“Where did Shufflebottom go?” she asked, looking for the man in question.
“Shufflebottom?”
“Shufflebotham,” she corrected, but I knew I had heard her correctly the first time. “He’s about wee high—” she lifted her arm, midway to her hip, making him shorter than he was. “Bald. A bit daft.” I was almost positive she mouthedand a twat.
“Oh, um, well he had an accident.” I kept it close to the truth.
“Did he die?” She looked hopeful.
“No, my husband’s uncle is tending to his wounds now.”
“Just the luck,” she said under her breath. She shuffled her papers, nodding when she came to whatever she had been looking for. “Tell me, is your husband a passionate man or an even-tempered one?”
I heard Violet laughing from the kitchen.
* * *
Few stars were out. With a city this size, so many lights competing for the limelight, it was no wonder. Still, I took comfort where I could find it.
I hadn't been in to see Brando. Nor was I ready to. Too much energy ran through my veins, and there was no outlet to release it. Too many thoughts and no one I wanted to share them with.
I had forgone dinner in place of the pistachio gelato Eunice made, left the kitchen stifling with people, and took it out on the terrace overlooking Hyde Park. It would have been nice to stroll the grounds with Brando, holding hands and talking about nothing. Stealing a few moments to ourselves before we parted at dawn.
When I was younger, and dance took me to London, we would stay at a flat not far from this one. I had always looked over the park, listening to the giggles of children and fantasying about the day I would walk the gardens with my husband. Perhaps having a pram to push. Though Hyde Park was beautiful, it was Kensington Gardens that I adored the most. I’d beg my mother to take me. Eunice usually did.
It would have been nice to share that with Brando, after London brought the memory back to me, but he had no time for anything except his own anger.
“Bloody man!” I whispered to myself. It felt right to use bloody in England. While there, why not? “Bloody, stubborn, brutish, Italian man!”
The feeling of having no one to confide in, or no one I could at the moment, jarred me.My best friend and lover disappeared and left me.Drowned himself in enough whiskey to fell a lion, Uncle Tito had said. We both knew it was so that he could numb the feelings. Perhaps he couldn’t face the moment he would have to watch me leave.
Sighing, I put the empty bowl on the table. I needed a release, something to carry me elsewhere and hide me for a while. I needed something to shield me from the pressures of the world. It had felt good earlier to lose myself to work, creating poses that seemed so second nature to me that it was akin to breathing or eating.
What I needed was to dance. To connect with the best friend that never left my side, couldn’t leave my side. She was dependable, as close as skin, as warm as my own blood, and she moved me when I couldn’t find the strength to.
The terrace had a stereo system in place for parties. I hit the button to start the music and grinned—“Angel” by Sarah McLachlan. Was it overly theatrical? Yes. But the tempo was slow and her voice soft. I wanted to be weightless, to float, to move as though my bones didn’t exist, and neither did the burdens.
Time didn’t exist when I gave myself over to the dance, and when I stopped, the world seemed different—even darker.
How long had I been at it? How long had I escaped?
Not long enough.
But…Brando.I swallowed hard, attempting to control my breathing. When we were fighting, my heart hurt and I couldn’t concentrate.I touched my cheeks, hot and flushed from the night air, from the dance, not able to tell the difference between the salt of tears or sweat.
You will not cry! It’s just a vacation—three weeks.
Brando was asleep when I finally made it down to our room. His breathing came even but deep. Our entire room smelled like a distillery. I tiptoed in, taking a quick bath, brushing my teeth, and then preparing my things. Digging in my bag for a moment, I retrieved the gift I had bought for him: a Cartier diver’s watch, all black with gold trim, its strap made of rubber. The man at the store said that it was the finest of its class and water-resistant to three hundred meters. I had the back engraved—“Se non c'è tempo di parlare la parola ... sempre.”In case there is no time to speak the word… always.
The engraving was for then and always, but more for then. I wouldn’t be able to tell him goodbye because he wouldn’t be able to let me go.
His brothers depended on me to see this through.
He didn’t move when I took his arm and secured the watch around his wrist. Just turned his back on me a few minutes later. I sighed and slid into bed, noticing a box on the bedside table for me.
His earlier behavior stopped me from opening it.
He stirred next to me after enough time had lapsed that I could have fallen asleep. His warmth moved closer and I could smell his whiskey-saturated breath. I closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep.
