I saw him outside the grocery store on Hamilton Road. He looked scary with his dark hair and dark clothes while leaning against the rough bricks of the building. Was he looking for someone? Were the man's eyes, hidden behind the heavily tinted sunglasses, dark like the rest of him? Something about the man made me think he wasn't what people thought. Many women and men stepped away from him out of fear. I wanted to move closer. His magnetism drew me closer like a moth to a flame. Before I could get too close, he pushed off the wall and walked away, nodding in my direction. I felt the loss as though he severed the invisible thread connecting us.
He seemingly appeared wherever I went, especially during girls' nights with my friends or going for dinner alone. Such an example happened last Friday. My friends Mary Lou Stankovic and Connie Rosolli accompanied me to the new nightclub called the Fox Hole. I saw him there. He approached me at the bar and asked, "¿Quieres bailar?" (Do you want to dance?)
"Si," I replied, giggling. Wearing my three-inch heels made me taller than him. I guessed his height to be the same as mine at five foot seven. He held me close to his chest, not caring about the difference in our heights caused by my heels. I felt his lean muscles press against my aching nipples. His dark pants fit him to perfection. He chuckled as my hands roamed his firm ass before I moved them to wrap around his broad shoulders, hidden beneath the dark burgundy fabric of his button-down shirt. I felt a knife at his back, concealed by the waistband, and another in a holster over his shoulder, tucked close to his chest. The hilt was thin and narrow, fitting seamlessly against his muscles. A third knife was in his front pocket, pressing against my thigh. I suspected he had more knives in holsters around his ankles or tucked in his boots.
Standing toe-to-toe, I noticed the thick concealer he used to cover the tattoo below his left eye. "Why are you covering the mark?" I asked, whispering into his ear while hoping he understood English. The only tattoo I could think of being near the eye was a teardrop. Beneath the left eye meant he had killed someone.
"I don't want to frighten you," he replied. His tattoo didn't frighten me, neither did he. I was intrigued to know why he had to kill someone. What threat did he face which caused him to decide to take a life? He must have had a good reason. "I'm Hector." His deep voice was heavily accented and highly sexy. I stroked the gang tattoo on his neck. Hector moved his hand to my lower back, splaying his fingers to tuck the pinkie just beneath the blue fabric, barely covering my ass. My dress was backless and plunged to display the indentation of my lumbar region. Its length was two inches past my ass, showcasing my long legs. The colour perfectly matched my eyes. I loved how my dress hugged my curves. The built-in bra made my breasts appear fuller. "What is your name, Hermosa?"
"Stephanie," I replied, blushing, "but you can call me Steph." I tried to ignore how he set my skin on fire with a simple touch. Hector's heartbeat echoed in my chest as the fire burned deep inside, threatening to consume my body and soul. He brushed his thumb along the exposed flesh of my lower back. His erection pressed against my stomach. My panties would have gotten ruined if I were wearing them. Why did he affect me so much? It couldn't be what Gigi said, right? Was this magnificent man destined to be mine? I wanted to explore that connection before the night ended.
Hector's tongue flicked along my exposed collarbone. I moaned from the tingling sensation left by his hot tongue. Dancing with Hector felt like having sex while standing. Hector hissed when I rubbed against his erection. I craved the friction against my clit. "Not yet," Hector said, his hot breath tickling my ear. "I have much to do before I make you mine." I wasn't a fan of the possessive alpha male, but I would willingly accept anything Hector offered. Hector had awakened the sex-crazed beast I hid deep inside.
We returned to the bar after three sensual dances. Hector bought me a drink, then kissed my cheek. He had to leave. I knew he would wait in the parking lot to ensure I got into the vehicle safely. "It's just us," Mary Lou said. I raised my brows and looked around for Connie. Her silver dress wasn't visible among the women standing around the eligible men at the bar.
"Where did Connie go?" I asked, focusing my attention on Mary Lou.
Shrugging, Mary Lou took a sip of her drink. She replied, "With Joe Morelli. He took her onto the dance floor, and then they disappeared. Connie waved over her shoulder." I was relieved Morelli didn't see me. He was the last person I wanted to run into. Mary Lou waited until I drank the daiquiri to cool my heated flesh before launching into her questions about my dance partner. "Did you get a name?" she asked.
"Hector," I replied. Mary Lou waited for more information. I wasn't in a sharing mood. "He only speaks Spanish." My best friend narrowed her eyes but didn't hound me for details. She would wait until I was ready to dish the dirt.
Mary Lou slumped on her stool, flipping her light brown curly hair over her shoulder and pouted. She was disappointed that I wasn't sharing more details. In what Mary Lou perceived as a safer discussion, she asked about my job. Unsure if women who knew my mom were in the club, I downed my remaining daiquiri and pulled Mary Lou onto the dance floor. She let me distract her, knowing I would spill the beans when we were alone. We danced until my feet ached.
It was getting late, and I needed to search for a job before I ran out of money. There was always the other option, but I must be mighty desperate to travel that road. With the downswing in the economy and competing with fifty other women for an office job, it just might be my only hope.
Mary Lou got behind the wheel of her van and turned the ignition. On our way home, I told her about E E Martin getting sold to Baldicott, and I was officially unemployed after they reviewed the job redundancies. It wasn't my performance that got me fired. Most of the original E E Martin staff got laid off. I knew Mom would blame me. Maybe it was my penance from divorcing Dickie seven years ago. It was a ridiculous thought, but Mom would feel vindicated by pointing it out.
"Why didn't you say something?" Mary Lou asked. She sounded so hurt that I never confided in her. Heck, I never confided in anyone except Mary Lou. I could trust her with my deepest and darkest secrets. But losing my job wasn't one I was ready to share until I stopped hiding in denial land. It was my way of dealing with overwhelming events. I check into hotel denial, live there for a few days or months, check out and finally share the nitty gritty, horrible details with Mary Lou.
"I just did, Lou," I reminded her. I could sense Mary Lou watching me when we stopped at a red light. Her warm fingers lightly touched my arm. Mary Lou meant to comfort me.
"How long have you known?" she kindly asked. It was one of the reasons I loved Mary Lou. She never judged or blamed me.
"Monday," I replied. Mary Lou felt mollified that I didn't make her wait long to share the news. "I was lucky to find an apartment that wasn't on Stark Street. The writing was on the wall for months. Well, ever since the CEO refused to pay the mob for protection. It's why I moved back to Trenton and commuted for the past month."
"I'm sorry that happened to you, Steph. You could have told me about it." I shrugged because was I supposed to say that the company was maybe quite possibly closing? The light changed, making the person behind us honk. "Fuck you!" Mary Lou yelled, sticking up her middle finger for the driver to see. Her Jersey girl attitude made me smile.
I sighed and played with the seatbelt across my chest. "Thanks for coming out with me tonight. Did Lenny give you a hard time?"
"Nah. Lenny knows we don't get together often. Besides, it's good for him to see how frustrated I get with the boys." Mary Lou reflectively rubbed her abdomen. She didn't drink anything alcoholic, asking for virgin versions of the delicious drinks.
I didn't miss the motion and had to ask, "Are you pregnant?" The corner of Mary Lou's lips slowly curled into a smile.
"I found out this morning. I'm hoping this one's a girl," she replied. Suddenly, I felt guilty for asking her to tag along for a night of dancing. She must have been exhausted. "Steph, stop it. I wanted to go dancing with you tonight. We both needed the time to escape reality. What are your plans for tomorrow night?"
"Mom demanded I arrive for dinner. You and I know she's trying to set me up with an eligible dick, jerk or abuser from the Burg. Why can't she stop trying to set me up with assholes? Had she not learned from my tumultuous marriage to Dickie?"
"She only wants you to have what the rest of us have," Mary Lou replied.
I rolled my eyes and stared at my friend. "Lou, you know I don't want to become a housewife and raise children. God, I don't know if I even want kids! The thought makes me break out in hives. See?" I showed her my arm, which erupted in large goosebumps.
"I know, Steph. I'm trying to explain why your mom is interfering," Mary Lou reasoned. "Personally, I want you to have children so they would be close friends with mine. It's selfish of me, but that's what I wished since we became friends."
"I'm sorry, Lou. I didn't mean to mess up your plans," I quietly said. I wiped the tear from my eye.
Mary Lou entered the parking lot behind my building. She put the van in park, turned to face me and grabbed my hands. "Steph, plans change. I can adapt. You're a strong, confident woman who knows what she wants. Whatever you decide, I'll be here with my pom-poms to cheer you on." That was why Mary Lou was my best friend. She had my back covered and supported my decisions.
"Man, Lou, you really know how to make a woman smile," I teased. "Thank you for coming out tonight. I love you."
"I love you too," Mary Lou said, hugging me. "Next time, you're spilling the beans about Hector. I'll text when I get home."
I laughed as I exited the van. Mary Lou waited until I got inside the apartment building before driving away.
My apartment was practically empty. I didn't have a lot of furniture. The sofa was well-used and lumpy, with the occasional spring poking through the cushion. My coffee table had cup stains along its chipped edge. The movers weren't careful with my meagre belongings.
I walked past my answering machine and sighed. A large red number three indicated I had new messages. I played them while I got ready for bed. "Stephanie Michelle Plum! How dare you embarrass me by dressing like a hussy," Helen Plum screamed. "Mrs. Such's daughter, Sarah, doesn't go to nightclubs showing that much skin." I deleted the message. The second message was pretty much the same with a different Burg mother.
Hector's deep, heavily accented voice echoed in the foyer. "Llámame para saber que estás en casa a salvo," Hector said. I grabbed my smartphone and went into the Google search.
"Translate," I said into my phone and replayed Hector's message. I thought I understood what he wanted but feared misinterpreting his words.
"Call me to know that you are home safe," was what the message said. It was a crude translation, but I got the point. Hector wanted me to call. It was fortunate I had caller ID on my phone.
My hand shook as I dialled the number. Hector's voice filled the receiver speaker. "Hola," he answered.
"I'm home," I replied.
Chuckling, Hector said, "Buenas noches." (Good night).
Dinner at my parents' house on Saturday frustrated me more than anything. Mom had invited Joseph Morelli for dinner. What the hell? Hasn't that asshole done enough to me? I had done an exceptional job avoiding places where Joseph Morelli would visit. What happened to Connie? Was she just a woman Joe used to scratch an itch?
Joe sat beside me. I caught a whiff of Connie's perfume and the unmistakable stench of semen and other bodily fluids. He never showered. I struggled to avoid gagging. Disgusting. There was no possible way I could eat dinner with that smell festering beside me. His wrinkled clothes and the stain on his shirt appeared suspicious.
I excused myself to use the washroom. Where was the vaporub? I found it hidden in the drawer behind towels. Smiling, I dabbed some just inside my nostrils. It would go undetected by Mom, though it slightly burned. "Suck it up," I mumbled. I flushed the toilet, then washed my hands. It was time to return to the annoying, smelly dinner guest.
At least I wasn't the only annoyed person at the table. Mom happily chatted to Joe while Dad, Grandma and I ignored him. I talked to Dad in Italian. Joe, having never learned the language, couldn't understand our conversation. It was a shame. Mom occasionally commented about me getting married and raising children like a proper Burg woman. What? Pass! No, thank you. Get married to Joseph Morelli? Hell no!
Grandma found dinner amusing. She said the occasional random comment, making Mom tipple and get flustered. Mom drank her iced tea, which was mainly whiskey.
Dad raised an eyebrow when I moved my chair closer to him. "Joe, keep your filthy hands to yourself," I sweetly said, smiling while talking between my clenched teeth. The sour scent permeated past the vaporub into my nose. I resisted the urge to gag.
"Why are his hands filthy?" Grandma asked, curious about my interpretation.
"Joe reeks of women's perfume and sex. I know he doesn't wash his hands after using the washroom. Ask Eddie Gazarra or Carl Costanza if you don't believe me," I replied. Mom said I was misreading the situation and needed to identify smells correctly.
"What's the smell?" Dad asked, speaking Italian.
"He smells like dirty crotch and shit," I replied. Dad laughed and took a drink of his beer. He couldn't be bothered with the wine offered with the meal. Grandma smirked and pushed it to Joe, who gladly drank it.
"Hard to mistake that stench. How are you sitting close to him?" Dad asked.
"I put stuff in my nose to mask the smell. But it's starting to wear off," I replied, shrugging. Dad grinned and raised his beer. I raised my glass of water.
Mom slammed her glass on the table, splashing its contents on her hand. I wondered how her drink got refilled. When did she leave the table? Mom told Joe I would go on a date with him. "What?" I screamed. "Mother, I have absolutely no interest in going anywhere with Joseph Morelli. I'd appreciate it if you didn't invite guests for our family meals."
"I'll take him," Grandma replied. "I don't even care that he smells like sex and another woman's vagina." I had no idea that Grandma understood Italian.
Joe sprayed his wine over the food on the table. Mom quickly gathered everything to pack up for me to take home. I grimaced as she handed me the bag. "Shove it in the dumpster," Dad said, speaking Italian.
"That's the plan," I replied.
Dad walked me to the car after dessert. He wanted to ensure Morelli didn't wait around for me. Joe got in his car and waited for a few minutes. Catching my dad's eye and scowl, Morelli started his vehicle and left. I was relieved.
"I'll follow you home." Dad got into the cab and waited for me to pull away from the curb. I waved in his direction and turned the car around.
Luckily, Morelli wasn't waiting at my apartment for me to arrive. He likely didn't know where I lived.
I parked in the spot beside the dumpster and prayed my elderly neighbours didn't miss when they tossed their garbage. Dad exited his car and threw the contaminated food into the dumpster when I raised the lid. "Thanks, Daddy."
"No problem, Pumpkin. I'll get your Grandma to leave a cryptic message if your mother invites another potential husband for dinner." Dad hugged me. He waited until I entered my apartment and waved from my bedroom window. I wasn't surprised Daddy knew where I lived.