great Segetti, much to Bobby’s relief, and flew to Rome.

As Dominic lay in his bed, he thought life is like one great big boomerang. What he had done to Catherine in Chicago was coming home to roost. He was completely miserable with her. She had him in a position where there was no compromise. He wasn’t tired, he had no clients and he had no excuses. As for the days, Catherine shopped like the Italian lira was going out of style and Dominic sat on the Via Veneto, sipping campari, watching the Fiats go by.

Finally, the two weeks slipped by, all too slowly, but Dominic’s reprieve was almost at an end. A week in Paris was all that had to be endured and there it didn’t seem too bad. They spent a great deal of time with an old classmate of Dominic’s from Harvard who was practicing international law. The Rossi’s were wined and dined royally. In fact, the Herbert Hills (formerly of Great Neck, Long Island) thought Catherine was positively charming, stunning and so stimulating with her knowledge of art. They found it almost unbelievable that Catherine had seven children … imagine, someone as diminutive. Catherine adored the attention, but sitting on the plane going home, she said to Dominic, “I swear, your friends are the most borin’ people I even met… you’d think with all the culture they’d been privileged to they’d be more sophisticated.”

“You certainly seemed to enjoy them.”

“Well, I had to give that impression … after all, Dominic, they’re
your
friends.”

“Really? Well, I’ll be a little more careful next time I subject you to such an ordeal.”

“Now, Dominic, that’s just downright sarcastic and you know it.”

“No, Catherine, I mean it. Someone who has your background and knowledge of the finer things shouldn’t have to be with such plebeian people.”

“Why is it, Dominic, you never seem to agree with anything I say?”

“But I am agreeing with you. If you feel they’re boring, that’s your privilege.”

“Thanks a lot, Dominic … knowin’, of course, you don’t mean it. I know you found Gloria Hill most impressive.”

“Well … yes, I do think she’s a very gracious lady.”

“And pretty too?”

“Umm … yes, in her way.”

“Well, I thought she was absolutely drab.”

Grateful beyond belief to American Air Lines—like an angel sent from heaven, the stewardess interrupted their conversation and asked, “What will you and Mrs. Rossi have to drink?”

“Catherine?”

“I think I’ll have a campari over ice.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Rossi, and you, sir?”

“I’ll have a double bourbon on the rocks.”

“Thank you,” she said and proceeded down the aisle.

Dominic turned the newspaper to the financial section. Catherine interrupted, “Dominic?”

“Yes,” he answered, still scanning the columns.

“I wonder how she knew our names?”

“Who?”

“The stewardess, naturally.”

“I suppose because we’re in first class,” he answered vaguely.

“I’m not so sure of that,” Catherine pursued.

“Is that so?” he continued.

“No. I think it’s because your picture is in the papers so often. Winnin’ all those big injunctions. That last one in Chicago was news, I’ll tell you. The San Francisco
Call-Bulletin
said it was the largest fee an attorney had ever received.”

“Did they really?” he mouthed, scarcely listening.

“They did indeed. That must make you very proud.”

“Huh … very.”

“You can imagine my pride.”

“I can imagine.”

“Dominic?”

“Yes …?”

“Don’t you get lonesome when you’re away?”

“Of course.” … Let’s see, Standard Oil was up two points … and R.C.A… down to … umm …

“What you do with your free time?”

“What … ?”

“You’re not listenin’.”

Poising his finger on the stock he was about to explore, he looked at Catherine. Quickly, his mind clicked … was she interrogating him, trying to be subtle … did she have any idea at all about Victoria making that trip with him? “I’m listening,” he answered, taking a large swallow of the bourbon.

“What did I say then?”

From the valley of his mind, he called up the vestige of her former question. “You asked about my free time.”

“Yes.”

“Well, as you know from being with me in Chicago, I don’t have much of that, remember?”

“You bet, I do … but for heaven’s sake, Dominic, it’s like livin’ in a monastery.”

“To a degree … yes.”

There was silence, thank God, but somehow Dominic had the feeling it wouldn’t last forever. He could almost feel the wheels turning in Catherine’s mind and he was right. She asked, “Dominic, tell me the truth … now be honest … I’m just askin’ … don’t you ever get the urge to have a little hanky-panky?”

Goddamn it. He was almost sure she suspected something. If only he could see inside that little mind. She’s never questioned him quite this way before. May God forgive me … he answered evenly, although his pulse was racing a little too rapidly, “No … never.”

“Never? … never even thought about it?”

“No, Catherine, never … my work is too consuming and demanding.”

“Oh … ? Now, forgive me, Dominic. I don’t mean this in a derogatory way, but I had the feelin’ you thought Gloria Hill was a terribly attractive woman.”

Oh boy … “I think she’s a very nice woman.”

“I didn’t ask that. I said attractive … didn’t you think so?”

“I didn’t think about it.”

“Oh, come on, Dominic … you got eyes … you must’ve thought somethin’.”

“Catherine, I’ve already told you.”

“I know, but somehow I don’t believe you didn’t notice her. You were so friendly.”

“For Pete’s sake, she’s the wife of a dear and old friend. What did you want me to be, cold and aloof?”

“Why is it, Dominic, you always have to get so angry?”

“Why do you always have to make a mountain out of a molehill?”

“That’s kind of funny …”

“What’s so amusing?”

“The play on words.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Molehill… Gloria Mole Hill.”

Catherine laughed but Dominic shook his head, “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to say what you thought.”

“I thought Gloria Mole Hill was gorgeous… like Gina Lollobrigida … satisfied?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“You wouldn’t, huh?”

“No … I think she was most drab and unattractive, and terribly fortunate to have such a handsome husband who seems to adore her.”

“Yeah … well, I guess some people are more blessed than others.”

“That’s right, Dominic, you hit it right on the button. It seems the dear Lord is a little partial, givin’ some people so much and others so little. I wonder why?”

“You’ll have to ask him.” Dominic released the back of his seat so that it tilted, shut his eyes and pretended to sleep.

D
OMINIC HAD NEVER LOVED
San Francisco quite as much as he did at this moment, in spite of the fact he had been born and raised here, knew every street and alley from North Beach to Pacific Heights. It was like coming home to the arms of a beautiful woman. A woman as beautiful and warm as Victoria. Their first meeting after the long absence went beyond anything either of them could have imagined.

“I thought about you constantly,” Dominic said later, holding her in his arms.

“And I tried not thinking about you, but it was impossible.”

“Strange … when I’m here with you like this it seems we’ve never been apart.”

“That’s true, Dominic.”

“The trip was miserable.”

“Did things work out with Bobby?”

“I doubt it… I have the feeling he’s lost.”

“Maybe not, Dominic, after all, he’s only sixteen. You can hardly write him off as a failure.”

“I’m not so sure. The trouble is, he’s encouraged to be a bum.”

“Dominic, do you think that’s fair?”

“You sound like Catherine … please forgive me. What I mean is, she encourages him.”

“Darling, is it possible she does see something in him that you’re missing?”

“I don’t know … possibly, but I don’t have to pretend with you. I think Bobby’s never going to amount to anything.”

“He did want to go to Florence to study. That counts for something.”

“No, I don’t see it that way. I think it’s an excuse to leave home.”

“Maybe not, Dominic.”

“I don’t know him too well … that’s sad, but I don’t.”

“Maybe you’re expecting too much of him.”

“Maybe … but what the hell is all the rebellion about?”

“It’s against you, obviously.”

“Against me? Why?”

“Perhaps he doesn’t think he’s able to compete.”

“Compete? Why do my sons think they have to compete?”

“Because it’s difficult to live in the shadow of someone else. I think I can identify with Bobby.”

“You can? Why’s that?”

“When I first went into law, everyone reminded me how simple it was, being L.J.’s daughter. But it wasn’t simple at all. In a sense I had more to prove because I was compelled to top him, if that’s possible, and it is a terrible burden for someone who wants to make it on their own.”

“So what are fathers supposed to do … be hod carriers?”

“Of course not, just be patient.”

“I don’t understand it.”

“I think you do, Dominic … just don’t expect them all to conform.”