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Time to get out of here.
“Bye, Tatum,” I say, expecting not to see her again.
“Goodnight, Angelo Mazzini.”
Chapter Ten
I lay in bed, lazily eating the strawberries and whipped cream I ordered from room service. I can’t believe I ordered such a clichéd romantic snack, and that I am eating it alone.
I sigh and take a bite of the sweet, juicy strawberry.
When the phone rings, I’m glad to have a dose of reality instead of drowning in my daydreams and desires.
I see the name display Melanie. For a moment, I want to close my eyes and stay in my fantasy land. I don’t want to be aware that Angelo left, and I’m eating alone.
Alone. It has never bothered me before. Since Gregory, I have found this weird solace in being alone.
Rather than dwell on what will never be and my current situation, I swipe the screen.
“Hi, Melanie,” I answer.
“You tired?”
“Yes,” I sigh out.
“Oh, I know that sigh. It’s a sex sigh. It is, isn’t it?”
“Melanie...” I groan as I push myself up to a seated position.
“Oh, my God, you had sex!”
“Melanie—”
“AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME!”
“Melanie, will you let me get a word in?” I laugh at her obvious excitement.
“Is it the big guy? The one who I haven’t gotten a damn picture of yet?”
“We didn’t have sex!” I almost yell, just to get her to stop.
“We? You said we, now dish!”
So, I dish. I tell her about me leaving my bag, him reading the journal, him following me, leaving out the fingering myself. I mean, we are close, but not that close. Then I tell her about the next time and tonight.
She and I both sigh at the same time, and then we laugh.
“Did he really throw a man in the river?” she asks.
“He did,” I answer as I get up, walk to the window, and look out over the river.
“That’s so incredibly hot.”
It’s so incredibly crazy. All of this. I don’t tell her that, though. I won’t disagree, but I won’t agree, either, based solely on principle. Okay, and stubbornness.
“What’s his name?” she asks in a dreamy tone that is very much Melanie from our days at Columbia and not today’s Melanie, the hardcore agent.
“Angelo Mazzini,” I answer, flopping back on my bed.
“Hmm...” she says, and then I hear keys tapping.
“Melanie, don’t you dare,” I warn, knowing exactly what she’s doing.
“I can’t believe you haven’t,” she scolds.
“Didn’t know his last name until tonight. Besides, I know he looks scary as hell, but there is something about him.”
“Something...?” she asks as she continues typing.
“He seems... protective, kind, giving.” I roll onto my stomach and think, So giving.
“Well, there are a few Angelo Mazzini’s. A couple Michelangelo’s.” She laughs. “And a handful are in their forties. How old is he?”
I swallow, trying to decide if I really want her to know.
“Spill it, Tatum,” she demands.
She knows me so well. If it was anyone else, I would probably feel embarrassed, but not with Melanie.
“Twenty-five,” I answer.
“Cougar,” she says on a laugh.
“In my defense, he looks older. And a cougar is ten years older,” I retort.
“Oh, hell,” she mumbles. Her tone sends a chill up my spine.
“What? Oh, God, is he married?” I panic.
She doesn’t answer. She’s quiet until... “Tate, are you sitting down?”
“I’m lying down. Mel, come on; is he married? I swear to God—”
“Tate, no, he’s not married. He’s... um.” She pauses. “I’m sending you a link. I want you to tell me if this guy looks like your guy.”
“Is he six-foot-five and looks scary but hot?” I joke.
“Tatum, you have no idea,” she whispers.
She doesn’t say any more.
When I get the link, I click on it.
“You get it?” she asks quietly.
“Yes,” I answer as I read the article out loud.
Seventeen-year old Michelangelo Mazzini, from Highland Park, was arrested in the suspected double homicide of his sister, Maria Mazzini, 18, and Blane Barker, 18, on Saturday, March 21st, 2008.
Police say, when they arrived at the scene after neighbors called in what was thought to be a domestic disturbance, Michelangelo Mazzini was curled in a corner of the Mazzini home, holding his eighteen-year-old sister, rocking her while he cried, “He’s gone. He’ll never hurt you again. I killed him, Maria. I killed him for you,” over and over again. When officers tried to take her from him, he fought them.
Mazzini was eventually restrained, cuffed, and taken to county jail, where he pled guilty for killing Baker, and said, “I should have done it when they started dating. I should have killed him then.”
In interviews with classmates at Holy Trinity, an elite private school that both Maria and Michelangelo Mazzini received scholarships to, classmates said the siblings were very close. So close, rumors spread through the campus, that they were thought to have a relationship that was highly inappropriate.
Allegedly, Michelangelo, who for two years was called Saint Michael due to his kind, calm, and selfless demeanor, was jealous of Baker and his sister’s relationship. Maria and Michelangelo were seen on more than one occasion in the month preceding the murders arguing about Maria and Baker’s relationship.
