Part 12 (2/2)
She buzzed her mother in and wondered if her cough medicine had enough codeine in it to make dealing with Mama bearable. Somehow, she doubted it.
Rosalie unlocked the door before Mama started ringing that bell, too. As if her head didn't hurt enough. G.o.d, she hoped Nick had made coffee.
Dave sat next to the door and whined. ”I feel your pain, buddy.”
Mrs. Ronaldi started talking even before she had the door open an inch.
”Rosalie, what is the meaning-my Lord, you look like something the cat dragged in. Can't you fix yourself up a little? It's noon, why aren't you dressed? Put some makeup on, for G.o.d's sake. What if Joey comes to see you? I told him you were sick. Such a nice boy, that Joey.” ”Hi, Ma.”
”What? You couldn't call me yourself and tell me you were sick? What's wrong with you? You know better than to make me worry.”
”Sorry, I fell asleep.”
”And get that mangy mutt away from me. I'll have black hair all over my outfit.”
She took her coat off and handed it to Rosalie, who threw it on the couch. Dave, the traitor, ran into the bedroom.
”Well, at least you cleaned the apartment.”
”I did?” Rosalie looked around. She could see all the counters and tabletops. Amazing. ”Um, yeah, I did.”
”I suppose you did that because Joey called and will be coming over?”
Rosalie poured two coffees and smiled to herself. Thank you, Nick. You're a prince among men-the prince of darkness, but a prince all the same.
”I don't know if Joey called, Ma, and I don't care. I don't want Joey to call; I don't want Joey to come over; and once and for all, I don't want to marry Joey. The only thing I want from Joey is for him to leave me alone.”
After sliding the coffee cup across the breakfast bar to her mother, Rosalie opened a box of biscotti and stuffed one in her mouth. When she offered the box to her mother, the woman walked into the kitchen and took out two plates. Rosalie didn't see the point of dirtying a plate. If you ate over the sink, you never had to do dishes.
”You're sick. You don't know what you're saying.”
Mama continued as she took the biscotti out of Rosalie's hand and set it on the plate.
”I'm sick, not crazy.” Though she might be hallucinating. She couldn't believe how nice her place looked. Wow. She felt like someone on that show Clean Sweep. Clean Sweep. She was dying to open a closet door but afraid it might cause an avalanche if Nick had shoved everything in there, like she always did. She was dying to open a closet door but afraid it might cause an avalanche if Nick had shoved everything in there, like she always did.
”You're coming home with me, so I can take care of you.”
”No, thanks. Ma, I'm fine. Really. I feel a lot better.”
Her mother eyed the refrigerator. Oh, no. If she opened the door before Rosalie blocked it and saw there was no food, Rosalie's position as failure of the Ronaldi family was cemented for eternity. d.a.m.n. It was hard to move fast when she couldn't breathe, and her mother beat her. As the door swung open, Rosalie closed her eyes, shook her head, and prayed for divine intervention-h.e.l.l, any intervention would do, she wasn't picky.
”And I thought you couldn't cook.”
”I can, too.” She opened her eyes and did another double take. The refrigerator was overflowing. And not only with beer and batteries, which would have been typical.
”I don't consider boiling pasta and heating canned sauce cooking.” Her mother quipped. ”This lasagna looks homemade.”
”A friend brought it over. Look, I'm being well fed, and I'm tired. I want to sleep, so thanks for coming, Ma. I'll call you tomorrow.” She put her arm around her mother and was trying to usher her to the door when Mama turned and walked into the bedroom. Of course, she freaked when she found Dave sleeping on the bed with all fours in the air and a smile on his face-well, when his jowls flopped open like that, it looked like a smile, anyway.
”You sleep with that in your bed?”
Among other things. If she only knew...
”Get off!”
Poor Dave flew off the bed and out into the garden. Only the sound of the doggy door swinging back and forth penetrated the silence, until Rosalie heard the front door open.
”Lucy, I'm home.”
Oh, no. It wasn't only the bad Ricky Ricardo imitation that was upsetting. Things were beginning to get dark and fuzzy. She sat on her bed and considered putting her head between her knees, but she wasn't sure if that was the crash position or what one should do when feeling faint.
”Lee, do you want to eat in bed?”
From what she could see through the gray fuzz, her mother was crossing herself and doing that breast-beating thing she did when she was uber-upset. Yeah. She was mumbling that prayer to the Virgin Mother again.
”Lee?”
The bedroom door swung open and there was Nick in all his glory, though he looked kinda squiggy around the edges. Maybe she'd taken too much of that cough syrup. She could never get the spoon from the bottle to her mouth without spilling it all over herself, so she improvised and took a swig or two.
She lay down, faced the wall, and groaned.
”Mama, Nick; Nick, that's my mother, Maria Ronaldi. Mama was just leaving.”
”Well, I never!”
”Yeah, Ma, I know. I'm a disappointment, a puttana, yada, yada, yada. I'll call you and give you plenty of time to yell all about it. But not now. I'm not up to it.”
Rosalie felt as if she were floating away and far below her, she heard Nick's hushed voice...
”I think you'd better go now, Mrs. Ronaldi.”
Chapter Nine.
Nick eyed Rosalie's mother who, he had to admit, was a beautiful woman in an old-world way. She was a hotter, Italian version of Mrs. Cleaver, without the pearls. d.a.m.n, he hoped like h.e.l.l she didn't recognize him either as Richie's long-lost friend or as Dominick Romeo.
Mrs. Ronaldi stomped into the living room and turned, bringing Nick back to the present. She wore the same expression his Nana did before she gave someone the evil eye-an Italian curse. He knew it well. He'd been on the receiving end a few times, usually by a mother who didn't want him messing with her daughter, but as far as he could tell, the curses never amounted to much more than insomnia. He'd spent more than a few sleepless nights wondering what horror would befall him. It wasn't enough to make him change his ways, but it was enough to make him want to hold a crucifix in front of him for protection.
”Who do you think you are, telling me to leave my own daughter's apartment?”
”I'm the one who spent the last week taking care of her, the one who spent nine hours pacing the d.a.m.n emergency room, the one who dragged her to the best pul-monologist in the state. Who do you think you are, upsetting her? Can't you see she's sick? She has pneumonia, for Christ's sake. Lee didn't look this bad when I carried her into the hospital.”
”Lee?”
What was it about this woman that made him want to act like a caveman and pound something with a club? He settled for puffing up his chest and crossing his arms. ”Yeah, Lee.”
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