Veiled Threat (9 page)

fourteen

Good Heavens, this coffee
is terrible.
Giulia sipped it again.
More sugar won’t help. I refuse to touch that powdered chemical pretending to be creamer. A good Catholic would offer it up.
She set down the cup and put a hand on the small of her back.
Working for Frank has made me soft. Cleaning out three rooms wouldn’t have made me this sore in my convent days.

“I know, I know, we have to be at your mother’s by nine a.m. Christmas morning.” A tall man in an open puffy ski jacket came in from the hallway. His boots clomped on the floor.

“She’s not that bad. Come on. You got through it last year.” A woman in yoga pants and a loose Wildflower logo sweatshirt followed on his heels.

“Look, I like your mother. She’s a nice person.” He held his hands over the steam from the coffeepot.

“But?” the woman said in a dangerous voice.

He rubbed his hands together. “This sludge is finally good for something. But I swear to you, babe, that if she nags us during another holiday dinner about having children, I will shove every dish off the table, throw you on it, and tell her we’re going to try making one right now.”

The woman laughed. “You are such an idiot. Mom would die of embarrassment. So would Aunt Louise.”

“They’d get off our backs then. Christ, my hands are still freezing. I’ve got one last cross-country run to lead today, too.”

“If my brother hadn’t plowed into a telephone pole blind drunk on his graduation night at ninety miles an hour, they’d have another target to aim their guilt at.” She took his hands between hers and rubbed them. “Stupid kid.”

“Stop it.” He kissed her forehead. “You know it makes you miserable. It’s five years since he did that. And especially don’t bring it up on Christmas.”

“God, no. You want some of this swamp water before you head out?”

“Nope. Cleaned the skis already today.” He let her zip up his jacket. “Early night tonight?”

“Yes, because I’m in at eight tomorrow to get ready for the wedding.”

“Someday we’ll open up our own wedding business with ski lessons and massages on the side.”

Giulia snickered under her breath. She took a quick sip of coffee to cover it.

The ski instructor pulled on fleece-lined gloves. “Right. See you after the lesson.” He went through the door to the outside.

“Up.”

Giulia jumped and twisted around in her plastic chair. Now that she didn’t have to pretend not to look, she saw that the masseuse was a taller, darker version of Sidney. Giulia envied the beautiful drape of her white yoga pants and sweatshirt.

“I’m sorry?”

“Up. Your back is a disgrace.”

The woman tapped her foot, waiting. Giulia, bemused, stood and the woman’s fingers worked her upper back like a piano.

“
Tsk
. You’re carrying way too much tension in your shoulders.” She ran her hands along Giulia’s shoulder blades. “How often do you get headaches? Didn’t anyone ever tell you about the connection between spine alignment and lower back tension and headaches?”

“No.”

“My mother used to lecture me all the time about the evils of salt and sugar and red meat.” She pressed her thumbs at several points on Giulia’s spine. “I used to say I’d never turn into her. But I didn’t have my masseuse license two months before I started lecturing people on proper alignment.” She chuckled deep in her throat. “We all turn into our mothers, don’t we?”

“We do.”

The masseuse wrapped her arm around Giulia’s collarbone and pushed. Giulia’s back went
pop
. She stiffened. The masseuse tapped her shoulder. “Stop that. Relax.” She repeated the hold-and-push four more times down Giulia’s spine, generating four more
pop
s. She slid her hand down Giulia’s spine one last time.

“Much better.” She released her.

Giulia stretched, her back opening and relaxing in a way she’d never experienced. “I didn’t know anything was wrong till you fixed it.”

“I popped your adjustment cherry? Love it.” She bent down toward Giulia’s face. “Are you blushing?”

Giulia rubbed her cheeks.

The masseuse grinned. “You’re in the wrong resort if you get embarrassed easily. Wait till a few of them get drunk and go skinny-dipping, then call the front desk because they forgot their towels.”

“Nakedness doesn’t bother me.”
Shut up, conscience. That’s not really a lie.

“That’s good.” She went to the refrigerator and took out a Vitamin Water. “You’re actually drinking that coffee? Brave woman.”

“I’m headed to a Christmas dinner after this and I need the energy. It’s not that bad … for certain definitions of bad.”

“I think it’s fine, with sugar and creamer.” Maryjane appeared, took a Nativity scene mug from the dish drainer, and poured coffee.

The masseuse’s smile was less than genuine. “Happy Solstice, Maryjane. May the Goddess look with favor on your petitions.”

Maryjane gave her a raised-eyebrow primmed-mouth smile. “May the Good News take hold of your heart and bring it to glory.”

The masseuse winked at Giulia behind the desk clerk’s back. “I’m always at a disadvantage in these fencing matches because my faith doesn’t have a quotable holy book.”

Maryjane stirred powdered creamer into her coffee. “Come to our church on Christmas, Penny. I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

“Only if you can convince my mother that Christmas is about church and not about family dinner, a boatload of presents, and nagging me to give her grandchildren before she’s too old to
appreciate them.” She turned back to Giulia. “I ought to know the name of my conquest. I’m Penny.”

Giulia laughed. “Regina. When I woke up today, I never thought I’d check another milestone off my life list.”

“I’ll tell my husband. He thinks the only people who need my magic are the ones who throw out their backs playing naked Twister.” She capped the Vitamin Water and returned it to the fridge. “Nice to meet you. My hands are at your service whenever hauling that cleaning cart gets to you. Have a nice day, Maryjane.”

When the masseuse left, the desk clerk sat at the table facing Giulia. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m getting back into the swing of it.”

“You’ve done this kind of work before?” She sipped the thin, bitter coffee without a grimace.

“A few years ago. Laundry and all-around cleaning. My muscles got lazy in the interim.” Giulia looked at the half-cup of coffee in front of her and decided against it.

“Well, Monica stopped by the desk a few minutes ago to say that you’re perfect, so I think you’ll fit in just fine.”

“Thank you. I suppose my only disappointment is this beige uniform. I like bright colors.”

“Neutrals are always a good choice. They match multiple skin tones and blend well. Look how well the lavender resort shirts go with my beige pants.” Maryjane stood and gestured to her outfit.

Giulia shrugged. “Not my style. You made those pants, didn’t you?”

Maryjane looked pleased. “I make all my clothes. Trousers today are cut much too low to look professional or modest.”

Giulia thought of her low-rider jeans and how well they fit her gym-toned hips.
Shut up, Falcone. Don’t offend people you’re scoping out
. She looked at the clock over the sink. “Yikes. Break’s over. I have to get back to work now.”

“Did Barbara tell you there’s a wedding here tomorrow?” Maryjane followed her to the sink. “She’ll be sure to ask you to put in extra hours.”

“I just heard Penny talking about it. I have an early-morning job, too, but it shouldn’t interfere.” She set her cup in the drainer. “Sleep is for the weak, right?”

fifteen

The entrance light on
Giulia’s apartment building’s front stoop flickered and snapped.
Again? Come on, landlord. I know you’ve got three bucks for a new bulb. This neighborhood’s not as bad as the last place I lived, but only an idiot would think it’s safe to walk here unprepared.
She kept her gym bag on her shoulder as she climbed the five steps, looking on all sides to confirm she was alone.
It’s a good thing my gym bag is a decent weapon on its own post-workout. The sneakers and combination lock give it some heft.

She unlocked the door and right away pushed it closed, listening for the
click
as the lock re-engaged. Her mailbox opened with its usual nails-on-chalkboard screech. Since it was empty again, the screech echoed good and loud in the shoebox-sized vestibule.

Sometimes I feel like Charlie Brown, opening the mailbox on Christmas and Valentine’s Day with irrepressible hope, and always disappointed.
She closed the mailbox.
At least there are still a few days left before Christmas.

Her phone played the first bars of
Eine Kleine Nachtmusik
. She pulled off her gloves to answer it, her hands registering an instant protest to the unheated vestibule.

“Yes, Frank?”

“You’re not dressed yet, are you? I forgot to ask if you have something Christmassy to wear.”

She opened the inner door and shivered in the sudden warmth. “Yes, I think so …” She mentally paged through her closet and drawers. “Yes, I do.”

“Great. Can you wear it?”

She walked down the hall through aromas from different dinners seeping from under various doors. “Sure. I didn’t realize your family was that fancy.”

“No, no, you don’t have to be intimidated. Mom’s really into Christmas, that’s all.”

She dropped her gym bag and fit her key into the lock. “I’m just walking into my apartment now. Are you picking me up early or something?”

“No, still seven o’clock.”

She got an eyeful of the kitchen clock. “That’s only half an hour. Bye.” Her hip bumped the door closed and she threw the deadbolt home. She set the phone on the kitchen table and slid the gym bag into the bathroom. Her snow-damp hair raised goosebumps on her neck as she tossed her coat next to the phone.

“Heat for fifteen minutes, so I don’t catch pneumonia.” She turned the thermostat dial to sixty-five. A minute later, dust-
flavored air pushed into the rooms.

Clothes first. She pushed her work clothes to one side of the closet and pulled out her prized consignment shop discovery: a crimson velvet skirt and faux-silk ivory blouse. Last year the only Christmas activity she’d participated in was the soup kitchen after-hours cake feast, and her party clothes had gathered dust.

Not this year. She ran into the living room to punch up the soundtrack to
A Charlie Brown Christmas
. She stripped off her sweater as she ran back; her black trousers followed it onto the bed. Her one pair of not-too-high heels came out of their box still polished—hooray.

Makeup. She headed for the bathroom, singing along with the CD. Dinner with Frank’s parents required the whole shebang. Before she opened the plastic shoebox that held her going-out makeup, she shook out her gym towel and hung it over the shower curtain rod.

“Nothing sultry, not to meet Frank’s parents. No eye shadow at all, I think. I’m still not an expert at too much versus not enough.”

She applied the basics, then added mascara. While that settled, she returned to the less-chilled bedroom and stared at herself in her everyday underwear.

“Nondescript. That’s what Captain Jimmy said.” The word made her think of gray days, flat landscapes, cafeteria food. But she didn’t want to switch to one of her lacy silk sets to counter the image. Like the eye shadow, they weren’t what to wear to dinner with the parents.

Frank’s
Irish Catholic
parents. What if they’re horrified because I’m no longer a nun?

The digital clock on the nightstand read 6:46.

“Stop thinking about what you can’t change and get dressed, dummy.” She worked into pantyhose—
ridiculous things
—and buttoned the blouse. The skirt came with a lining, and a moment later she was 95 percent ready.

“Lipstick.” She borrowed a trick from the actors at Cottonwood’s Marquee Theater and dusted her lips with powder when she dusted the rest of her makeup. “There. Not too nondescript.”

Between the bathroom and the bedroom it came to her:
If relative strangers think I blend in, I can keep using this unwelcome attribute plus that lovely beige uniform to my advantage at the resort.
The vague sadness that had glued itself to her shoulders slid off. Katie mattered. Whatever it took to get Katie back, and Giulia Falcone’s self-image would be sacrificed gladly on the altar of Whatever It Took.

She knotted a glittery silver lace scarf just below her left shoulder and chose crystal angel earrings because they were too short to catch on the scarf.

“Gotta change my purse. Argh—no time—at least it’s black. Where’s a shoe bag for these heels—”

The doorbell rang.

“Forget it. I’ll carry them.” She turned off the bedroom lights, yelled “Coming,” grabbed her phone, and skated on the linoleum to the door.

“Hey, Frank. Come in for a second. I just have to shut off the CD.”

He took her by the waist and pulled her close. “You look beautiful.”

She let herself become still in his arms, the warmth of his compliment spreading through her. Her eyes closed when he kissed her—that is, until Old Man Krieger wolf-whistled from across the hall.

Giulia jumped backward. Krieger’s shaggy-bearded head appeared leaning against his own apartment door, eternal bottle of St. Pauli Girl in hand.

“Good evening, Mr. Krieger.” Giulia closed the door.

Frank was laughing. “You get stuck with the nosiest neighbors.”

She stuck out the tip of her tongue. “He’ll lurk for the next week hoping to see something else.”

“I volunteer to kiss you with the door open every night.”

What switch did you flip to go from all-work to all-boyfriend, Frank?
“Thank you, no. I’m not Krieger’s personal entertainment. Or yours.”

“Spoilsport. Come on, before the car gets cold.”

Giulia turned off the CD and got into her coat.
I do prefer this Frank, although I’m not sure how we’d conduct business Monday through Friday.
“All set.” She picked up her purse and shoes.

“It’s only ten minutes to my folks’ house.” Frank talked faster than usual as they walked down the hall. “Mom and Dad are really Catholic, but they won’t badger you about the convent. Grandma’s the one who’ll ask you for insider stories.”

“Shall we tell her about my old nemesis, Sister Mary Stephen, fondling my lacy underthings on my October trip in the Wayback Machine?”

He held open the vestibule door, then the outside door before he answered. “Grandma would love it. My brother Pat would, too.”

“He’s been the soul of patience with Sidney’s RCIA classes.” She got into the passenger side of Frank’s Camry. When Frank had buckled himself in, she added, “I plan to thank him profusely at Sidney’s wedding. He must have the gift of making the Catechism interesting, because Sidney has learned heaps of it in record time.”

“He uses that gift against me when we argue dogma.” Frank pulled into traffic.

“Wait. You said, ‘Grandma.’ I thought you said this was dinner with your parents.”

He turned onto Oak. “My grandparents live there, too. Mom’s father and Dad’s mother. Sorry. I’m so used to them being there that I automatically include them in ‘dinner with the folks.’ It’s a big house.”

Giulia tapped her feet on the car mat.
Okay. Parents and grandparents. I can handle this. Grandparents are usually indulgent, and Frank’s the youngest. In a perfect world, the indulgence will extend to the youngest’s date
…
um
…
girlfriend
…
um
…

“Am I being introduced as your partner or as your date?”

The light changed. The car was halfway down Walnut before he answered. “I’ve told them about you. They know you used to be my admin and now you’re my partner-in-training.”

That answered that.
“Fine. Just want to know where I stand.”

They turned onto Crabapple. Houses lined both sides of the street: multi-storied, graceful, and all at least a hundred years old. Christmas lights glowed on most of them, perfect outlines of ice-white or many colors, smaller trees blending in with every sign of excellent decorating taste. As they drove past, Giulia saw huge Christmas trees in many windows, lights on their branches appearing just as symmetrical as the ones outlining the houses.

“I’m not dressed up enough.”

“Of course you are.” His voice sounded distracted as his head turned from one side of the street to the other. “That spot’s too small. There’s one—damn. A fire hydrant.”

“Someone’s hosting their annual Christmas party.” Giulia pointed two spots up and left. “There?”

“Excellent.” He parallel parked in three efficient moves.

“That was impressive.”

He shrugged. “Years of city driving.”

They walked back toward a wide, two-story brick Colonial with three cars in its narrow driveway. An ornament-studded wreath took up half the front door; a Father Christmas with a sack over his shoulder smiled at them from the front porch.

Frank rang the doorbell. It was flung open by a broad-shouldered silhouette as soon as his finger left it.

“Frank! It’s about time.”

“Nobody left me a spot, as usual, Sean. Let us in.”

“Ma! Frank’s here.” Sean stepped aside. “Everyone’s been dying to meet your partner.”

Giulia looked up from the boot mat, one boot still on. An older man and woman who looked enough like Frank to be his parents waited in the room beyond. Behind them, at least a dozen more people talked or sipped drinks. Two grade-school-sized children chased each other up garlanded stairs. One of the Mannheim Steamroller Christmas CDs played loud enough to mask the conversations.

The woman stepped forward. “Sean, let the poor girl get her shoes on. Welcome to the Annual Driscoll Christmas Chaos Party, my dear.”