Let's Stay Together (35 page)

“I’m asking
him,
” Pamela said. “He has to pay for them.”

“I have plenty of money, Mama,” Lauren said.

“Ignore her, Patrick,” Pamela said. “When?”

“Soon,” Patrick said.

“Can you afford them
and
her?” Pamela asked.

Patrick looked briefly at Lauren. “Yes and no. I am getting a ten percent raise.”

“What do you mean by ‘Yes and no,’ Patrick?” Lauren asked.

“I think I can afford the children,” Patrick said.

“Oh, that’s not fair,” Lauren said. “I’m not that high maintenance.”

“Yes, you are,” Pamela said. “So, Patrick, is work steady?”

“Yes,” Patrick said. “Those buildings and their tenants need constant attention.”

“That’s good.” Pamela yawned. “I gotta be up early. When’s your train?”

“Seven,” Patrick said.

“I’ll be gone before you get up,” Pamela said. “Lock up, okay? I don’t have much, but it’s paid for.” She stood, arched her back, and yawned again. “Patrick, you snore like a freight train.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Patrick said.

“Don’t be sorry,” Pamela said. “It reminded me of Lauren’s daddy. I slept like a baby for almost two hours. Keep it up.” She faced Lauren. “You still purr like a kitten.”

She was listening,
Lauren thought.
My mama listened to me sleep.

“I have a wedding gift for you two,” Pamela said, “but it’s not quite ready. I hope you understand. You didn’t give me any time to prepare it, you know.”

“I know,” Lauren said. “Mama, thanks for . . . everything.”

“I’ll accept that,” Pamela said. “And no note passing later tonight, okay?”

“Okay,” Lauren said.

Pamela approached Lauren, gave her a quick hug, and went down the hallway.

“So, what do you think of my mama?” Lauren asked.

“She’s probably listening,” Patrick whispered.

“You listening, Mama?” Lauren asked.

“Yes,” Pamela said. “Speak up, Patrick.”

“Go ahead,” Lauren said.

“Your mama is the nicest person I have ever met and will probably ever meet in my entire life,” Patrick said. “I can see where you got your beauty, charm, and grace.”

“Hear that, Mama?” Lauren said.

“Yes, and it is the truth,” Pamela said. “Good night.”

Lauren sat in Patrick’s lap. “I think she likes you.”

“I’m glad she does,” Patrick whispered.

Pamela returned. “What’s that supposed to mean, Patrick?”

“I’d never want to be on your bad side, Pamela,” Patrick said.

“And that is also the truth,” Pamela said. “Good night.” She disappeared down the hallway.

“Good night, Mama,” Lauren said. She kissed Patrick’s forehead. “You done good, Mr. Esposito.”

“I did?” Patrick said. “I didn’t say much.”

“That’s what you done good,” Lauren said. “My daddy didn’t ever say much around Mama either.”

Patrick pulled her closer. “So I remind you of your daddy?”

“A little,” Lauren said. “You have the same quiet strength about you.”

“I’m not always quiet,” Patrick said.

“I know,” Lauren said. She pulled up her shirt. “I need your strength now. Massage my back, please.”

Patrick’s hot hands kneaded her lower back. “This might make you shout.”

Lauren nodded. “I want to. You know I do.”

Patrick kept massaging. “You’ll just have to show some restraint.”

“That feels so good,” Lauren said. She rested her head on his shoulder. “Do you think you could make love to me silently?”

“Nope,” Patrick said. “Never.”

“I hope I have another nasty dream tonight then,” Lauren said.

“You do?” Patrick said. “Why?”

“Because I am so horny right now,” Lauren said.

“What do you want to dream about?” Patrick whispered.

“Please don’t get me started,” Lauren whispered. “I won’t be able to sleep.”

“Tell me,” Patrick whispered.

“I’m already getting wet, Patrick,” Lauren whispered. “I want to grind on you so badly.”

“Go ahead,” Patrick whispered. “Grind away.”

She looked into his eyes. “You want me to dry hump you on my mama’s couch?”

“It will be another first for me,” Patrick whispered. “Tell me what you want to dream about.”

Lauren moved until she was straddling one of Patrick’s legs and started to grind. “You’re . . . licking me, and your tongue is so hot, while your fingers are . . .” She leaned back and closed her eyes. “They’re inside me, and . . . oh, damn.” She stopped grinding, but her body continued to shake. “What is
wrong
with me?”

“You’re coming?” Patrick whispered.

“Yes,” Lauren said. “And all I did was hump your leg.” She felt his crotch. “Are you close?”

He nodded.

She gripped his penis through his jeans. “I want this so bad.”

“I’m glad,” Patrick whispered. “Finish your dream.”

She squeezed and rubbed his crotch. “And then you put this deep inside me, and it fills me completely, and I put my feet on your shoulders. . . .”

Patrick’s body jerked. “Wow,” he whispered.

“Wow?” Lauren said. She smiled. “Wow? You come while sitting on my mama’s couch, and all you can say is, ‘Wow’?”

“We need to get back to Brooklyn,” Patrick said.

“Yes,” Lauren said. “We do, but it’s such a long train ride. Why don’t we see if we can get a room in the sleeper car?”

“Yes,” Patrick said. “Let’s get one of those, but we’re not going to sleep at all.”

Lauren shook her head. “Nope.” She smiled. “I hope it has a big window.”

“So do I,” Patrick said.

“And then people in three states can see us making love at a hundred miles per hour,” Lauren whispered.

“I want to get on that train right now,” Patrick whispered.

“So do I,” Lauren whispered. She stared into his eyes. “I love that you love making love to me.”

“And I love that
you
love that
I
love making love to you,” Patrick said.

Lauren blinked. “You should write romantic comedies with lines like those.”

“Are you having a good honeymoon, Mrs. Esposito?” Patrick asked.

Lauren curled up in his arms. “I am, Mr. Esposito. And this was only the first day. I want a lifetime honeymoon.”

“So do I.”

60

A
fter a claustrophobic lovemaking marathon on Amtrak and a long shower and nap when they returned to the apartment, Lauren and Patrick dressed in jeans, sweatshirts, boots, and heavy coats for the walk to St. Agnes.

As they slipped and slid on barely shoveled sidewalks, Patrick said, “We’re getting married for real today.”
Sort of. All Father Giovanni has to do is sign the marriage certificate.

“Are you nervous?” Lauren asked.

“No,” Patrick said, squeezing her hand. “I’m just sad we won’t have an audience. I know my mama will be there in spirit, though. She loved St. Agnes.”

They walked into St. Agnes and across tile floors under simple chandeliers to the short railing in front. A colorful painting of Christ on the back wall was illuminated by dozens of flickering candles throughout the sanctuary.

“It’s beautiful,” Lauren whispered. She looked around. “It’s not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?” Patrick asked.

“I don’t know,” Lauren said. “More ornamentation, I guess.”

“I like this church because it’s simple,” Patrick said. He nodded at the wooden benches behind them. “Those benches are not very comfortable, but then again, you’re not supposed to be comfortable in the presence of God.”

“Patrick Esposito!”

Patrick turned and saw Father Giovanni coming toward them from the back of the church. Except for the white clerical collar peeking out of a St. John’s University sweatshirt, there was nothing about him to suggest he was a priest.

“That’s him?” Lauren whispered.

“That’s Father Giovanni,” Patrick whispered.

“He’s wearing blue jeans,” Lauren whispered.

“He’s a workingman, too,” Patrick said, and he turned Lauren to greet Father Giovanni.

Father Giovanni clasped Lauren’s free hand in both of his. “This must be the bride,” he said. “Welcome, Lauren.” He then clasped Patrick’s hand. “Welcome back, Patrick.”

Patrick pulled out the marriage certificate. “We need you to sign this so we can make our marriage official.”

Father Giovanni took the certificate and smiled. “I saw your wedding. Snow instead of rice or birdseed. A much easier cleanup. I suppose it’s a little too late to give you my ‘Are you sure you want to get married?’ speech.”

Patrick nodded. “It is.”

“You obviously love each other,” Father Giovanni said. “Anyone watching you two on television would know that you two are deeply in love.”

“We are,” Lauren said.

Father Giovanni stared at the certificate. “I could sign this form and send you on your way, but Patrick’s mama would torment me for eternity if I didn’t do this properly. Let’s do this right.” He guided them to a white table crowded with golden candlesticks and an oversize Bible under the painting of Christ.

“Turn and face each other,” Father Giovanni said.

Patrick gripped Lauren’s hands. “Are you ready?”

Lauren nodded. “I’ve been ready.”

“Patrick and Lauren,” Father Giovanni said, “have you come here freely and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage?”

“Yes,” Patrick said.

“Yes,” Lauren said.

“Will you honor each other as man and wife for the rest of your lives?” Father Giovanni asked.

“Yes,” Patrick said.

“Oh yes,” Lauren said.

“Will you accept children lovingly from God and bring them up according to the law of Christ and His church?” Father Giovanni asked.

“Yes,” Patrick said.

“He said children,” Lauren said, smiling. “Yes.”

“Patrick, do you take Lauren to be your wife? Do you promise to be true to her in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love her and honor her all the days of your life?”

“I do,” Patrick said.

“Lauren, do you take Patrick to be your husband—”

“Yes,” Lauren said.

“Let me finish, Lauren,” Father Giovanni said.

“She’s a little impatient, Father,” Patrick said.

“I can see that.” He laughed. “Lauren, do you promise to be true to him in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love him and honor him all the days of your life?”

“I do.” Tears trickled out of her eyes. “I really, really do.”

“What God has joined, men must not divide,” Father Giovanni said. “And neither should reporters, photographers, exes, and
Entertainment Tonight.
You’re married.”

“That’s it?” Lauren asked.

“I could give you two a sermon,” Father Giovanni said.

“A nice long one. Something from the Old Testament.”

Lauren shook her head. “No, that’s okay. Kiss me quick, Patrick.”

Patrick kissed her quickly.

Father Giovanni signed the form. “And now it’s official. I hope to see you two in mass soon.”

“We’ll be there as often as we can,” Patrick said. “Thank you.”

“Wait,” Lauren said. “Aren’t you supposed to announce who we are now?”

“Oh, sure,” Father Giovanni said. “I now present to you Mr. and Mrs. Patrick and Lauren Esposito.”

The trio looked into the empty sanctuary.

“I could hum a recessional while you leave,” Father Giovanni said.

“That’s okay,” Lauren said.

“It would be no trouble,” Father Giovanni said.

“Okay,” Lauren said. “You can hum something.”

“Beethoven’s ‘Ode to Joy’ is a favorite recessional of mine,” Father Giovanni said. “Unless you’d like some Stevie Wonder. I will, of course, have to
sing
that one.”

“Which one?” Lauren asked.

Father Giovanni cleared his throat, smiled, and sang, “Ooh, baby, here I am, signed, sealed, delivered, I’m yours.”

Lauren laughed. “That’s perfect! Keep singing.”

While Father Giovanni of St. Agnes belted out “Signed, Sealed, Delivered I’m Yours” before an empty sanctuary, Patrick lit a candle for his mother, and Lauren lit a candle for her father.

They danced through the snow most of the way home, and they danced together daily and nightly through mid-December, because the weather, the sewer drains, the media, and the pigeons cooperated.

They also “dated” each other all over Brooklyn, ate well, and ignored any paparazzi as best they could. They went to Lucali on Henry Street in Carroll Gardens for calzone. They ate heaping plates of meatballs, artichokes, and smoked pancetta at Barboncino in Crown Heights. They watched Johnny Depp in
Black Mass
at Cobble Hill Cinemas on Court Street. They drifted hand in hand through Clover’s Fine Art Gallery and Russell Mehlman Art on Atlantic Avenue and sat in the cheap seats for a Net-Knicks game at Barclays Center. They took photos with and signed autographs for real people, and their public displays of affection and nearly ever kiss got heavy play online and in the
Post.

Over the course of a few weeks, Lauren transformed the apartment into an inviting space full of light. They found several industrial floor lamps and a two-headed table lamp at cityFoundry on Atlantic. Patrick built a custom shelving unit for the TV and two side tables, which flanked the couch. After adding two tan slipper chairs, they found moving through the apartment to be a “sideways only” proposition. Lauren hung multicolored paintings on handmade paper by Brooklyn artist Karin Batten and a framed collage called
New Growth
by Rhia Hurt. A trip to GRDN on Hoyt produced towering snake plants and flowing golden pothos vines resting in stone pots under a Rex Water Heater clock.

“Now all we need is a new tub,” Lauren said as they sat on the couch in the main room.

“I’m beginning to like that shower,” Patrick said. “I like the coziness.”

“So do I,” Lauren said, digging her toes into the blanket. “Oh, man!” she cried. “There’s something that I keep forgetting to do!”

“What?” Patrick asked.

“Promise you won’t be mad,” Lauren said.

“I won’t be mad,” Patrick said.

“Well, I’m living here, but I still have an apartment in LA,” Lauren said. “My lease is up at the end of the month, and the end of the month is almost here. I need to get out of that lease now.” She hit a series of buttons on her phone and set it on one of the side tables.

“Kingdom West Property Management,” a man said.

“This is Ricardo Campagna. How may I help you?”

“This is Lauren Esposito, and I am vacating my lease at the end of this month,” Lauren said.

“Lauren . . . oh!” Ricardo shouted. “Lauren Short! You will not be back?”

“No,” Lauren said. “I’m sure you know that I live in Brooklyn now, so I’d like you to start showing my apartment.”

“I already have been,” Ricardo said.

He’s probably giving paid tours,
Patrick thought.

“Oh, that’s good,” Lauren said. “You can keep anything in the apartment. I won’t need any of it.”

“You’re kidding,” Ricardo said.

“I’m not kidding,” Lauren said.

“Even the dresses?” Ricardo asked.

“Even the dresses,” Lauren said. “I don’t wear dresses like those anymore.”

Ricardo’s voice became a whisper. “May I have them?”

Lauren laughed. “Are you a size eight?”

“Almost,” Ricardo said.

Patrick stifled a laugh.
I thought I had heard everything. Wow.

“You can have them, Ricardo,” Lauren said. “I only wore them once or twice.”

“I will cherish them forever,” Ricardo gushed. “Thank you so much.”

“Have you done anything with my car?” Lauren asked.

“I had to have it taken away,” Ricardo said. “The seagulls were not kind. It cleaned up very nicely, though.”

“You washed it,” Lauren said.

“Oh yes,” Ricardo said. “It looks brand new now.”

“But if you took it away . . .”

“Oh, I can see why you would be confused,” Ricardo said. “I found your keys and took it away to wash it. It is such a lovely shade of green. It matches my eyes.”

Lauren’s mouth widened. “Ricardo, have you been driving my car?”

“Only for a few weeks,” Ricardo said. “It gets terrible gas mileage, but I look very good in it.”

He’s been driving her car! Now, I
have
heard everything.

“Ricardo,” Lauren said, “do you want the car, too?”

“You would give me your dresses
and
your car?” Ricardo cooed. “Oh, that would be wonderful!”

Lauren rolled her eyes. “I think the title—”

“I am looking at the title now,” Ricardo interrupted.

“You have to sign it.”

Patrick laughed loudly, mouthing, “Wow!”

“Is there someone else there?” Ricardo asked. “Is that Patrick?”

“Yes,” Lauren said.

“Hello, Patrick,” Ricardo said.

“Hey,” Patrick said.
I don’t want to talk to this guy!

“Ricardo,” Lauren said, “please send the title to me, and I’ll sign it over to you.” She gave him the address.

“This is like a dream come true,” Ricardo said. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“And you can mail my damage deposit to me with the title,” Lauren said.

“Oh, I can’t do that,” Ricardo said.

“Why not?” Lauren asked.

“You left your air-conditioning unit on, and it leaked all over the carpet,” Ricardo said.

“There is no carpet under that air conditioner,” Lauren said. “I only had carpet in my bedroom.”

“It was a very bad leak,” Ricardo said. “And the cleaning cost of the car was substantial as well.”

“The damage deposit was five hundred bucks,” Lauren said. “It cost that much to clean my car and replace a carpet?”

“I think so,” Ricardo said.

“But I am
giving
you my dresses and my car,” Lauren said.

“And I shall cherish them forever,” Ricardo said. “I will mail the title to you today.”

Lauren looked at the ceiling. “Fine, Ricardo. I’ll look for it in the mail.”

“Good-bye, Lauren,” Ricardo said, and then he hung up.

Lauren clicked off her phone. “That was very strange.”

Patrick shook his head. “I now have a better definition of the word
gall
. Wow. I’ll bet there’s nothing wrong with the carpet.”

“Probably, but it doesn’t matter anymore,” Lauren said.

“I have everything I need right here.”

“Are you sure about all this?” Patrick asked. “Your car? Your dresses?”

“They’re only clothes,” Lauren said. “And I’ll save a mint on car insurance.”

“I’m just wondering what you’ll wear here,” Patrick said.

“What I’ve been wearing,” Lauren said. “Jeans and a hoodie.”

“But . . .” Patrick sighed. “I don’t know. I thought you’d want something nicer to wear when we go out.”

“We
could
do a little shopping,” Lauren said. “For you, too.” She smiled. “I think we need to play a little dress up.” She nodded. “You and I are going to make our own style.”