Cut & Blow: Book 1 Read online

  Normally I just watch her, I just sit here and see that she’s safe, but tonight my patience has reached its limit and I take the keys out, flip the kickstand down and climb off my bike.

  Stalking down the sidewalk towards her apartment building I glance around, to make sure none of the nosy neighbors are looking before I cross over to her side to the street, and slip up the path to her front door. The gold key slides into the lock and it clicks open.

  This is the first time I’ve used it; the first time I’ve been angry enough to go inside her home and invade her space.

  The living room smells like scented candles and talcum powder, and a little like my Nonna. There is a tower of dirty dishes in her kitchen sink and the microwave is left open. It bothers me enough that I go over and close it. It’s surreal being in here, seeing her things up close and not through the window from across the street.

  An intimate connection between me and her forms as I go into her bedroom. Her unmade bed and half opened drapes highlight her single status, but she’s not single. She’s mine.

  I open each one of her drawers and look through her things. Underwear, that is too small to cover any part of her, are shoved into one drawer, not filed or in order, just pushed in and squeezed closed.

  When I get to the bottom drawer I find something, something that is ours. The wedding album from our wedding is hidden in a drawer full of trinkets and crap, dusty and unopened.

  Pulling it out, I wipe the dust off the cover with my hand and open it to the front page. A younger me looks back up from the paper inside, on my arm is a little girl who seems afraid and sad.

  Slamming it closed and pushing it back into the drawer, ignoring the bittersweet memory that was that day, I stand up from where I am squatted in front of her drawers.

  The mess suddenly overwhelms me and I start making her bed. Smoothing the sheets under my hands and tucking them in with precision, they smell of floral perfume and hairspray. When the bed is straightened and her clothes put in the hamper, I look around satisfied, and realize what I’ve done.

  She will know someone was in here. She will be afraid. Then something sparks within me, which excites me. I’m glad she will be afraid, she should be after betraying me this way. I am not an idiot, I know she’s hooked up with guys before, but it’s always been where I could see her doing it; no boyfriends or dates, just random hook-ups – like I do. We all have needs.

  After washing her disgusting dishes and cleaning the kitchen, I leave. I can’t believe how filthy her home is. What sort of wife would leave her home that way?

  That’s right, my wife.

  Looking around her home I wonder if this is what my house would look like if she is living in it, with the utter chaos and disrespect for her belongings, the very things she works to pay for. Nonna raised us to look after our things and I can’t understand that she would be like this; her family isn’t that different from ours. They had money though, while we worked damn hard – or married children – for ours.

  My phone lights up and a message alert sounds.

  She’s here. Alone. No guy.

  Relief. I’m not sure why but I feel absolutely relieved she’s back with her friends, even with their loose morals and shit taste in entertainment. I know them. Some other guy, that unknown threat had me going crazy.

  Realizing the extent of my temporary insanity, I panic and leave, locking the door behind me. I don’t go to the club, instead I go home. I need some time to pull myself together.

  I’ll come and check on her in the morning, when she goes for breakfast at the diner on the corner. That’s her church, she goes every single Sunday, orders the same food, with black coffee and three sugars. She never uses salt and doesn’t like syrup on her waffles, but will eat it off a spoon. The waitress makes her smile, some day’s even laugh, and she takes a takeout for the homeless man if he’s still there when she arrives.

  * * *

  After a short and restless sleep I shower and dress. I am not going to church so the suit stays on its hanger. I pull on jeans, a black t-shirt, and my leather jacket. My helmet and boots are at the front door where I left them last night.

  Unlike Ailee, I leave my bed made and the sink devoid of filthy dishes before I get my Ducati Diavel out of the garage. It’s not the popular Harley Davidson, but it’s an Italian bike, with the looks and curves of a supermodel and the engine of a muscle car. When nestled between my legs it’s better than any woman could ever be, without the back talk and whining.

  With over one thousand cc’s of grunt between my thighs I take out my frustration by opening the throttle and speeding, away from my home, towards hers.

  On the way I pass the salon where she works, with the neon sign Cut & Blow flashing while the rest is all but gone. The sushi shop is open, another tell-tale sign that it’s just a front for money laundering, like many other small business in this area where mob networks are all interconnected like a spider’s web.

  My wife, she was the black widow in the web. My family needed her to avoid being caught and eaten, and her family needed me because they were out of options for heirs to the dynasty. Our union is supposed to secure the next generation for them, and us, but mostly them.

  Her father has no other children and no surviving siblings, it’s all on him. And me; you see I failed to tame the beast they created, I didn’t want a child bride, I didn’t force the issue and now I have a wild wife who doesn’t make her bed and will never submit to what is expected of us.

  I park at the dry cleaner opposite her diner and see her and Chelsey through the window in an animated conversation, and I wonder what they are saying.

  Ailee’s cheeks burn red with a deep crimson blush as she covers her eyes and shakes her head. I want to know what they are saying, I want to hear her voice and smell that floral scent that lingered on her sheets. Instead I lean on the lamppost, my face hidden behind dark sunglasses and my long beard that my sisters hate, but I did it so she can’t recognize me. I haven’t seen my full face in a long time. When I first started following her I’d look over my shoulder and worry all the time that she’d see me, so this is my defense mechanism.

  The wind whips from behind me and I flip my collar up on my jacket to block it out. I don’t know why all of a sudden this isn’t enough anymore, or why I went inside and cleaned her house, but I walk across to the diner and open the door.

  An old fashioned bell jingles above my head and the smell of grease is thick like paste in the air. The same graying waitress who serves them follows me to the booth right beside them. Ailee doesn’t look up, neither does her friend, they just natter on through giggles.

  “What’ll you have, dear?” the waitress asks with a happy voice and half a smile.

  “Coffee, black, no sugar, please.” I answer her looking at the menu, knowing I’ll not order anything because of lunch at Nonna later, and if I don’t eat her food I’ll insult her.

  “To eat?” She scribbles on her little notepad that looks like it’s as old as the plastic covered bench I sit on.

  “Nothing to eat, just coffee please.” I pull out my phone so I don’t look like a freak eating alone, and open up Facebook while she totters off to get my drink. I scroll through the endless feed of kids photos and YouTube videos, not looking at anything. I am too busy listening to them talking.

  “I think I drunk-cleaned my house last night. The dishes are even washed and packed away.”

  “You weren’t that wasted. You don’t clean unless it’s a genuine health hazard.”

  “My bed was even made. I’m sure I had a tequila induced spring cleaning, for real.”

  “Are you sure your hangover didn’t just make your eyes real bad?”

  “Bitch!”

  “Sorry, I just can’t imagine you actually cleaning. Ailee, you are a proper pig.”

  “You are a shit best friend.”

  They laugh and the waitress tops up their coffee, and mine.

  “So you had a good time then?” Chelse
y asks her between bites of food.

  “Yeah. He’s kind of got that sexy thing going. You know, for a vegan, hippie teacher. That voice though, I might as well not wear any knickers, they’re soaked after one word.”

  My finger twitches on my phone screen.

  “He does have a deep voice, and with all that hair, God I’d do him in a blink.”

  “You’d do anything with a penis, Chels.” She pokes at her slutty friend. I’ve watched her, I know Ailee is right.

  “Speaking of, did you see it? Feel it? Get close? Is it big?”

  I can’t see her face but I know Ailee is blushing bright red.

  “I did not get near his junk on the first date, Chelsey. I am not a slut!” She chastises her friend. “But when it was eye level at the salon it looked rather impressive in those khaki’s.”

  They both roar with girly laughter that hurts my ears, but it’s what she says that has me grinding my teeth and my pulse hammering in my temple. She’s my wife!

  “You perv, Ailee. Can you imagine pulling that hair when his face is between your legs?”

  I’m done. I can’t do this. I slam a twenty down on the table for my $3.99 coffee and storm out, the door slamming behind me as I just let it go. The bell jingles as it slows down after I am already stomping back to my bike.

  One glance over my shoulder and I know they didn’t pay me any attention. Both laugh and Ailee’s smile is bright as the morning sunshine when she sees me out the window. I turn away and keep walking before she can recognize me. Pushing my glasses further up on my face, I put my helmet on and throw my leg over the bike. The seat is hot from the sun and I feel it through my jeans.

  What am I going to do about my fucking wife? I can’t have her running about dating, that will cause a family shit-storm I am not ready to deal with. She’s got to understand that she’s taken, by me.

  My engine idles as I stand parked in the driveway ready for family lunch; everyone is still at church so I am here alone. I am tempted to just go before they see me and ignore their calls for the day, but my father would lose his sense of humor and I’d pay for it all week, so I turn off the bike and go around the back of the old red-brick house and make myself comfortable on the porch.

  I pull off my jacket and hang it over the railing with my helmet; I’m sweating from the sitting in the sun. The shade of the porch is welcome, and I choose the old fashioned swing as my spot until the entire familia descend on the place. After the bad night I allow myself to nod off and have a siesta.

  My sisters wake me by jumping on the swing and shaking me from my rest.

  “You’re in the shitter,” one of them pipes into my ear.

  “You missed church again, Nonna is not impressed. All good gangsters go to church,” says the other.

  Ugh, really. “I had stuff to do this morning, important stuff. Stop being little bitches and go help in the kitchen.”

  Dad comes through the back door, hands in his pockets, his silvering beard matching his tie. “Rainieri, you’re here.” He comes over to sit beside me. “You didn’t come to church today, it’s becoming a regular thing now for you to just miss it.”

  My father is a serious man. I don’t know how to talk to him about what I have been doing. “I went to see my wife,” I say softly.

  “Did you actually talk to her, or just stalk her like a crazy person?”

  I know he knows. He spoke to me about it once, telling me to pack her stuff and fetch her.

  “I can’t talk to her, but I think it’s almost time I’m going to have to. Papa, this isn’t easy for me. I’m not hard like you.”

  He swings his arm and connects me right in the nuts.

  “Umph!”

  “What are those? Marshmallows? Grow a pair, son. You’re going to need them to control that woman and keep her in line.”

  Clutching my balls, I try taking a breath so I can answer him.

  “I don’t want to have to keep her in line, Papa. I was hoping she would come to me eventually, that she’d need me, but she’s so fucking defiant and stubborn.” I always hoped when her father cut her off she’d come running. Instead she got a job and took care of herself.

  “Well, you better start finding a way to get her to come to you, Rain, or I’m going to have to intervene if you don’t. I should have already, but you asked me to give you time, but time is running out. Her father is putting the pressure on me to do something.”

  Anger radiates off me in a way that the heat can be felt in the air. “Do not intervene, Papa, leave this alone. This is mine, and I will deal with her as I see fit. Maybe I don’t want some woman I have to keep in line anyway. Did you, or he, ever think that maybe I am happy this way, that micro managing some woman I hardly know isn’t what I want to spend my time on? What if I don’t want her?”

  “Then why do you spend every spare moment following her around, hiding in the shadows like a criminal?”

  “God, Papa, I am a fucking criminal; so are you.”

  I swear my father sees nothing wrong with what we do, to him it’s just a business like selling flowers at the market, only it’s not, we sell guns and drugs, and anything else that can’t be traded and moved legally.

  “Watch yourself, boy. I’m warning you. And if you don’t want her, fine, but keep a leash on her because she’s running around like a bitch in heat and it’s embarrassing.”

  The old man gets up and disappears inside the house, leaving me alone to watch the children playing in the yard.

  * * *

  After lunch yesterday I asked my father for a few days off. I told him I needed to set some plans in motion to keep my wife ‘in line’ and that I wanted to go see Gina about her, the old witch is still reasonably loyal to the family.

  I take my truck today, not wanting to be noticed on the bike, park a block away from the salon and walk to the old fashioned barber on the corner. I may as well make use of the time and have my beard trimmed and get a good haircut. I have stopped in here many times over the last few years; the old man knows my father and treats me like royalty.

  “Rainieri, how are you son?” An Italian man hug and a slap on the back follows before he directs me to an open chair.

  There isn’t much talking in a barbershop, unlike the salon where she works, where they all talk the hind leg off a donkey to every customer. This is quiet therapy where I can collect my thoughts and just shut off for a while, an hour where I can do nothing, say nothing and hear nothing.

  “I’m good, Franco. Can you do a trim and a haircut for me?”

  He nods and covers me in the black cape, before he gets his things ready beside him. The antiquated furnishings and white haired old man are all a reminder of an era long past.

  When he’s finished with me I stand at his old cash register, which doesn’t work for anything except holding the money he adds up on a calculator beside it.

  Paying for my services and leaving a big tip for the old man, I say, “See you soon, Franco.”

  “No, Rainieri, you didn’t read the notice on the door?” I didn’t see one, to be honest. “We are closing up at the end of the month, business is too slow. I’m too old, and my children are lazy shits that don’t want to take the place over. The wife and I are going to retire in Florida, closer to the grandchildren.”

  I feel a heavy sadness that the place will be closing down. It’s a relic from the past, that I remember my father bringing us to when we were just school boys. Once a month we’d come in for the ‘short, back and sides’.

  “That makes me sad, Franco, but I wish you well in Florida. Enjoy the time with your family.”

  He nods his head and continues. “I made an agreement with Gina that my customers can get the same price I offered, and Romi will do their shaves for them. He’s good with the straight blade even if he is a bit queer.”

  I am not going there for a haircut. I will find another barber.

  “Thanks, Franco, go well. Ciao.”

  I step outside and notice just how ma
ny small shops are boarded up, the past slowly being wiped away. The small grocer is now a cell phone repair shop and the traditional pizzeria is a chain fast-food outlet.

  This is where we grew up. These streets would bustle with people all the time, now it’s sad and dilapidated, and I want to yell to shock the life back into it, to save it somehow.

  The charity book shop is squeezed between the sushi place and a boarded up bakery across from gran’s salon. I go inside, purchase a book and take a seat in the wingback chair at the window, pretending to read it until Ailee is back from her lunch break, and then I take a walk around the block to the coffee shop that’s one street away – near to where I parked my car.

  I waste all day watching her work and interact with her friends. When they all leave for the day I know Gina will stay late. It’s Monday and she does the books; she also does her boy toy over the desk, so I only have a small window of time to go in and see her.

  I knock on the door that I saw her lock from the inside, and call her. “Gina, open.”

  She comes out from the back and looks at me through the glass barrier. I think she knew I’d come eventually. I know Ailee’s father spoke to her, threatened her. I don’t want to do any of those things. I want to talk to her.

  “What do you want, Rainieri? Ailee has gone home.”

  “Let me in, Gina, we need to talk.”

  She puts her key in and opens the door reluctantly. “I told her father I’d speak to her, and I spoke to her, Rain. She’s stubborn.”

  “This isn’t about whatever her father asked you.”

  “I’m not firing her.”

  “I’m not asking you to! Did he?” She nods and hobbles back to the office, so I follow her. Gina is like a walking wrinkle, too many years of suntanning and cheap makeup haven’t been kind to her. “You don’t fire her, Gina. In fact give her a raise, a promotion, I will cover it, just let me know how much. She won’t take money from me and she needs to hire someone to clean her fucking house.”

  The old woman laughs at me and lights a cigarette. She offers me one and I take it. I don’t usually smoke indoors, but her office is like an ashtray that hasn’t been emptied since I was born.