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When I stepped out of my building, she was already headed down the sidewalk with a pair of red heels on her feet, an orange leather bag slung over her shoulder and her gorgeous hair whipping in the wind.
Physically, she looks nothing like the women I’m typically attracted to, yet there’s something about her that I can’t shake.
“This is for you.” My grandmother drops the ten dollar bill on the table next to my glass of water.
As I sit back down, I look into her blue eyes. They’re the same shade as mine. “You’re paying me to eat here now? Since when?”
She ruffles my hair. “You need a haircut.”
That’s debatable. I don’t put a lot of thought into my hair. I wash it, towel dry it and it ends up looking unruly. It’s working for me judging by the number of second glances I’ve been getting from women I pass on the sidewalk.
“Marti,” I start with the name I’ve always called her. She’s always been Marti to me. She tells me that she christened herself that on the day I was born, so I’ve never strayed from it. It fits her. Just as the name Rocco suits me. It was my grandfather’s first name and I’m proud to be the second Rocco in the family. “I hate to break the news to you, but I can’t get a decent haircut for ten dollars.”
“Define decent.” She twirls her hand in the air. “Anything is better than this.”
“Keep your money.” I slide the bill back toward her. “I can afford a haircut.”
She shakes her head adamantly. Her graying brown hair stays in place in the bun she always pins it into at the base of her neck. “You could use a shave too.”
“I didn’t come here for the critique. I came for a plate of lasagna.”
“You’ll eat the spaghetti today.”
I laugh loudly. “I ordered the lasagna.”
She shoots me a look. “I know what’s best for my grandson. You’ll eat the spaghetti. I made it myself.”
She makes everything herself.
“Spaghetti it is,” I acquiesce with a shake of my head.
Her gaze slides to the table where the women wearing the I heart NY shirts are now sitting. “I’m going to go over and welcome those two beauties. I’ll see if either is available.”
“Marti.” I rub my temples. “No more set-ups.”
“Is it a crime that I want my grandson to have a happy life?” Her hands trail through the air in a wide arc. “Ti amo, ragazzo mio.”
I love you, my boy.
The same words my mother would say to me in Italian every night.
“I love you too.” I reach for her hand, kissing her calloused palm. “I have a happy life. You’re a big part of that.”
She pats me on the top of the head. “Use the money to get a haircut. You’ll attract more women if you clean yourself up.”
I laugh as Manuel, one of the servers, approaches with a round white plate piled high with spaghetti and meatballs.
I’m eager to eat and then head home. With any luck, the beautiful woman who lives in the building next to mine will be waiting for me by her window tonight.
Chapter 5
Dexie
I bang my fist against the cover of the air conditioner again. It starts up with a thud and a whir, but it’s short-lived. It sputters, just like it did the first two times I tried the novel approach of punching it to get it to work.
It’s unbearably hot in here. I felt the stifling heat the moment I walked in and hit the switch to turn on the track lighting on the ceiling. By the time I shut my apartment door, my dress was on the floor and I was on my way to take a quick cool shower.
I put on a pair of black yoga shorts and a matching sports bra after I toweled off. My lack of clothing should bring me some relief, but it doesn’t.
