Samantha, the oldest of Gino and Rita’s grandchildren, had always been a sweet girl, and Angela had felt sorry for her considering the way Marisa had bossed her around since birth. Lately, however, with the onset of adolescence, Samantha had become something of a brat. Marisa fretted constantly about how sassy her oldest had become, how impossible to deal with, and blamed her behavior on the new group of friends she’d met since starting high school. Angela guessed it was more a case of raging teenage hormones combined with finally standing up to her bossy, domineering mother.
Marisa frowned as her daughter took the empty chair between her and Angela. “What’s the matter? Why aren’t you sitting over with the other kids?”
Samantha rolled her eyes. “They’re all a bunch of dorks, Mom. God, I am so bored right now! And I hate this dress. Why couldn’t we have got the black one that I liked?”
Marisa sighed. “You know why. You’re fourteen and much too young to wear black. Plus, that dress you liked was way too low-cut and tight. You look beautiful in this dress, honey. Ask your Aunt Angie if you don’t believe me.”
Personally, Angela thought the yellow and white floral print dress was too fussy and at least three or four years too young for her niece but wasn’t about to get in the middle of a disagreement between mother and daughter. She’d made that mistake before, only to have Marisa fly off the handle and tell her to butt out of things she couldn’t possibly understand.
Angela picked up one of Samantha’s long, golden brown curls, and smiled at her moody, petulant niece. “You look really pretty, Sam. And black probably wouldn’t have been the best choice for a summer afternoon wedding.” She bent her head to whisper conspiratorially, “But it would be awesome for the homecoming dance in October.”
Samantha giggled, ignoring the irritated scowl her mother sent her way. Marisa and Deanna hated the fact that their kids always seemed to flock to their Aunt Angie, and especially when it was Samantha, who was, after all, only eight years younger than Angela.
“Ooh, I just noticed your dress, Aunt Angie,” gushed Samantha. “Omigod, I swear this is the exact same dress I saw in
InStyle
magazine last month. I think Cameron Diaz was wearing it to some premier. Or maybe Gisele Bundchen. Hang on, I’ll check.”
“No, don’t bother, Sam. It’s not –” Angela’s protest fell on deaf fourteen year old ears as her niece began to tap on the keyboard of her cell phone.
“Here it is,” exclaimed Samantha triumphantly. “Hah, I knew it! It’s the exact same dress.”
Marisa peeked over her daughter’s shoulder at the phone and gasped. “That can’t be the same dress. I mean, it looks exactly the same but Angela’s has to be a copy, a – a knockoff. I mean, this one in the magazine – it’s what – a Valentino – and costs – how much?” She pressed a hand to her heart. “Thirty five hundred dollars? For one dress?”
Before Angela could stop her, Samantha impishly peeked at the tag inside the dress and squealed, “It
is
the same dress! It’s a Valentino! Wow, Aunt Angie, way to go! And – Omigod, are those real Louboutins? Mom, did you see her shoes? Those are the ones JLo wrote a song about.”
By now Deanna and Valerie had joined in on the conversation, all of the husbands otherwise occupied in a heated discussion about the NBA playoffs.
Valerie, who worked part-time at a consignment shop in Carmel, honed in on the cream quilted shoulder bag that Angela had draped over the back of her chair.
“And that’s a real Chanel bag,” murmured Valerie in awe. “Definitely not a knockoff. God, Angela, that’s something like a three thousand dollar purse.”
Deanna just stared. “How in the world can you afford all this? I mean, Marco had to call in a favor to get your rent reduced on that apartment in his uncle’s building. Where did you get this kind of money all of a sudden?”
Angela took a much needed sip of wine and tried desperately to shrug the matter off. “I make good money now. I brought in a really big account last month and decided to treat myself to a new outfit.”
Marisa shook her head. “I don’t believe it. You can’t make
that
much money, you haven’t even been there a full year. And if you got that big of a bonus why didn’t you buy a new car instead of an outfit like this?”
Valerie was inspecting Angela’s jewelry now and she damned the bad luck that had resulted in her snoopy cousin sitting at her table. “These are real diamonds. And cultured pearls. The necklace and earrings must have cost a pretty penny, too.”
Samantha giggled. “I’ll bet Aunt Angie has a rich boyfriend who’s buying her all this stuff. Hey, does he have a younger brother? Or a nephew or cousin?”
Angela fought back a rising sense of panic at her niece’s innocent but potentially disastrous comments. “No, no. There’s no one.”
Marisa scowled. “You always were a terrible liar, Angela. Now fess up – who is he?”
“More importantly,” chimed in Deanna, “why didn’t he come with you today?”
Angela hoped she sounded casual, nonchalant. “Because it’s just not that serious. It’s a very low key, very informal kind of thing.”
Deanna snorted. “He’s dropping – what – like ten grand on what you’re wearing and it’s not serious? Marisa’s right – you’re a lousy liar. We always knew it was you when our stuff went missing or something got broken when you were little.”
“What’s his name? And how long have you been dating? I can’t believe Mom never told us about him,” lamented Marisa.
Angela took another swig of wine, reaching for the half empty bottle to refill her glass yet again. “Mom doesn’t know. Because it isn’t serious and there’s nothing to talk about. So let’s drop the subject, shall we?”
But the others weren’t so easily dissuaded and continued to ply her with questions about the new man in her life. Angela either kept her answers short and non-committal or ignored the question altogether. She was very, very careful not to give the slightest hint that Nick was someone she worked with, and certainly not even the tiniest clue as to who he was. Both of her brothers-in-law were huge football fans, perhaps even more so than her father, and the name of Nick Manning would instantly ring all sorts of bells.
Marisa made a horrible face at her. “Oh, God, this is why you stood us up for our birthdays, isn’t it? You were seeing this man, weren’t you? Why didn’t you just tell us? And if things aren’t serious why are you choosing him over your family?”
Angela was thankfully saved from having to dream up a response by the announcement that the cake cutting was about to commence. Samantha returned to her own table while her sisters and cousin hurried to gather round the bride and groom to snap photos as they playfully fed each other slices of wedding cake. But she knew this temporary distraction wouldn’t last long, and that her sisters would be quick to resume their interrogation of her any minute now.
She desperately wanted to get the hell out of here, to just get in her car and head back to San Francisco – to Nick. But she’d made the unfortunate decision to drive here with her parents and was now dependent on them to get back to their house. And, knowing her mother and the importance she placed on family and keeping up appearances, she’d be stuck here until nearly the bitter end.
And she knew, just knew, that her sisters wouldn’t waste any time in telling their mother all about her new boyfriend and the fact that he was showering her with expensive gifts. She cursed her gossipy, jealous sisters for taking a very untimely interest in her affairs. They nearly always chose to ignore her, rarely asked about her life, and generally didn’t give a crap about her. But, she realized sourly, they also relished any opportunity to make trouble for her, to paint her in an unflattering light to Rita – as though they needed any help to accomplish that.
And she cursed herself, too, for having accepted such an admittedly extravagant gift from Nick. It was one thing to wear expensive clothes when they were out together, especially since the restaurants, clubs, and parties they frequented were patronized by equally well dressed individuals. But she’d never suspected her rather frumpy sisters would even notice what she was wearing, much less figure out how costly it was. And if Samantha hadn’t chosen to venture over to their table, no one would have been the wiser.
She managed to avoid any further discussion about either her outfit or her boyfriend for the remainder of the wedding, though it wasn’t an especially easy task. She alternated between slipping away from the table to chat up other guests or to hit the bar, and simply ignoring her sisters’ more persistent questions.
But there was no avoiding her mother’s demands for answers that started the moment her father began to pull out of the parking lot. She couldn’t very well fling herself out of a moving vehicle – though she was sorely tempted to do just that in order to avoid what she knew was going to be an extremely unpleasant conversation.
“Why didn’t you tell us you had a boyfriend?” demanded Rita. “And why didn’t you bring him to the wedding?”
Angela once again attempted to sound relaxed and totally unconcerned about the matter. “Mom, he’s not really what you’d call a boyfriend. We go out once in awhile, that’s all. Nothing serious at all.”
“Not serious? Marisa said this man – whoever he is – bought you that outfit you’ve got on and that it cost thousands of dollars. “
Angela sighed. “Marisa needs to mind her own business. Or go back to ignoring me like she has all my life.”
“Your sisters are worried about you,” chided Rita. “If you’re accepting expensive gifts from a man you aren’t even serious about, then I would say that’s cause for concern.”
“Well, that would be a first, wouldn’t it?” retorted Angela caustically. “I can’t remember a single time in my life when either of them worried about me.”
Rita shook her head. “You know that’s not true, Angela. Why do you always say such awful things about your sisters? Of course they worry about you. Now, who’s this man you’re dating? Someone from work, I suppose?”
Angela looked out the back window, knowing things were going to get unpleasant very quickly. “I’d rather not talk about him, Mom. And we’re not really dating, just hanging out once in awhile.”
“And yet you chose him over your own sisters, your family? You skipped your sisters’ birthdays to be with this man and yet you still don’t bring him to meet us? Are you ashamed of us or something?”
Angela closed her eyes, feeling the beginnings of an all too familiar tension headache beginning to throb at her temples. “No, Mom. I’m not ashamed of you.”
“Oh, God, are you seeing a married man, Angela?” Rita demanded. “That’s why he gives you expensive gifts, isn’t it? And why you didn’t bring him today to meet your family. Gino – for God’s sake – your daughter is fooling around with a married man. Say something to her.”
Calm as ever, Gino merely asked gently, “Is that true, Angie?”
She reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “No, Dad. He’s not married. But it’s just not that serious between us to bring him to something like a big family wedding. It’s really not a big deal.”
Rita snorted. “No big deal? You let this man – we don’t even know his name – buy you expensive presents and it’s not a big deal? Are you turning into some sort of whore – sleeping with men so they’ll buy you nice things?”
Angela gasped at her mother’s vicious accusation while Gino – ever the peacemaker – made a futile attempt to diffuse the escalating unpleasantness.
“Rita, don’t say those things to Angie,” he pleased. “She just told us everything’s okay.”
“And you believe her – just like that?” asked Rita incredulously. “Well, why would it be any different than when she was a child? You always believed whatever lies she told you, how she always tried to turn you against me and the girls. Wise up, Gino. Angela is lying to us both. I’ll bet you a hundred dollars this man she’s sleeping with is married and has a family. And he buys her designer dresses and jewelry because she’s his
puttana.
God, I thought I taught you better than that, Angela.”
Furious at her mother’s insults, Angela lashed out almost without thinking. “Taught me? What the hell did you ever teach me? How to ignore and neglect your own child? How to make her feel unwanted and unloved? Well, you did a damned good job teaching me all that, Mom.”
Rita moved too fast for Angela to turn away, and the crack of her mother’s palm against her cheek sounded like gunfire within the closed confines of the car. Even in the dark she could see the blazing anger in Rita’s eyes, the way she was trembling with rage.
“How dare you!” hissed Rita. “You know nothing –
nothing
!”
“I know
everything
,” corrected Angela. “How you got knocked up again by accident at age forty, how you were a day away from getting rid of me until Dad stopped you. And how you’ve made me pay for that every day of my life.”
“Angie, no,” pleaded Gino. “That’s not how it was. Who told you such terrible things?”
Rita’s eyes were cold, and Angela shuddered in revulsion at the low, horrible sound of her voice. “No, Gino. She’s got it exactly right. And I don’t know who told her but whoever did left out one fact – I shouldn’t have listed to you back then, shouldn’t have given in. I should have gotten rid of this ungrateful
puttana
when I had the chance.”