Untamed (16 page)

I finish my slice of cake – black forest – and look longingly at the rest of it.

“Can I have another, Dad?”

He frowns at me, the corners of his mouth drawn down impossibly low. “No.”

“Why not?” I cry. “It’s my birthday.”

“It’ll make you fat.”

I wince, stung. “Thanks a lot.”

“You could stand to lose a few pounds already.”

My teeth clash together, and I look away. “You’re such an—”

“Such a what?” he shouts, glaring at me. “It’s for your own good. Once you gain weight, it’s impossible to lose, and I’m not going to be like Falcone with his fat daughter and son.”

I want to cry, but bite it back. Dad hates it when I cry. He blames me for crying.

“Oh, grow up,” he says. “You’re going to have to take responsibility of yourself sooner or later.”

“It’s just a piece of cake, Dad,” I say, but my protestation has all the conviction of a wilting flower.

“One is enough. Now, are you ready to unwrap your gifts?”

“Yeah,” I say, sighing.

“What is it, Deidre?”

“Nothing.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing!”

He straightens up, wipes his mouth with a napkin, and then helps himself to another slice of cake.

“You will tell me what is on your mind, Deidre, because I am your father and I demand it.”

“Nothing!” I shout, tossing my cutlery onto my plate. I regret it instantly when Dad stands out of his chair, and I shrink into myself, wishing I could disappear.

“What is it?” he asks, spacing out the words through gritted teeth.

“I really wanted to have a birthday party this year, Dad.”

He shakes his head, sits down again. “Under no circumstances.”

“Why?”

“I’m not having a bunch of filthy teenagers in my house.”

“Then what about the garden? What if we all just went out and watched a movie together? I wish you’d let me go out with friends more.”

“I thought you said people stayed away from you at school.” He digs into his second slice of cake, munches it down. I must get my sweet tooth from him.

“Did Mom like cake?”

His whole body freezes at the mention of Mom. He hates talking about her. “Sometimes,” he says curtly. “The other children at school stopped being afraid of you?”

“We’re not
children
, Dad.”

“Like hell you’re not.”

“I don’t know, I’ve got a couple of friends, I think. I would have invited them. Maria and Teresa?”

Dad just levels a blank look at me. Of course he wouldn’t know anything about me or my friends.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t trust children.”

“Well,
you
could have been there,” I say. “Or had Frank take us to the mall, or something.”

“Frank!” Dad calls. He appears in the doorway, wide and round. “Give your present to Deidre.”

Frank grins, and says, “Let me just get it, boss. It’s in the car.”

“Well hurry the fuck up.”

“Right, boss.”

Dad turns his eyes on me as Frank disappears out of the doorway, and says without an ounce of sympathy, “No parties, Deidre. We’ve got to play it safe.”

“What does that even mean?”

“A few years before you were born, I was attending the eighteenth birthday party of a young man. He was the son of an associate of mine, was going to be coming into the business soon. You know, learning the ropes so he could one day take over.”

“Yeah,” I say. I know what Dad’s talking about. Some boss’ son was going to get a high rank in the organization once he came of age.

“He was shot in his own father’s back garden. Blood squirted out of his chest. There was so much of it. It was like Yellowstone finally erupted. His heart must have been really going. He died, Deidre. I will not let anybody kill my child in my house. Nobody comes into my house and pulls shit like that. Nobody disrespects me like that.”

I pause at the way he phrases it. My voice is icy when I say, “I’m never coming into your business.”

“It doesn’t matter, Deidre. They’ll use you to get to me. I won’t take that risk. Nobody gets the better of me.”

“Gee, thanks. I never asked for this damn life.”

“Hey!” he barks, pointing a finger at me. “You have a good life. You have a nice house, you eat a good meal three times a day, you have your own room, Frank drives you everywhere. How dare you complain? Do you know how many children in this world have nothing?”

“I just want to be a normal kid. Not ‘Johnny Marino’s daughter’.”

“It’s not about being normal. It’s about being a guppy, or being a shark. You’re either one, or the other. We’re not abnormal, we’re above normal.
Better
than normal. Normal people are fucking loser idiots that go through life just waiting to die. Me? I
made
something of my life, and continue to do so in order for you to have a life. I expect you to make something of your life, too. And being ‘Johnny Marino’s daughter’ is a good thing. People will respect you. They will fear you. Your name rings out.”

“But I don’t want people to respect me because they fear me,” I say. “I am not going to be involved in your business.”

“That’s fine. It’s not a line of work for women, anyway.”

I roll my eyes. “What a modern attitude, Dad.”

“You’ll understand when you’re older, Deidre. Where the hell is Frank? Frank!”

He appears in the doorway again. He’s got a wrapped gift under his arm. He hands it to me, and I take it, unwrap it.

It’s a book titled
Elizabeth McCollum: An Autobiography
.

Frank shuffles his feet nervously. “You said you wanted to be a teacher, right? Work with children?”

I look up at him. “Yeah,” I say. “You remembered?”

“Oh, sure,” he says. “I don’t know nothing about teaching, but I read in the paper that this woman’s book here was a
New York Times
bestseller. She taught in schools all over the country, working with all kinds of kids. Rich kids, poor kids, immigrant kids, disabled kids. She helped developed programs and stuff. You know, plans for kids with special needs. I don’t mean, like, retarded kids.”

“Frank,” I say, cutting him off softly. “You shouldn’t say ‘retarded’ like that.”

“You know what I mean,” he says hastily. “Anyway, you know, kids who need special cur…” He trails off, unable to find the word.

“Curriculums!” Dad barks. “Jesus fucking Christ!”

“Sorry, boss.” Frank returns his eyes to me. “Curriculums and stuff. Anyway, I thought you’d like it.”

I smile at Frank. “It’s nice, I’ll definitely read it. Thank you for remembering, Frank.”

“Oh, it’s nothing ho—” He was about to say ‘honey’, but cut himself off.

“It’s a good gift, Frank,” Dad says. “Very thoughtful, very nice. Thank you from me, too. From the bottom of my heart.” He touches his chest.

Frank bows his head slightly.

Dad continues: “Though you know with teenagers, they change their minds all the time about what they want to do.”

“I won’t,” I say. “I want to work with children. I want to be a teacher.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dad asks. “You sure about that?”

“Pretty sure.”

Dad puts down his fork. “Why a teacher?”

“It’s such a big responsibility,” I say. “You help to shape the lives of people. I want to do good.”

He scoffs. “Do good! When you grow up, you’re going to be in for a shock. Nobody does good. Everybody just looks out for themselves.”