Ch. 10

There was a Yankee game on the tube that night, and Dante looked forward to vegging out on the sofa with a couple of beers, enjoying his boys, and emptying his mind. He stopped short outside the loft when he saw Lulu standing there waiting for him after his shift ended. He thought they had said everything they'd intended to say; he suddenly remembered hearing when he got back to the station after the unsuccessful stakeout that she had come by looking for him. He smiled faintly at her as he unlocked the door and invited her in. "Don't you still have your key?" he asked. "Why didn't you just wait for me inside? You didn't have to wait in the hallway. And by the way, where's Rocco? You didn't bring him with you?"

"Somehow, it didn't feel right for me to come in without your permission. I know it's silly, but that's the way I felt. This doesn't feel like my home anymore, so I thought I should wait outside. Rocco's back at Wyndemere with Norma. I would have brought him with me but I wanted to talk to you, Dante. I've been doing some more thinking-"

He gestured to the couch and they both sat down. Her eyes skittered around the room before lighting on the bed. She closed her eyes and shook her head back and forth in an attempt to dislodge the images forming in her head. He noticed her action as he rose from the couch and went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. He offered one to her as well, which she gratefully accepted. Her mouth was dry because she was nervous—so much was riding on this discussion…

"I heard you came by the station looking for me," Dante finally stated into the silence.

"Yeah, about that. I didn't mean to cause a scene at your workplace. I'm sorry. I saw Valerie, and I let my temper get the best of me."

"Well she does work there so you might want to avoid coming down to the shop if you don't want to run into her."

"I shouldn't have to avoid the station just because she's there! I've known those guys for years—some of them are friends! Why should I have to-"

"I'm not saying you have to, Lulu. I'm saying if you can't see Val without getting angry or causing a scene, you might want to meet me somewhere else, that's all. This whole thing is bad enough without it coming into my job—and yes, I know that since she works there, it's already coming into my job. I just don't want any extra drama, Lulu. That's all I meant." Lulu didn't like the tone their discussion was taking, so she said, "Let's change the subject, ok? Like I said earlier, I've been doing some thinking. I think we should talk to a counselor before going to a mediator after all."

"Really? You were pretty definite last night that you couldn't trust or believe in us anymore. What's changed?"

"Listen, I know we both screwed up, and this thing with Valerie was kind of big—it threw me for a loop. I've had time to calm down, though. It really hurts, Dante, but I think with time, I can let it go. I want to be able to forgive you and move on. I'm willing to try. If we talk to a counselor-"

Dante was nodding his head as he listened to what she was saying. He was right with her until the last part. He closed his eyes tightly and shook his head before shocking her with, "Maybe I don't want to be forgiven."

"You don't mean that. You couldn't possibly be serious about that."

"It was a knee-jerk response but the more I think about it, the more I realize there's some truth behind it."

"Oh, explain that if you can! And make it make sense, please!"

"Ok. We both messed up here—we both acknowledge that, right?"

"Ok?"

"Ok. You lied to me. For you, telling the truth is so crucial and important that you've left me more than once when you felt I had been dishonest. That tells me you shouldn't have been able to lie to me. If honesty is so important to you, you shouldn't have been able to mislead me about what you were doing in Canada. But you did. That tells me that you feel it's all right if you lie to me, but not if I lie to you."

"Dante, that's not what I'm saying at all-"

"Isn't it? If lying is wrong, it's wrong, isn't it, no matter who's doing the lying. But that isn't how you see it. You feel justified because you feel you had reasons for what you did. Just like I felt I had reasons for misleading you in the past, reasons that didn't matter to you when you left me."

"What exactly are you trying to say here?"

"That I think you think you're more important than I am in this relationship. That-"

"You're reaching! You're reaching! That's crazy, Dante! I've never said that, or even thought it! Our relationship is built on mutual respect and trust—at least it was! I've never thought of myself of more than or better than you in our marriage!"

Then why is it tolerable for you to lie, but not me? Why do I deserve to be left over lies, but you deserve to be forgiven? And speaking of forgiveness, YOU'RE willing to try to forgive ME? As if you don't need forgiveness yourself? You asked me more than once to forgive you until you found out about me and Valerie. Then all of a sudden, you no longer needed my forgiveness. Why? Didn't you still do something wrong?"

"Because-"

"I know. Because what I did is worse than what you did, in your eyes. What I did cancels out what you did and the part you played in this whole mess. Because I cheated, I'm mostly responsible for the damage, while your part is smaller, and shrinking by the day. I get it. I just don't agree with it, is all. Which puts us right back where we ended yesterday—on opposite sides of this thing."

"You're right. Ok, I can admit that. You cheated on me and that feels way bigger than any lie I told. I don't think I'll ever be able to see it the way you see it. I want to forgive you but you seem to find just the fact of me saying that offensive. I don't know what else to say, except it feels as though we'll never see eye to eye on this. So that's it, then. We really are over." She sighed and then laughed shortly. "Wow," she ultimately whispered, "what a way to go out. A whimper instead of a bang. I guess all that's left to do now is meet with the mediator. And work out custody of Rocco."

She stood up from the couch and he stood with her, walking her to the door. "Oh," she said abruptly, "and I guess there's this-" She handed him her key to the loft, saying, "I don't think I'll be needing this anymore."

He nodded as he took the key from her hand and laid it on the kitchen counter. She turned back once more before walking out the door and looked at him. "I really did—do—love you, you know. I'm sorry we can't seem to fix this."

"Yeah. I love you, too, but sometimes love isn't enough. I never understood how that could be possible until now." He watched her walk away and felt a crushing sadness invade his whole body. After reentering the loft, he closed the door and leaned his head against it, fighting back his tears. "I need to get out of here. I can't be here right now," he muttered as he left, slamming the door behind him.

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Wine glass in hand, Valerie curiously answered the door after the doorbell pealed. "Oh, Dante, hey. What're you doing here? Come in, come in." She ushered him into the penthouse as she asked him, "Is everything ok? Only you didn't call first-"

"I'm sorry—I should have checked with you before just barging in. I just left the loft—I had to get out of there—so I got in my car and drove. Ended up here. Were you busy? I don't want to disturb you if you're in the middle of something…"

"Nope, not busy at all. It's just me, a bottle of your father's 2007 Gaja Barbaresco—he has excellent taste in wines, by the way—and this-" She gestured to the television where a soccer match was under way.

"You watch soccer? I didn't know that." He sat down on the couch opposite the screen to see who was playing.

"I'm not a devotee the way you are with the Yankees, but I enjoy watching a match every now and then. I don't really have a favorite team; I just like watching them play. I think soccer is one of the most physical sports there is. I can't even imagine being in that good of shape, the way they run back and forth through the whole game! It's amazing. Speaking of the Yankees, you know there's a game on, right? I figured you'd be sprawled out on the couch by now with your eyes glued. What's up?"

"Trust me—I know. That was my original plan but Lulu was waiting for me at the loft when I got there. We talked again. I think she gets where I'm coming from now, but I don't think I can take much more of these 'talks' that just go 'round and 'round. We're just so far apart. I don't even want to deal with it anymore. I just wanted to escape for a while, and I ended up here. Sorry again for busting up your alone time."

"Don't worry about it. Want some wine?" Valerie pointed at the bottle. "I can get an extra glass."

"Sure, that'd be great. Thanks."

"You know," she said over her shoulder as she went into the dining area to retrieve another glass from the china cabinet, "I looked up how much this wine costs on average, and it isn't cheap, so I hope you appreciate it. And looking at some of the other selections he has in his wine racks, this was one of the cheapest ones!"

"That's Sonny, all right. He always goes for the best, no question."

She came back into the living/dining area and poured some wine into the glass she'd brought and then handed it to him. "Tell me what you think."

He tasted it and pronounced, "It's good. It's not overwhelming. I think I'm getting something other than grapes, though. Raspberries?"

"You have a good nose, sir. I looked it up online, and you are correct. One of the reviews I read said 'the wine reveals itself slowly at first and doles out small aromas of wild berry, licorice, root beer, smoke and graphite that become magically more intense with time in the glass' and some other high-brow stuff. I think I opened it too early, though—it didn't 'fully mature'. I hope that's ok with your father."

"I'm sure it would be. Max told you you had use of whatever was here, didn't he? That includes the wine. He has another collection at Greystone—I'm sure that's where he keeps the ones he's holding as investments."

She picked up the remote control and changed the channel to the Yankee-Twins game, causing Dante to laugh as he shook his head. He said, "Thanks, but you didn't have to do that. I come into your place, drink your wine, and take over your time and television. You don't have to be so considerate. Especially since I didn't even call first and get your permission."

"It's fine; you needed an outlet, and you came to me. I'm glad I could be that for you. Plus the match had ended right before you came in. Poor USA. Oh, well, maybe next year, huh?"

"They were only playing for third place, weren't they? Not a great loss, then…"

"How can you say that and call yourself a sportsman? Third place is better than no place! If we were talking about your beloved Yankees-"

"If we were talking about my Yankees and third place, what I'd be saying wouldn't be fit for your delicate little ears! I'm like a madman when they lose, especially games they should have won. And don't let me be in the stadium! I'm one of those fools they try to catch on the Jumbotron. If we ever get the chance to go to a game, you'll see me in action, and you'll be embarrassed to know me!" He realized too late what he was implying; they were both taken aback by his words and the meaning behind them. He cleared his throat to get past the awkwardness before going on, "Anyway, what I was trying to say was thanks for putting the game on, and for putting up with me for the night. I mean, for right now. Maybe I should just shut up, drink my wine, and watch the game, huh?"

"No, it's funny to see you so flustered—you're usually so squared away. Ooh, and judging by the current score, I think I might get to see some of what you were talking about. They're not doing so well right now, are they?"

He finally paid some attention to the screen and let out a groan. "There's NO WAY we're losing to the Twins! It's not possible! I'm forbidding it! But I know my boys will turn this around. No way are we losing to the Twins…"

"Well their records are pretty similar, Dante. They're equally matched. I dunno. Your boys are having it rough tonight," she laughingly said.

"Listen, Missy, you'd better get on the bandwagon! Only Yankee supporting allowed! And how do you know about their record anyway if you're not a fan?"

"I can read, you know. I might not be a Yankee fan, but I can spend a couple of hours on ESPN with the best of 'em. I'll admit I was curious to know why you think they're so special, so I looked into some game history. I can see why you're impressed."

"My love of the Yanks goes beyond what you can read on any site. It goes back to the neighborhood, with Lieutenant Poletti and my Uncle Phil taking us little kids out to a game. It's stickball in the streets, trying to be the next Reggie Jackson or Mariano Rivera, refusing to quit even after the streetlights have come on and our parents are yelling for us all to get out of the street and come inside. It's everything. I can't wait to share all that with Rocco-" he abruptly stopped talking when reality came rushing back.

"Don't worry. No matter what happens, you'll get the chance to share everything you want with your son. I'm sure you'll turn him into as big a nut for the Yankees as you are. It's all about tradition, and that has nothing to do with marital status. If you put in the time to make it happen, it'll happen."

Taking another sip of wine, Dante asked, "If you're not into baseball, what, besides soccer, does it for you?"

"Dance. Interpretive dance, contemporary dance, ballet. Do you like ballet? Ahh, La Bayadere, Swan Lake! It's so easy to get lost in the artistry, the gracefulness, the story told through the dance… I thought about becoming a ballerina once upon a time. It's a strict, disciplined life, though. And I'm too big to be a ballerina."

Without thinking about what he was doing, Dante sized her up as he looked up and down her body. He said, "I don't see how you think you're big at all! You're not even tall until you're in those heels you insist on wearing! Petite, more like."

"Have you seen a ballerina up close? They're tiny. I know my limitations! Doesn't mean I can't enjoy the medium, though. For me, dance is Saturday afternoons with my mom on the couch, watching ballet on PBS. She took me to the Merriam Theater once—that was the first time I saw The Nutcracker live. It was glorious! I think my mom was just as into it as I was! Two little kids seeing their first ballet together. I think as she got weaker and weaker, she was hoping I would pursue dance as a career because of the control of the body it requires. I think she thought the more I could control MY body, the less it mattered that she couldn't control hers. Or something like that. It wasn't meant to be, though. Do you like ballet?"

"I like opera. I've never been to a ballet that I can remember. I've seen a couple on tv, I think, when I was real small."

"Opera. You? Ok."

"What? I can't like opera? I'll have you know real men love the opera! One of my aunts turned me on to it and I've been a fan ever since. Talk about beauty in expressions! You don't even have to understand Italian or German to get the gist of the story. Every gesture explains itself."

"Wow. You getting all rapturous over opera. Wild."

"Oh, so now you're ready to take away my manhood card or something?"

"Not possible," she replied, letting her tongue speak faster than her mind could think. She went on, "What I meant was-"

"No, don't clean it up. Let me imagine you meant what it sounded like you meant."

"That's dangerous thinking, Dante."

"I know. Maybe it's the wine talking." They held each other's gazes and he suddenly said, "I'm getting kind of warm here. I'm gonna blame that on the wine, too. Why are you still staring at me?"

"Because you're staring at me." She bit and licked her bottom lip, which drew his attention and caused him to lick his own.

"Stop that," he said.

"Why?"

"Just because. One of us needs to look away here."

"You're the one ignoring the Yankees. Count of three? One, two, three." She turned her eyes back to the game. She could see through her peripheral vision that he hadn't yet turned away. "You're still staring at me."

"I know I am. Tell me to knock it off."

"Dante. Knock it off." He shifted his body and tried to pay attention to the game while she took another sip of wine.

"They've almost caught up to the Twins. You're not even paying attention."

"I know that, too. This is a problem. My beloved Yankees are on tv playing a hot, tight game, and I'm not interested because I'm sitting on the couch next to you. I think we need some kind of safe word, or phrase, or something," he muttered.

"What are you talking about?" she laughingly asked him. "A safe word?"

"Yeah. I came over here because I didn't want to be alone. You were kind enough to put the game on for me. My favorite team is playing. And I can't be bothered to watch because all I want to do is-"

"Is what?"

"Never mind. I'm just gonna scoot over here to the end of the couch. My neutral corner. That's my safe phrase—'neutral corners'. It's getting too hot in here for me. Full disclosure. I want to kiss you right now. I don't have the right to, I'm not going to, but I'm letting you know that's why I'm moving to the end of the couch." He finished the last of the wine in his glass and sat the empty glass on the coffee table in front of him.

"Do you want more?" she queried.

"More what? More wine? No, I'd better not. I'm having a hard enough time focusing as it is. My boys have tied the score and I'm not even paying attention. This is all your fault."

"My fault? How? You're the one staring at me!"

"Because you started staring at me!"

"You're the one who started it, Dante! Trust me, when I start something, you'll know!"

"Don't start something you'll be afraid to finish, Valerie. Just don't."

"And suddenly I don't think we're talking about a staring contest any more, are we? Anything I start, I'm planning to finish."

"God, girl, the things you say! I can't ever tell whether you're joking or not!"

"Don't test me. That's the fastest way to find out whether I'm joking or not. Hey, it looks like your boys are going to win the game, after all."

"Way to deflect. I didn't doubt it for a second. They're the comeback kids." He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed, "What a long day it's been. I'm burnt." He leaned more fully into the couch and put his head back on the cushion.

"You're going to miss the end of the game doing that. You'll probably fall asleep."

"If I do, just kick me awake, ok? I want to close my eyes for a minute."

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Dante awoke slowly, laughing softly as he stared up at the ceiling. He must have fallen asleep after all, as Valerie had predicted. His laughter turned to puzzlement when he realized he was on his back on the couch with his head in Valerie's lap. He thought he remembered putting his head back on the sofa—how did he end up here? It seemed as though the game had long been over—it was the bottom of the 9th and the Yanks were ahead, last he saw. He turned his head and glanced at Valerie. She was propped up in the corner of the couch, her hand supporting her head as she dozed. He reached up and gently stroked her cheek which caused her to sigh and fully awaken. She yawned hugely and stretched her arms above her head as she said, "Who's the sleepyhead now? You conked out a while ago. I told you you'd miss the end of the game." She looked down at him, smiling.

"How did I get here?"

"You fell asleep at the other end of the couch at first, and then you moved to my shoulder. You get heavier and heavier the deeper you sleep, so I maneuvered you to my lap. It seemed to be the more comfortable position for us both."

"That's fine—I was just wondering. Sorry I fell asleep on you."

"No big deal. You must have been really tired."

"I was. Thanks for letting me sleep."

"You're welcome."

He sat up, leaned over into her, and softly kissed her lips. He used the arm of the couch for balance and support as he deepened the kiss. Slowly, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer. Their breathing became labored as their tongues dueled and danced. She let out a little moan, and he whispered against her lips, "Tell me to stop, Valerie. Tell me to stop." He began kissing her again.

"Why should I?"

"Because one of us here has to be thinkin' straight. It should be me, but- Oh, God, I mean it, Val! Tell me to stop."

She put her hand on his chest and pushed him back slightly. Staring at his lips, she licked her own, which caused him to groan aloud. "You're right," she finally uttered, "one of has to be clearheaded. I wish we didn't have to, but we should probably stop."

"Thank you." He reached up and ran his fingers through his hair. "Whoa," he went on, "that was almost outta control. I didn't mean for that to happen. I don't yet have the right to let stuff like that happen."

"Do you regret it?"

"Not even a little bit. In fact, I'd better get up, because I'm thinkin' about doin' it again, and I don't want to waste your sacrifice."

They got up and she walked him to the door. He turned to her and said, "Thanks again for not throwin' me out. And for the wine. And for-" he kissed her gently on the cheek—"just being you. Good night."

"Are you ok to drive home?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

"Then I'll say good night, too. I'm glad you came by."

Valerie watched him walk to the elevator and after he got on, she closed the door and collapsed against it, holding her hand to her mouth in astonishment. That came out of nowhere and went somewhere fast, she thought. Maybe his idea for 'neutral corners' was the right one…

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