She put Bambina down, heading toward the kitchen. “Whatever you say, but that’s a lame excuse for putting your life in jeopardy. I’m sure he has plenty of places to lay low and heal. I’d bet my life this isn’t the first time someone has tried to kill him back.”
“You didn’t see him,” I said, following behind her. “He looked terrible. Still does.”
While Aniello slept, I figured I would cook something for everyone. I had all the ingredients for eggplant rollatini (for Cilla and I) and pastina soup (for Aniello). I wasn’t sure how long he would stay, but I figured he was going to wait for Dr. Sharon. She hadn’t sounded surprised when I’d called, and she told me she would be over when she could.
Cilla shook her head, fiddling with the stereo. “Lamegame,” she said.
“You know,” I said, pointing a pot at her, “for as mature as you are, you can be so childish sometimes. Stick with mature. It suits you better.”
She stuck her tongue out at me. Then, as soon as the music started, she slid across the floor, closer to me, singing, “She’s a good girl…”
I took her face in my palm and pushed her away. She started singing to Bambina, who ran away, scratching to get back in my room.
“Oh no!” I said to Bambina. “If I have to suffer through—what’s it looking like today, five shows?”
“I’m feeling ten!” Cilla sang.
“Ten shows, then you do, too.”
I’d never seen a dog hide underneath throw pillows before, but that was exactly what Bambina did while Cilla kept up her shows and I cooked. She only came out of hiding when a knock came at the door. I was putting the eggplant rollatini in the oven. The soup was done, left simmering on the stove to keep warm.
Dr. Sharon stood on the other side of the door, a doctor’s bag in her hand. Bambina was excited to see her, but Cilla watched her with a suspicious look as she stepped inside and I shut the door behind her.
“So,” I said, trying to break the tension as we stood close to the door. “You know Aniello Assanti?”
Her smile came easy. Maybe I was the only one feeling the tension then. “Abe Ruth is my brother. We all grew up together.”
That took me by surprise, probably because it was the most I’d ever learned about Aniello’s private life.
“Which room is he in?”
It took me a minute to realize Dr. Sharon was talking to me. I’d been staring at her.
“Not that one.” Cilla pointed to her room.
Dr. Sharon headed in the direction of my room, and I followed. She knocked once and then let herself in.
Aniello blinked at her as she stepped into a bright patch of sunlight burning through the windows. “Fuck,” he said. “I thought I’d died and gone to hell.”
Dr. Sharon set her doctor’s bag down on my bedside table. “Are you hallucinating, Assanti?”
“There’s no way my mind could have come up with something so fucking twisted.” He sat up some, groaning as he did. “My ears are bleeding out.”
Then it dawned on me. He was talking about Cilla’s singing. A huge bubble of laughter exploded from my mouth. Aniello’s facial expression didn’t change, but Dr. Sharon looked between us when he focused on me.
“My roommate,” I said, explaining. “She sings. Puts on shows. She got a little carried away today.”
Dr. Sharon smiled while she took out her tools. “Well, if her shows might get Assanti to repent, I’m going to tell her to keep singing on my way out.”
“Fuck,” he said, shaking his head.
I laughed again, and this time when he looked at me, our eyes connected. All the heat he was capable of lived there, in the depths of his eyes. The longer he stared at me, the hotter they became. I felt like the paper burning in his hands at Club D.
Trapped by desire. Consumed by want. Melting into him.
Dr. Sharon cleared her throat. It was loud enough that I blinked, turning away from him. “I’m going to—” I pointed toward my door.
Cilla was sitting on the counter when I checked the dish in the oven.
