Beauty (5 page)

The doorbell rang.

‘Comin’!’ she yelled. Her words were slurry.
Shit!
Maybe it was Paolo, come back. He was her favourite. The way he caressed her ass . . . made her feel good, sexy, young again.

But she was already, well, a little bit nice.

Ellen stumbled to her bathroom and swilled the Listerine around her mouth. Yeah – great. Now she was set.

She opened the door, steadying herself on the handle.

It wasn’t Paolo. It wasn’t any of them.

But it was a younger man, handsome in a kind of fierce way, with a scar on his cheek. And a fancy suit and a
reeeal
nice watch. He was Italian, for sure.

Ellen glanced behind him. He didn’t have a town car. He had a limo you could take a bath in.

Maybe one of the boys had recommended her.
Recommended her
. That was kind of humiliating, but sexy, too. Ellen tossed back her blond hair. She liked to party; she was a pretty girl who liked to party. Not a goddamned crime, right?

‘Hey, baby,’ she said, carefully enunciating. ‘Come on in.’

Angelo Tallarico sat on the couch and stared at Ellen. She was a sloppy, drunken mess. Now she was sobbing, her small shoulders heaving, eyes and nose streaming.

He glanced around; the little house was neat. Dina had probably taken care of that.

Tallarico was a murderer and a drug dealer – with very particular ideas about how things should be done.

And Ellen Kane didn’t fit the template.

‘Stop crying,’ he said, coldly. ‘I’m not your shrink. You understand me?’

She mopped at her face.

‘The boys aren’t coming round. None of them. Ever. Don’t call. Don’t email. You’re an embarrassment to the family.’

Ellen trembled. She thought she’d get more compassion from a snake.

‘We support you. But one more incident and that money is cut off. One more embarrassment, so are you.’

She moaned.

‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’ve had your last drink. If I ever see you drinking again, ever hear reports of you drinking, you will wind up in an accident.’

Ellen’s whole body shuddered. Never had she wanted booze as much as she did in that second.

‘Don Angelo—’

‘Don’t call me that.’

‘I can’t stop drinking . . . not right away. Give me a week, a month . . .’

‘You have the weekend to clean up. Lock yourself in your bedroom and order a pizza. Monday morning, you’re back at work. Sober. For good. If not . . .’ he shrugged.

‘I . . . I . . .’

‘Call it the fast-track twelve-step programme, lady –’ a thin smile at his own joke – ‘one step: you stop. Or you die.’

‘And men?’

‘Nobody from the family. If you can find a nice single, divorced guy, date him like a civilised broad; you can get married. Good luck with that.’ He laughed cruelly. ‘I wouldn’t fuck you with my gardener’s dick.’

‘Oh, God,’ Ellen said.

‘Spend our money. Live clean. Live quiet. Then you live. Shit, you could consider looking after that pretty little daughter of yours.’

Ellen collapsed into sobs. When she looked up, Tallarico had gone.

She fled to the kitchen and picked up the vodka bottle.

Outside, in the street, the limousine flashed and dipped its headlights.

Fear gripped her. Fear worse than the craving. Ellen lifted the bottle, so he could see, and poured all that lovely, calming liquid right down the sink.

Then she collapsed on to the floor and crawled upstairs to her bedroom on her hands and knees.

That pretty little daughter of yours . . . Pretty little daughter
 . . .

Dina!

It was Dina. She was here to curse the mother that slaved for her. Here to ruin Ellen’s life.

Ellen bit her lip. She dared not say anything to Dina. The man – the bastard, Tallarico – would not like it. And, like a threatened animal, Ellen scented danger.

He was angry. If she did anything to worsen that, she was dead. And not in a metaphorical sense.

Lying on her bedroom rug, watching the ceiling spin and dance as she gasped and sweated and longed for a drink, Ellen Kane held tight to one thing:

She would have her revenge.

Chapter Three

Dina Kane graduated from school a major success – that is, if you were looking at grades. She was top of the class.

Despite her mom, Dina had applied to the Ivy League – and got in. There were acceptances from Columbia, Vassar, even Stanford.

But Dina could not afford the fees. She was considered too well-off for financial aid – her mother had almost three hundred grand in the bank.

None of her pleading meant a goddamned thing.

‘No, Dina.’ Ellen was colder these days in her dismissal. Unable to compete as an aging sexpot, she had taken refuge in the clothing of the upright. Hair twisted into a severe bun, Ellen Kane favoured long, stout skirts, membership of community organisations and a disapproving frown at all times.

For some time now, she hadn’t touched a drink. Or any drug stronger than caffeine.

Ellen joined the PTA at Johnny’s Catholic school. She volunteered in the St Patrick’s Society. She was on the town-beautification committee. Their house grew cleaner and neater and Ellen gave gifts to local organisations so she could be thanked at dinners.

At first, Dina was thrilled. That horrible trip to Tallarico had had its effects. Her mother had said she was sick and barely came out of her room all week, but when she did, she was changed. Older. Sober. No mascara. Plain, sensible pants. She looked like a mom.

Unfortunately, she still didn’t act like one. Dina got a square meal at supper and new clothes when she’d worn out the last set. And that was it.

They were strangers. No people came to the house; no men visited at night. Dina Kane started to live for the moments her brother came home from school.

‘There’s no money for you to go to college. I need it for my pension. I won’t be marrying again and there’s no security in welfare. Besides, this place has property taxes . . .’

The list went on and on.

‘But, Mom, you’ve got plenty – really.’ Dina didn’t want to cry, but she couldn’t help it. ‘I need you to help me out, Momma.’

Ellen looked blank. ‘Johnny’s at college. I’m paying for that.’

Johnny was at a pretty nondescript, local private university – the best he could get into with his so-so grades. But at least it was college.

‘You can’t just favour one of us over the other, Mom!’

Ellen smiled, very quickly, very slightly, then swallowed it. She turned to Dina, her face set once more. ‘It’s clear from your school success that I picked the right place for you. Johnny might have needed more help. Putting one kid in college is all that I can manage. You should respect that, Dina. You can always get a job, work your way through.’

‘I can’t work through Columbia’s fees . . .’

‘I’m sorry. There’s nothing to discuss.’

‘Mom –’ Dina tried one last, desperate tactic – ‘if you
lend
me the money for college, I’ll graduate, I’ll have a career and I can pay you back . . . I’ll do well in life, Momma; I’m going to work hard.’

Her mother laughed. ‘Really, honey, don’t get ideas above your station. You should go out with one of the local boys. Get married, have some children. Life’s all about a happy home!’

‘So what will you do?’ The principal, Mr Rogers, looked at Ellen Kane’s departing figure with withering contempt.

She’d turned up at graduation, sat there for the ceremony and clapped politely as Dina received her cap and gown, and the meaningless little scroll that made her a high-school graduate. Then, as soon as she’d posed for a photo with her desperately smiling daughter and the slothful elder brother lolling around next to her, Ellen had turned around and walked off.

Mr Rogers had no doubt that the photo would be framed. It would go on her mantelpiece. Ellen Kane: pillar of the community, single mom of the year. But she had no few minutes to spend with her daughter – the one whose incredible potential she was just throwing down the drain.

‘There’s always community college.’

‘My mom’s too poor to afford college,’ Dina said again.

He smiled sympathetically. Now wasn’t the time for the truth. ‘Sure, Dina.’

‘I think I want to move to the city. Get a job and save some money. Then maybe I can reapply next year.’

He wanted to tell her she was crazy, but he had no answers. ‘What kind of job?’

‘I’ll figure something out,’ she said.

‘OK.’ Mr Rogers hesitated. ‘Is your momma setting you up in an apartment?’

‘Of course.’ Dina smiled. ‘Momma does everything for me.’

She walked home, thinking about it. Letting the warmth of the sun on her back calm her. New York was great when it was baking hot. It could distract you from pain.

Johnny had left home now . . . He couldn’t bear to be around Ellen and Dina, to see the cruelty, the tension. Johnny wasn’t built for confrontation – or, really, effort of any kind. He wanted to hug his sister, have a good time. And he avoided acknowledging how he hadn’t protected her, skipping out whenever a bad scene came up, which was more and more often these days.

Dina never quite believed it – that the mom who raised her would dump her like this. In a few months she’d be eighteen, a legal adult.

Ellen was finally shot of her.

And it showed. Her mother could barely contain her jubilation.

‘I hope you’ve worked at finding a job,’ she’d said. ‘And can you make sure your things are packed? I need a real guest bedroom.’

‘But where will I sleep?’

‘Sleep?’ Ellen arched a brow. ‘Dina, adults have their own lives. It’s healthy for you to get on with yours.’

‘I don’t know anyone in the city.’

‘You know Johnny.’ Her brother had a tiny apartment near his college. Ellen gave him an allowance, part of his college arrangements, so she told Dina. As a working woman, Dina could afford her own rent.

When she turned the corner into her street, Dina Kane had made up her mind.

She looked up at the house in which she’d been raised. It was neat, well kept and pretty – exactly the same as it always was. Her mother’s big break meant nothing. She spent all that money on herself, and spent it just to stand still.

If Dina got a hundred grand, she would do something with it.

Momma was right. It was time to move on. But Dina would do it on her own terms.

‘Hey, Momma.’ Dina walked into the kitchen and set her graduation cap down on the counter. She carefully hung up her cape on the hook on the kitchen door.

Underneath, she wore a pair of jeans from Gap and a plain white T-shirt. On her, this was an absolutely knock-out look. Her naturally tanned skin popped against the white, and her breasts, medium sized and sweetly shaped, were outlined perfectly. Dina had a narrow waist and was naturally slim. Even in flats, she was absolutely stunning.

‘Well, I’m glad
that’s
over,’ said Ellen, brutally.

Dina breathed in. The casual cruelty, so normal, so painful, gave her strength to come out with what she had to say.

‘So, I’m not eighteen for two months. But I’d like to move out now.’

A slight flicker of a smile; it hurt Dina like a punch to the gut.

Why do I still care
?

I love her. I hate her.

‘You found somewhere?’

‘I’m going to. I have places to visit today.’

‘Places to visit? Aren’t you staying with a friend?’

Dina shook her head. ‘Rentals. I found them in the
Village Voice
.’

Ellen paused. ‘But you don’t have a job. And rentals need a deposit.’

‘Yes – two months’ rent, and security. It’s more for me, though, because I don’t have a job yet, you’re right. I plan to move to the city and job hunt from there.’

Her mother saw where this was going.

‘Dina, we’ve spoken about money. You can’t ask me for any.’

Dina took a deep breath. ‘Not asking you, Momma – telling you. I need fifteen thousand dollars.’

Ellen laughed. ‘I can’t lend you fifteen grand.’

‘It won’t be a loan. It will be a gift. And you’re going to give me fifteen thousand right now.’

Her mother looked up from the stove, startled. There was a fire in her daughter’s green eyes that she had never seen before.

‘Write me the cheque and I will be out of your hair – permanently. Don’t write it, and I will go and see Don Tallarico.’

Ellen gasped. Adrenaline prickled across her skin like she’d been doused with water. ‘My God. It
was
you.’

‘Yes, it was. And it will be again. Give me the money now, Momma. There’s a pen on the countertop. Write me that cheque.’

And Dina Kane held out her hand.

The apartment was vile. It was tiny, cramped and filthy. The bathroom had a stand-up shower in it with a dead bug resting against the drain. The paint was peeling and the kitchen alcove was barely big enough for a refrigerator and a hot plate. A rickety double bed took up most of the rest of the space. There was a chair wedged right up against a large TV, one closet and stains on the green rug. Plus, you had to walk up eight flights of stairs to get there.

‘Are all the apartments in the building like this?’

The realtor sniffed. ‘Honey, you couldn’t afford any of the others. This used to belong to the super. He was from Mexico.’

‘So, for him, it was a palace?’

She shrugged. ‘Don’t give me any of that equality crap. You want it?’

The building itself was in a backwater, but it was secure and it was Manhattan. And Dina wouldn’t have to share.

‘Not at this price,’ she said.

Ten minutes and a five-hundred-dollar discount later, Dina Kane had a deal. As she folded up her copy of the lease papers, she took note of the landlord’s address.

As soon as she got the keys, Dina moved in. She called a handyman to remove everything in the flat and dump it into storage. Next, she got on the subway to a cheap furniture store in Midtown.

She looked around, thinking carefully about what to buy. After two hours, she was satisfied with her purchases.