The Real Thing (17 page)

What did Shelley say? That Italian men want to possess their women? I want to
own
Dante Lattanza. I want to possess him. I want to say to the world that he's mine. Hands off, ladies, the boy is mine.

I hear a boat motor!

Finally.

I run out to the outcropping and wave at him, a big old goofy smile on my face. He smiles and holds up two fingers. Yes! Two fish! Which
he
will clean. Yes again!

Then his smile changes, his eyes darting to my left. I look behind and see Evelyn waving one of her sticks—I mean, one of her hands. I step back to her and see she has changed into a nice sweat suit. She has absolutely no chest, an okay figure, but not much of a booty. She is nowhere near a
corpo provocante,
though she does have a cute face framed by shoulder-length hair.

Dante and boat vanish from our sight, the motor throttling down. I start for the stairs. I have no idea what I'm doing. There is so much I want to say to Evelyn to slow her roll, to let her know that her man and I rolled around all night, that I left scratch marks up in his room, that I—

The boat motor cuts off. I let her get by me and see the fishing boat drifting into the dock. I look down at Dante. Damn. I've never seen him grimace like that before.

I follow Evelyn down the stairs at a leisurely pace. I shouldn't have to hurry. I am almost in total control of this situation. When I get down to the dock, I say, “Show me what you caught, Dante.”

Dante reaches into the live well and pulls up . . . two fat females. How fitting. For one of us anyway.

Though I don't really want to, I say, “Hand them to me, and I'll start cleaning them.”

He hands me the fish. “On leeches,” he says.

“See,” I say. “Little leeches catch big fish.” I look at the bigger fish. “How much did this one weigh?”

“Only four pounds,” he says. “Not as big as yours.”

This is going so well. We have effectively ignored Evelyn, and we're talking about fishing, something Dante just loves to—

“I decided to surprise you, Dante,” Evelyn says.

Dante looks at his feet. “You are early.” He hands the cutting board and filet knife to me. “But it is a nice surprise.”

Say what?

“I checked the weather report,” Evelyn says. “It's supposed to be warm through Sunday. I thought we could do things together as a family, while the weather's still cooperating. We could go for a hike after lunch, couldn't we? And maybe later tonight you, DJ, and I could do a little fishing.”

“We will see,” Dante says.

Oh. So
that's
how she's going to play it. She can't compete with me physically or sexually, so she's focusing on reuniting the family unit. Evelyn hiking or fishing?
Impossibile!
Hmm. Maybe they could use her for bait if they run out of leeches.

I go to the shallow end of the dock, kick off my boots, roll up my sweats, and drop into the water, laying the cutting board on the dock. I hold up and break the neck of the first fish while Evelyn watches. A beautiful spray of blood spews into the air.

Evelyn looks away. “Why don't you get out of the boat, D?”

D? He's Dante. What is this “D” shit?

Dante hesitates. I would, too. There are two women on his dock. The woman he just slept with holds a filet knife. The other cut out his heart once. Dante may be in that boat for a long time—

Dante gets out, gives Evelyn a brief hug, and returns to the boat, unloading his bait and fishing poles. Just a “she's the mother of my child” hug. Didn't last more than a second. No kisses. Good.

I focus on the fish in front of me. I'm getting better at this cleaning stuff and have the first fish's guts out on the cutting board in no time. I squeeze a sac that is probably the fish's intestines, and out pops what's left of two little crayfish. “
Dante
, this one had two crayfish in her stomach.”

Dante nods. “I lost two bigger ones on my top-water lure.”

I smile. “Were they really bigger than the lure?”

He nods. “A little bigger.”

“I wish I had gone,” I say, shooting glances at Evelyn. We're ignoring her again, and it's so cool.

Dante sighs. “Christiana, when is your flight?”

I peel back the skin from one side and freeze. Is he trying to get rid of me? He had better not be. “Oh, I've decided to stay through Monday evening. If it's all right. I'll be at Red's while they're gone. I hope you don't mind.”

Dante steps out of the boat in front of Evelyn. “How was your drive?”

I say “I hope you don't mind” and he gets out of the boat and asks Evelyn how her drive was. Doesn't he know that when someone says, “I hope you don't mind,” the proper response is, “No, darling with the
figa delizioso,
I do not mind at all”? Doesn't he know he's supposed to ask me, “Will you mount my throbbing, granite penis now?”

“My drive was pleasant,” she says in a mousy voice. “Hardly any traffic. You look good, D.” She kisses his cheek.

I grip the filet knife tighter. Doesn't she know I'm armed? I flash the reflection of the filet knife across her face, but she doesn't notice.

“You look
really
good, D,” she says.

“Thank you,” he says. He doesn't say,
“Grazie.”

Red was right. Dante is changing before my eyes. I wish I knew some black magic to counteract her spell.

While I finish the first fish and start butchering the second, Dante gathers up his poles, tackle boxes, and the worm and leech containers. I can't catch his eyes. What's going on? What is going through his head right now?

I need him to look at me. “Dante, do you still have any aluminum foil in there?” I ask.

He tosses me a roll of foil with the briefest of glances.

“Grazie.”
I say it for him. I wrap up the filets and announce, “Well. I have to get up to the kitchen and start cooking. I think we have enough here for three.”

Evelyn seems to shudder. “Oh, I don't eat fish from this lake.”

I smile. “More for us, then.”

Dante doesn't smile at me. He barely even looks at me. “We'll be up in a minute,” he says.

“Sure.” I hand him the cutting board and knife, searching for his eyes. “Take your time.”

I strut up those steps, my booty swinging left and right to a bongo beat, willing myself not to look back. There's nothing going on behind me, nothing at all. He's mine, and that's what he's telling Evelyn right now. “Evil Lynn,” he's saying, “I am much in love with Christiana, so it would be good of you to shrivel up and die now.”

I look back. They're embracing for more than a second.

I look away.

Well.

Isn't that a pretty kettle of fish?

I sigh. They
do
have a child together. They're just friends. That's all. It's a friendly little hug. That's all it is.

I look back from the top of the stairs.

She
is still hugging him. Dante, though, has his hands at his sides. I guess that's something.

At the top of the stairs, I giggle because she has to smell
me
on him. He didn't take a shower before he left. She's hugging on him and smelling
me
.

I can relax.

She
didn't have him inside her just three short hours ago. She didn't have him counting her freckles down there. She wasn't stroking him and kissing him and—

Geez, I'm making myself wet again.

No. I have nothing to worry about.

Because the skillet is already hot, the filets sizzle in the butter as soon as they land. I pour only two glasses of orange juice and prepare only one plate.

Dante and I are going to share.

I can't believe Evelyn didn't ask even
once
about DJ. She came all this way to get him, and then she doesn't even
mention
his name. I wish she didn't have radar, though. I wish she didn't have whatever it was that made her wake up this morning and say, “I'm going to mess up Dante's life again.” The second that Dante is finally happy, she drops in to spoil it.

But, I think, smiling, she didn't count on me being here, did she? Either this day is going to suck for our little
Eve
lyn, or it's going to suck even more.

I look at the sizzling white filets in the big black pan.

I smile.

Everything I look at this morning reminds me of last night.

Chapter 20

T
he filets, however, get cold by the time Dante comes inside alone, sips his orange juice, and has one little filet without even sitting at the table.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“I will be fine.” He finishes his juice. “Her timing is . . . unfortunate.”

I nod, leaving my seat and moving closer to him. “You've hardly eaten anything. Are they too cold?”

“I am not hungry,” he says. “Maybe later.” He takes a few steps away from me and toward the kitchen. “I am going up the hill to work out.”

That was obvious. “Um, do you want some company? Someone to help you sweat?”

“I will only do a light workout today.”

In other words, no, he wants to be alone. “I'm up for a light workout,” I say. I want to be alone
with
him.

“You rest, Christiana.”

I want to hug him, kiss him, something. “You seem so far away.” Literally. For every step I take toward him, he takes a step away from me.

He looks at the bottom step of the stairs. “I will only be up the hill.”

I take two giant steps before he can move, putting my hand on his shoulder. “I meant that you seem distant, you know. Far away.”

He looks out the window in the kitchen door. “She has that effect on me.”

At least he's aware of it. “Why? Why do you let her have that effect on you?”

He shakes his head and sighs. “I wish I knew.” He steps away from my hand and trudges up the stairs. A few moments later, he comes down wearing shorts, running shoes, and a tank top.

“I'll, um, I'll just . . . rest then,” I say.

“Bene,”
he says, and without a kiss, hug, or smile, he leaves through the kitchen door and is out of sight.

What have I gotten myself into here? Should I stay?

Tenere provare.
I can't leave. I can't give up.

I take several deep breaths.

While Evelyn naps or restores her evil powers in the guestroom, I make a few casts off the dock and catch nothing but sun. I look up the hill behind the cottage every so often hoping to see Dante coming back from his workout. They say a watched pot never boils. Well, a watched Canadian hillside never spits out Italian boxers.

I quit fishing and take a walk down a narrow path past Dante's cottage, occasionally hearing the sounds of popping leather. It's no light workout at all. He's up there pounding the leather. I want to sneak up to watch. I want to run up there and wrestle him to the ground. I want him inside me again and again and again . . .

I can wait. I'm a big girl. This will all work out. I just have to stay busy.

I go inside Red and Lelani's cottage and rescue Evelyn's clothes from the dryer, folding them neatly and trying hard not to fall asleep. I hang up my clothes above the dryer, clipping my underwear and bra to a hanger as well. I return with the stack of Evelyn's clothes, setting them on a couch. If she wants them, she can come get them. I am just going to lie down and rest for a few minutes....

I start dreaming the second I fall asleep, and at first, it is a very nice dream. Dante is there, of course. We're getting busy, oh yes, and he's thicker, longer, and harder than anything I've ever had inside me before. For some reason he is fascinated by a little tattoo on my thigh. I even have an Italian flag tattoo between my breasts. Suddenly, I notice Evelyn standing over us holding a steno pad and a pencil and taking notes. “No,” she says, “not that way.” She tries to pull my leg over my head, but I don't bend that way. “Here,” she says, pushing Dante off me, “let me show you.” While I watch, I see Dante wrapping Evelyn's stick legs behind her head and plunging deep inside her. She turns to me with a wicked smile and says, “You don't know what you're doing.”

Even though I wake up wet, it is by far the worst dream I've ever had.

After changing into another pair of sweats, I notice the time. Three-thirty? I slept through lunch. I listen for any sign of Dante and hear nothing but the wind whooshing overhead. I pad into the kitchen to see what I can cook to knock Dante's clothes, I mean, socks off again. Leafing through an overstuffed three-ring binder of Red's recipes, I find one for pizza titled “The Dante Special.”

Yes. We will have homemade pizza from scratch.

I chop three kinds of peppers and sweet onions, brown some sausage, and create a tasty pizza sauce using Roma tomatoes, tomato paste, and a heavy dose of oregano. I use my big hands to make and roll out the dough into two huge rectangles, mounding the dough with the toppings and at least three pounds of mozzarella. I hope the wind will carry the aroma through the pine trees up to Dante.

I don't see a single soul while the pizza is cooking. Not Dante. Not Evelyn. Not DJ. I am more of a guest than Evelyn is, yet here I am in the kitchen. I want to cook for this man, but I don't want to be
her
cook, too. I set the dinner table and keep the pizzas warming in the oven.

I may be the only one who sits at the table and eats.

When DJ finally returns around four-thirty, he is starving.

“Did you win?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “David and his brother made a secret deal to annihilate me, but I lasted a long time. Did you meet my mama?”

I nod. I have to restrain myself here. I can't have this child hating me for hating his mama.

“I wonder why she came up so early. I wasn't expecting her till Sunday.” He shrugs. “What smells so good?”

I load that child up with six slices of pizza, but instead of sitting at the table, he carries his plate and a soda up to his room.

Alone again.

What am I doing here? Where's Evelyn? Does she take five hours to recharge her venom or what? And why is Dante taking so long? It's been close to seven hours!

Time for another walk.

I don't get five steps out of the house when I hear a splash. I stand at the top of the stairs and see Dante swimming and Evelyn sitting on the edge of the dock wearing that stupid winter parka and dangling her toes in the water. That's . . . bizarre. They don't seem to be speaking to each other, but the whole scene looks comfortable. It's as if this is part of some custom, some routine they have. I watch as he soaps himself up, dives under, and repeats the process with some shampoo a few feet from her dangling toes.

The bitch is watching Dante take a bath.

I don't want the bitch to watch Dante taking a bath.

I throw open the kitchen door and yell, “I made some pizza! Anybody hungry?”

Only Dante answers. “We will be right up.”

An
hour
later (time doesn't fly in Canada when you're horny and confused), they join me at the dinner table for some warmed-up filets and the pizza. Evelyn says nothing, and she doesn't eat her crusts. She is so wasteful. I try to engage Dante in conversation, but he only gives me short answers and nods.

“How was your workout?” I ask.

“Okay,” he says.

“It sounded as if you were working heavy,” I say.

“Yes.”

“Are you planning on fishing in the morning?” I ask.

“I don't know.”

I can only blame Evelyn for his reluctance to speak at his own table. She is a damper, a shut door, a toilet seat, a padlock on his lips. He hasn't said anything in Italian since she's arrived, hasn't had a single twinkle in his eyes, and hasn't smiled even for a second. Why did he ever marry this bitch?

It is the longest, quietest dinner I've ever had.

Luckily, DJ bounds down the stairs for more pizza. “Any left?” he asks.

Evelyn turns her face toward him, and DJ plants a peck on her cheek.

Ooh, I feel the love.

I jump up and serve DJ some of the second pizza, now golden brown in the pizza oven. “Didn't you eat anything over there?” I ask him.

DJ smiles. “I think we ate everything in their cottage.”

I pat his stomach. “Where do you put it all?”

He gets all shy again. “I have a high metabolism, like Dad. At the rate I'm growing, I won't be a middleweight.”

“You'll be a heavyweight then,” I say, staring hard at Evelyn.

“Oh, I dunno,” DJ says. “I don't want to be fat and slow.”

He is so cute!

I put an extra gooey slice on his plate. “Are you going to join us?”

DJ looks past me at Evelyn and Dante. “Maybe later.”

And up he goes.

I'd escape this mess, too, if I could, DJ.

The second I sit, Evelyn gets up and takes Dante's plate, even though a full slice of pizza rests on it. “You have to watch your weight, D,” she says. She glances at my plate. I still have two slices to go. “Oh, you're not done, are you?”

Bitch.

She smiles at Dante. “I'll do the dishes, D. You just rest.”

She collects his half-full glass as well and goes into the kitchen.

“Dante,” I say, not whisper, “what are you thinking about?”

“Many things.” He sighs. “Many, many things.”

“I hope I'm one of those things.” Though I ain't no thang.

A glimmer of a smile almost lights on his face. “Yes.” His eyes travel to the kitchen. “I just wish . . .”

“We had more time?”

He nods.

“Dante, believe me, I didn't mean to cause so much trouble.” Which is really a way of asking
if
I'm causing any trouble, right?

“It is not you,” he says. He looks toward the kitchen again. “And it is not Evelyn. It is me. I am causing the trouble.” He turns to me, whispering, “My mind is going many ways all at once. I hope you understand.”

“My mind is kind of fried, too,” I say, looking toward the kitchen. “But I would really like to come visit you tonight.”

He looks at me sharply. “Oh no.”

Oh yeah. DJ. “Would you rather come visit me?”

“I should be alone.”

I smile. “I wore you out, didn't I?”

“No. I mean, I should be alone until the fight.”

I get a serious chill. “We could just . . . snuggle, hold each other, and maybe sweat a little.”

He leans closer. “That would . . . complicate things.”

Not for me! “How?”

“You want me to be with you when Evelyn is so close by?” He looks again toward the kitchen. I want to grab his head and make him look me in the eye. “It is far too . . . complicated now.”

I slide over in my chair, making damn sure to make a lot of noise. “Nothing seemed complicated last night. Everything made sense, yes?”

He looks away.

“Look at me, Dante.”

He looks back at me but not in my eyes.

“Didn't everything make sense last night?” I ask.

“Yes,” he whispers quickly. “Yes. Last night. It is not last night anymore. Things have changed.”

Red was right. This cinches it. “I'll, um, just stay at Red's then, all by myself. I don't want to complicate things.”

“How can you complicate things more than you already have?”

Che?
That hurt! “Wait a minute. If she weren't here, would we be upstairs banging the shit out of each other right now?”

He gets up out of his chair. “Not so loud. We will talk outside.”

I follow him to the outcropping. This is so fucking ridiculous. He can't even talk to me in his own house!

“Answer my question,” I demand. “Would we be upstairs rattling the floorboards if she weren't here?”

“That is not the point. She
is
here.
That
is the point.” Now he's looking back at the window over the sink.

“I'm over here.” I sit on the bench.

He doesn't join me.

“Dante, don't you want to break away from her?”

He stands behind me. “She is the mother of our child. I can never break away from her.”

I hate the word “never”! “I don't expect you to do that, Dante. I just want you to be happy.”

He doesn't respond.

Maybe he doesn't want to be happy. If I were Irish, I'd say my Irish was up. “Why do you kiss her ass so much?”

“I do not do such a thing!”

Finally, some passion. I stand and face him. “Yes, you do. You've been kissing that flat ass of hers from the second she got here.”

“A woman should never curse.” He walks to the edge of the outcropping.

I walk up behind him. “Shit. Fuck. Damn. Motherfucker. I know a few more. Want to hear them? I'm from Red Hook, where Al Capone got his scar and became Scarface. I know a bunch of bad words. You should know quite a few, too. You
used
to be from Brooklyn.”

He turns and shakes his head. “You are far too angry right now to be talking to me. We will talk again after she leaves.”

“And when will that be?”

He looks down at the water. “I do not know.”

“Dante, please,” I say, softening my voice just a little. “I'm not really angry.” Yet. If he dismisses me like that again, though, I'm going to be seriously angry. “I just want to know why you bow down so much in front of her.”

“I do not bow down before her.”

“You do,” I say. “You're not yourself at all. You hardly speak, you don't smile, and you definitely don't act Italian.”

“I always act Italian,” he says.

“You know what I mean,” I say. “I love to hear your other language. It's hot. I want to learn it.”