What happend after Tony's death.
Sondheim is just a figure in the distance, folks, not me.
You were in love, or so you said. You should know better…
A veil covered her unkempt hair, wrapping around her neck and hanging down her back, where it swung in time with her step. Her used-to-be so peppy gait was now slowed and more deliberate, and she would sometimes stomp her feet harder than necessary. Blisters covered her feet because of this. She had abandoned her flirty, low-cut dresses and high heels and chose somber colors, wearing simple shoes that could be described no other way than nurses' shoes.
A constant shadow lingered around her, hovering underneath her eyes. The purple bruises showed how little sleep she was getting and the constantly present trails down her cheeks told the world that she had still not recovered.
She walked the streets at night, narrowed eyes daring someone to approach her.
Try me, her piercing gaze said. Just try me and see if you come out unscathed.
It was an unspoken oath, understood by everyone. Well, everyone who counted, that is. She owed no one anything, and anyone foolish enough to think she was walking the streets for money or pleasure would surely back away once her glare turned on them.
After these encounters she would toss her head, showing a shadow of her once ever-present spunk. She had some sense of pride in taking out her hurt feelings on those she still thought responsible.
When she did venture back to her small apartment, it would seem dreadfully empty and lonely. So used to having a constant stream of friends trickling in and out, she was a stranger to this isolated part of town. After the neon lights of downtown had faded somewhat, she would pull her blankets up over her head, closing her eyes and whispering a hurried prayer for her beloved. Was there mercy in Heaven for him?
She would awake from her fitful sleep as soon as the sun would rise, pillow sodden with tears and blankets kicked onto the floor. After wrapping the veil firmly around her head, she would traipse down seven flights of stairs and across town.
The bridal shop was quiet now, as nobody was willing to break the silence that hung over the girls. More was accomplished and their pay was raised, so there were no complaints there. She would stay in the front room, stitching carefully and making sure the embroidered flowers looked perfect. She enjoyed the tediousness of the task; it required her full attention and kept her mind away from her sorrow. She would greet patrons with a fake smile that never met her eyes, but none seemed to notice.
The couples that came in were always more engaged in finding the right gown than to see how heavy-lidded her eyes had become and how her smile was always a bit too small. No comments were made about her veil, but many eyes lingered on it. Her thick accent made them think she couldn't understand the whispered comments on it as they left.
The girls barely spoke when it came time to lock up and go their separate ways. Once completely inseparable, they broke off into two groups for the walk home. After adjusting her veil to make sure it was secure, Anita would link arms with Rosalie and the two would walk proudly with their heads high, ignoring the whistles and catcalls that followed them back to their apartment building.
The other, much larger, group of girls would go the other way, heading down to the heart of Manhattan, to the tip of the Theater District where they now lived. They would sip expensive teas at corner shops and giggle to each other about this and that, completely abandoning the fast Spanish that Anita and Rosalie whispered in.
On holidays Anita would find a fruit basket or a bouquet of flowers on her doormat, the little card always bearing Maria's dainty cursive in broken Spanish, wishing her well and a Merry Christmas or Happy Easter and even, once or twice, a Happy Saint Patrick's Day.
Sometimes on her way to the bridal shop, Anita would spot Maria across the street. Her brow would furrow and she would clutch her veil closer, trying to ignore the bright yellow and orange dresses Maria liked to wear now. She watched from the bridal shop window as the young boy that clutched Maria's hand grew from a toddler into a bumbling child and was there when a stroller was added and a crying baby started vying for Maria's attention.
She would never tell anyone, but the two children that Maria cared for looked nothing alike. While the first had dark hair and blazing blue eyes, the second had a mop of curly blonde hair and fair skin. Anita assumed that each took after their respective fathers.
While others assumed that Maria's first child took after her side of the family, Anita knew better. She was not stupid. She knew what had passed between Maria and Tony, and knew why Maria had married so suddenly.
Anita had not attended the wedding, though Maria had made sure she received an invitation. She had no desire to watch the girl betray her brother again.
Years passed and as one girl grew sillier and more and more foolish, the other grew hardened and wise. One covered herself in a protective shell while the other seemed not to care how vulnerable she became. One married to save face but the other refused to settle down. Her beloved had passed on and she knew there would never be another worthy of her love.
You were in love, or so you said. You should know better…