Page 3 of Mafia’s Dirty Secret

He had the smoldering looks of the Italian models she’d seen in magazines in the pharmacy as she waited to be served. Usually, ads for underwear or cologne that she’d always speed past. His nose wasn’t too big, or too curved, it was just right on a face with high cheekbones, full lips, and a jawline that looked as if an artist had sculpted it.

The expensive clothes he wore showed off an equally sculpted body, and she wondered how many hours he spent in a gym to get that built. He glanced in her direction as if he felt her stare, and Marie quickly looked away. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and pushed her cheap sunglasses down on her face. Hopefully, he hadn’t seen her gawping at him.

She pushed the cart back to the stand, in a daze as she berated herself for her childishness. She’d never had a boyfriend, her mother hadn’t allowed it, and she’d never really been accepted at school. As the illegitimate child of a failed starlet, she was an outcast even before she’d started school. In this rural part of Louisiana, Catholicism reigned and her mother had sinned. Sinned so much she’d been excommunicated.

Marie’s cheeks flamed as she remembered it all over again, how her mother had screamed profanities in the middle of mass, drunk and angry because her latest lover had gone back to his wife. The church spent years trying to aid her mother, in trying to get her to change her ways, but when she’d screamed there was no God, and that she’d do those awful things to the holy family, well, she’d left the church little choice. That was all before Marie had even started school. It only got worse after that.

Ruby had time to go the bar before Marie came home from school, once she’d shipped her daughter off to the local elementary school. Sometimes, those trips out for a few hours became days. Ruby would leave Marie to fend for herself while she spent her evenings at the dance halls, trying to find a man that would help her forget her woes. Marie had learned early on to watch what she said, how she dressed, and how often she bathed.

Somebody had called social services on Ruby when Marie was in the first grade. After Ruby had played the perfect mother to get the social worker off her back, Marie had been beaten with a belt until she was black and blue. She’d also gone three days without food. That part hadn’t bothered her as much as the bruises hidden beneath her clothes.

She was used to her mother not bringing home food or taking her out to eat. Hunger was familiar, the pain wasn’t something she could forget, though. It had all come together to create a quiet child, one that observed, but rarely spoke. Now an adult, Marie wasn’t much different to the child that had always been on the lookout for trouble that might come her mother’s way.

The drinking had hidden Ruby’s condition for a long time, but eventually, it had caught up with her. Marie was almost glad about the disease slowly taking her mother away from her. At least her mother didn’t come home battered and used up now. Which was another disloyal thought, Marie reminded herself.

She wasn’t overly religious, she couldn’t be with her mother there to disillusion her, but she was a firm believer in karma and all that entailed. She knew she’d pay for every disloyal, unkind thought she had about her mother, in one way or another. Her mother couldn’t help it, after all, she’d had a really hard life since she’d had Marie.

That’s the line Ruby drilled into her, over the years, every time she did something that made her life a little bit harder. Marie had to sacrifice her own happiness because Ruby deserved the little pleasures she gained from the life of her own making. Marie took a deep breath, realized she’d been standing at the cart stand way too long, and quickly turned around.

The sound of brakes and a powerful engine finally broke into her reverie as she saw a big black sports car had almost run her over. Marie gaped at the windshield, her hands on the hood of the car. Slowly, thoughts began to trickle in…

…the man from the gas station. He was so… beautiful. Gorgeous. And he was out of the car, in front of her now.

She stared up, way up, at the most intriguing eyes she’d ever seen. He’d pushed his sunglasses up over his head, and he looked down at her now with concern. She smiled, lost in his eyes for a moment.

“Are you alright?” a deeply accented voice asked. Not from around here then. “Miss?”

“Pardon?” Her eyebrows crooked over her eyes in question as she shifted on her feet and looked up at him.

“I nearly hit you, are you alright?” His lips, so full and sensual she wanted to touch them with her fingertips, just to feel their softness, caught her eyes, and again, she forgot to answer him.

“Miss?”

“What?” Suddenly, she snapped out of her daze, her cheeks flamed into twin red flags, and she dropped her head down to look at her feet. “Sorry, yes, I’m fine.”

She waved at her car and looked up at him, the left side of her face scrunched up with embarrassment. He smiled, nodded, and looked down at her with interest now that she wasn’t a zombie.

“Good. You scared me, I didn’t even see you there at the stand, until you turned around. My fault, entirely.”

“No, it was mine. I wasn’t paying any attention. Sorry, I’ll let you be on your way now.” She smiled and turned away, but something made her look back. He hadn’t moved a muscle, he just watched her as she walked away with something that could be? No, it couldn’t be interest. Men didn’t look at her like that.

He drove away as she got into her car, and she thought about how nice it had been to speak with him. Most people avoided any possibility of talking with her if they could. It was almost as if they thought she’d blight them if she spoke to them. She’d learned to do most transactions quietly, and was used to only having conversations with her mother’s doctor, nurse, and the pharmacist.

She’d sometimes have to speak to others, to take care of business matters for her mother, but not very often, and those people didn’t live here. It was nice to actually talk to someone. She drove away, headed back to the house, hidden almost in the swamp, that her mother bought all those years ago. It was much too large for them, with way too many bedrooms on two floors.

They didn’t need all that and there hadn’t been a soul upstairs in months now. Marie went up every now and then to check the ceilings and check for damage after a storm, but otherwise, there was no need to go up there. She kept up the two bedrooms they slept in, the living room, kitchen, bathroom, and the laundry room. That was enough.

Her mother was asleep when she arrived home, so Marie put the groceries away after the nurse left. She put on some pasta to cook on the stove, a little bit of spaghetti sauce she’d put in the freezer went into the microwave, and her radio came on.

With her feet propped on another chair, Marie allowed the sound of swamp pop music to take her away to a land where a man like the Lamborghini driver noticed her. He’d take her to dance the night away at the dance hall, or out to eat at some fancy restaurant tucked away in a secret part of New Orleans. He’d sweep her off her feet and take her away from this miserable life, with the flash of a pearly white grin and a blink of those warm brown eyes. Life would be good, something she’d never known before, and she wouldn’t have to hear her mother’s voice telling her she was unwanted, ever again.

“Marie!” Came the strangled sound of her mother’s voice, ruined by the cigarettes she used to smoke and the paralyzed muscles caused by her condition. “Marie, I’m wet!”

That, Marie thought with a sigh filled with regret. That’s what she wanted to escape, just for a few short hours, even if it meant she’d go to hell for the thought. That voice, that hateful, anger-strained voice. She turned off the stove and pulled a pair of gloves from the boxes she had strewn around the house. She’d never escape, her mother wouldn’t allow it.

3

A beam of sunlight danced across the pages of Marie’s book as the wind rustled gently through the leaves in the tree. It reminded her that she didn’t have all day to sit there at the café with her book. She finished her beignets and took the last sip of her café au lait before she put the book in her bag, gathered her things, and got up to leave.