The Beautiful People (24 page)

Dominic wasn’t home. It
was well after seven and I was starving. I spied the leftover chicken parm in
the fridge and snatched it up. While my dinner was heating up in the microwave
I turned on some music. Believe Me Natalie, by The Killers was on and I danced
around the island, my stomach growling louder as the microwave counted down. With
my back to the door and the music blaring, I didn’t hear Dominic come home and
I didn’t hear him walk up behind me either. When he wrapped his arms around me
I jumped and screamed. I spun around armed with my fork and when I saw it was
him, the fork clattered to the tile floor and I hugged him, giggling nervously
at my reaction. He laughed too and returned the hug.

            “Geez, I
saw my life flash before my eyes when you came at me with that fork,” he joked.

            “I’m the
fastest fork in the East.” Although the comment about his life flashing before
his eyes, even though said jokingly, reminded me of Agent Phillips warning.
Before I could dwell on it, the microwave beeped and distracted me. One thing
was for sure, my appetite had returned and with a vengeance.

Steamed poured out of
the container when I removed the lid and the chicken smelled just as delicious
as it did yesterday. “Do you want some?” I asked Dom.

            “Are you
going to share?” He teased, feigning shock.

            “No, I
changed my mind,” I crouched over the food, pretending to guard it and hissed.
Dom bent over on the counter and lost it. His deep laugh shook his entire body.
I realized how silly I must have looked and cracked up too. Soon tears were
rolling out of our eyes we were both laughing so hard.

It took a few minutes,
but we finally got a grip. “I missed you, baby,” Dom said as he joined me at
the counter to get his dinner.

            “I know I
wasn’t a barrel of laughs these past few weeks. That felt good. Somehow, I
think Brittany would have appreciated it.”

            “I think
you’re right,” Dom agreed. “She was always full of it.” He wacked my butt as he
walked behind me to go around the counter and sit at the bar. I followed and
sat next to him. We enjoyed a quiet dinner at home. I told him about my plans
to go visit my mom. He agreed that it would be good for me to go see her.   

            “You’re not
avoiding her because of how she feels about me, are you?” he asked.

            “No, that’s
not it at all. We’ve never been close, but I know I look like hell and she’ll
probably blame you. I have been putting off seeing her and delaying it is only
arousing suspicions…about you,” I paused. “Seeing her will help put those
suspicions to rest.

He took my hand in his
and kissed the top. “It’s definitely time for you to see her. What do you mean,
she has suspicions?”

I laughed nervously
before answering. “Well, she told Grant how she thinks you’re abusing me. Can
you believe that?”.

He shook his head, his
green eyes widening in disbelief. “Wow. She really thinks that?”

            “Yes,
that’s why I need to go see her. Don’t take it personally though, she would
probably be suspicious of any boyfriend of mine. The fact that you’re
technically my first serious boyfriend and I’m living with you has probably
pushed her closer to the edge.” I reassured him and tried to make light of my
mom’s crazy notions. Dominic looked down at his plate for a few minutes before
meeting my eyes. He had a strange look on his face when he finally did look up.

            “What?” I
asked.

            “Should I
come with you? Or maybe she should come here and stay with us for a few days?
She’ll see that I’m not beating you or anything like that.”

            “Babe,
please don’t worry. Grant and I will work things out. If not, we’ll consider
your ideas as a Plan B, okay?

            “I do
worry. I want your mom to know me for who I am so she doesn’t feel the need to
make these assumptions. If this weekend doesn’t work, then let’s have her down
to stay with us.” It was so sweet that he really seemed to be bothered my Mom’s
mania. I leaned over and pressed my lips to his.

            “Ok, that
sounds reasonable,” I said, but knew deep down I was going to keep her far away
from Philadelphia and the risk of being caught in the middle of a mafia
showdown.

Grant and I drove to
York together. The day was overcast and reflective of my mood. The enthusiasm I
had once felt of seeing my mom had since waned. I had wanted to see her, but
was worried that she would see right through me and know the secrets I’ve been
keeping. She possessed an uncanny intuitiveness and it wouldn’t surprise me if
she really knew about the antics I had been involved during high school and
college. She didn’t let on that she knew, but was probably waiting for the day
to use that knowledge as leverage.

She wouldn’t let my
appearance go unnoticed, that I knew for certain. I’ve always maintained a
healthy weight, despite my voracious appetite, but that never satisfied my
mother – she always thought I could stand to lose a few pounds.

My appetite had
returned to somewhat normal and I had managed to gain back some of the weight I
had lost, but not all. I still looked gaunt. As we pulled into the driveway I
flipped down the visor to inspect myself in the mirror. My eyes were still a
little hollow. I pinched my cheeks to restore a healthy flush.  I fluffed my hair
and pulled it forwards to disguise my collarbone, which was protruding more
than usual. Satisfied, I flipped the visor back up and saw my mom standing in
the front doorway waiting for us.

Our childhood home was
a small ranch with a patch of grass out front and a somewhat larger patch made
up the backyard. The neighborhood was considered working class and nothing to
brag about. It was a modest home and the best a single mother of two could
provide. Grant’s Lexus looked out of place in the driveway. I noticed the paint
was beginning to peel and flake off in chunks. One of the shutters around the
exterior of the living room window hung askew. I felt a twinge of guilt seeing
the house under such disrepair.

            “Grant,
maybe we should pitch in together and pay for a paint job?” Between the two of
us and the money we earned at Crimson, we could easily afford to do that for
her.

            “Yes, and
I’ll fix that shutter this weekend.” Feeling better, we both got out of the car
and grabbed our overnight bags from the trunk. I could already feel my mom’s
eyes inspecting me from head to toe. Her eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips
as she completed her inspection. I inhaled deeply and made my way up the front
walkway behind Grant.

            “Hi Mom,
it’s good to see you!” Grant and I said, almost in unison. Grant kissed her
cheek and went into the house. I hugged her with my free arm, we were the same
height and our cheeks pressed together. When we separated, she looked me over
more closely – much like Dominic’s Aunt Gloria. For the first time in my life,
my mom declared me too thin.

            “You need
to take better care of yourself.”

            “I am Mom,”
I insisted. “I’ve been through a rough patch lately, but I’m turning things
around.”

            “Trouble in
paradise?” she asked with her right eyebrow raised.

            “No,
nothing like that. One of my friends and co-workers at Crimson committed
suicide two weeks ago.”

            “Oh, I’m
sorry Natalie,” she gasped, softening her tone. “I didn’t know…that’s awful!
Were you close?”

            “Yes we
were – especially the past couple of months.” I didn’t want to tell her about
the experience that had bonded us together. Images from that night briefly
surfaced before I tucked them away in my sub-conscious again. I winced in pain
at the recall. My mom put her arm around me in a comforting gesture and we
walked into the house together. Our two frames side by side were small enough
to fit through the doorway. The door led directly into the living room, which
looked exactly the same as it had since I was in elementary school. The
furniture, meticulously maintained, looked maybe five years old, not close to
fifteen. My mom went into the kitchen to stir the chili that was simmering on
the stove and I walked down the short hallway to my childhood bedroom, which
was like stepping back in time to my high school days. The room was unchanged
and many of my paintings still hung on the walls. The bulletin board above my
desk was covered with concert ticket stubs for my favorite bands and pictures
of my friends, mainly of me and Chelsea. A group prom picture showed me with
all of my friends, our faces clean and pure – all innocence and excitement for
the future – unaware of what the real world had in store for us. I set my bag
on my bed, which was covered in the pink bedspread I picked out when I was fourteen,
and left the room unable to look at my past anymore. Already the house was
having its suffocating effect on me.

Grant was outside
fixing the shutter so I hung out with him until he was done. There were no
other tasks to attend to outside and we went back inside.

            “Mom how
long until dinner is ready?” I asked as I walked into the kitchen. She was
making cornbread.

            “About 45
minutes,” she answered.

            “I’m going
for a run then,” I announced and grabbed a banana out of the fruit bowl that
was a constant fixture on the counter. A run would help kill time and get me
out of the house.

It felt weird running
down the familiar streets of my hometown. My feet took the old route as if on
auto pilot and the routine was oddly comforting. Not much had changed since I
had last been home for Christmas. A couple cars honked at me as they drove by –
probably friend’s parents or high school teachers that recognized me.                

The last time that I
had gone for a run was the day of my assault and after two miles I was winded,
so I turned back to head home. A cramp seized up my right side and I slowed to
walk it out. As I walked past the grocery store someone started waving at me
from the parking lot. It was Chelsea’s mom. Not wanting to be rude, I made my
way over to where she was loading up groceries into the back of a mini van. The
back was already stuffed with bags and this wasn’t surprising. The Thompson
household still had six mouths to feed, even though Chelsea and her older
brother, Jon, had already moved out.

            “Hi Mrs. Thompson,”
I said as I reached the grocery cart.

            “Natalie!”
Dropping a bag back into the cart, she pulled me into a suffocating hug.
Growing up Mrs. Thompson was like my second mom and I was considered another
member of the family. “What’s one more?” she would always joke – referencing
her brood of three sons and three daughters. Chelsea’s dad didn’t seem to mind
one more in the mix either.

It had been a long time
since I felt the comforting squeeze of Mrs. Thomson’s hug and it felt good. I
couldn’t prevent the tears that sprang into my eyes. I pulled away and wiped them
away, embarrassed at the sudden display of emotion.

Mrs. Thompson looked at
me with concern. “Honey, what’s wrong?” she asked.

            “I forgot
how good your hugs are,” I admitted. “I didn’t realize how badly I needed one.”
Chelsea’s mom looked me over.

            “You look
terrible honey. Have you been eating?” she asked, reminding me once again of
Aunt Gloria.

            “I know.
I’m working on it. How’s Chelsea?” I asked, hoping to distract her. It worked.

            “Chelsea is
doing just great! She is back from Italy and got a job in L.A. Can you believe
it?” she gushed.

            “That’s
great,” I said and felt a twinge of jealousy. Chelsea was off pursuing her
dreams and I was stuck, unable to move forward.

            “You two
really need to work whatever happened between you out. You’ve been friends too
long to let a silly boy get in the way,” she admonished. If only she knew it
was more than a silly little boy, but she was right. We had been friends too
long and I missed Chelsea. The more involved I became with Dominic and the
mafia lifestyle, I had lost touch with most of my friends. It was like my
former life was being swallowed up by my new one.

Chelsea’s mom was
fishing around in her cavernous purse for something. A few seconds later she
pulled out a business card and handed it to me. “This is Chelsea’s business
card. All of her contact information is on there. Now I know you both are
extremely stubborn, but one of you needs to reach out and make amends. Please
don’t let your friendship go to waste.”

I accepted the card and
tucked it underneath the strap of my sports bra as I didn’t have any pockets.  “I’ll
try, but I don’t know if the damage can be repaired.”

            “It can,
just try,” she said as she hugged me again. “And please take care of yourself.”
I squeezed back as hard as I could. Her hug felt like a mom’s hug should feel
like – not hard and awkward like the ones I got from my mom.

I continued on my run
and waved at the blue mini van as it drove past. Mrs. Thompson honked and waved
back.

 All the small talk had
been exhausted so Mom, Grant and I sat around the dinette table in silence
eating chili and cornbread. Grant fidgeted with his spoon and this did not go
unnoticed by my mom.

            “Grant,
can’t you sit still?” she snapped. He set the spoon down on the plate
underneath his bowl.

            “Sorry,” he
paused. “I need to make an announcement.” I dropped my spoon in my bowl of
chili and looked up at him, wondering what he was about to say.

            “I’m going
to ask Miranda to marry me.”  My stomach dropped and I felt a sudden,
overwhelming need to throw up. I excused myself and ran to the bathroom. The
chili came up faster than it went down. As I leaned against the bathtub with my
head on the toilet seat, I could hear my mom congratulating Grant insincerely
and asking him if he was ready to take this next step.

            “I am. I
want to spend the rest of my life with her,” he stated. Another wave of nausea
hit and I clung to the toilet bowl as I heaved again.

When there wasn’t
anything left to throw up, I splashed cold water on my face, washed my hands
and opened the bathroom door. Grant was leaning against the wall directly
across from the bathroom. I could hear dishes clanging in the kitchen as our mom
cleaned up.

            “That
wasn’t exactly the reaction I expected,” he said.

            “Marriage,
Grant? Are you ready to marry a mafia princess? Have you really thought about
what you’re committing to?” I hissed so our mom wouldn’t hear.

Grant grabbed my arm by
the elbow, steering me into his bedroom and shut the door. “I have thought
about it. First of all, I do love Miranda. Secondly, marrying the boss’
daughter not only guarantees me a position in the family, but our safety. If this
is the life we are going to live, we might as well be happy.”

It wasn’t too long ago
when I had similar thoughts. Grant was willing to commit to the mafia life one
hundred percent and this made me realize that I wanted more out of life. There
was finality to his decision - like a nail in his coffin.

            “You know
it wouldn’t surprise me if Dom asks you the same question soon,” he said. Fear
and panic hit like a wave crashing over me and sent me running back to the
bathroom. Grant’s laughter followed me down the hall. He probably chalked my
reaction up to commitment phobia.

Miranda walked down the
aisle on Marco’s arm. She was radiant in a cream gown; the veil did little to
disguise her glow. Grant beamed as she approached. Dominic was one of the
groomsmen and was across the aisle from where I stood among the bridesmaids.
All the bridesmaids were dressed in deep red gowns and the white irises that
made up our bouquets stood out in stark contrast. Dom smiled foolishly at me
and kept winking as if I was in on some kind of inside joke. Annoyed, I looked
away from him to watch Marco place Miranda’s hand in Grant’s.

The priest began a long
and seemingly never ending ceremony. Every time I looked over in Marco’s
direction he was leering at me, his beady eyes watching my every move. Sweat
broke out across my forehead and also began to trickle down my back. The church
was blazing hot and uncomfortable. My mom sat in the front pew directly behind
me and was bawling uncharacteristically.

Finally the ceremony
ended. Grant and Miranda were pronounced husband and wife and they pranced down
the aisle together, through the wide open church doors, their silhouettes
disappearing into the blinding sunlight.

Wedding guests began to
filter out behind the newlyweds and I quickly gathered up the skirt of my dress
to follow the procession. As I went to pass Marco’s pew he grabbed my arm, his
fingers were pinching my skin and I stopped to glare at him. Dominic was standing
directly behind me, wearing the same goofy grin.

            “Come on
doll, it’s time for the bachelor party.”

            “Bachelor Party?
But, Grant just got married. Don’t you mean reception?” I squinted at him in
confusion.  He started laughing a deep, husky laugh that bordered on a cough.

            “No, I
meant Bachelor Party,” he said, pulling me back towards the altar. I struggled
against him and looked to Dom for help, but he followed behind laughing and
winking. Marco dragged me around the podium to a door, which was well camouflaged
and not visible until we were right in front of it. Dominic knocked and the
door swung inwards. Marco stepped across the threshold, bringing me with him. I
expected to be in an office, or storage room, but instead we had stepped into
the living room of The Speak.