“Ciao, Angie,” Alonzo greets him as he opens the door.
He’s picked a particularly loud outfit for the occasion – pale pink suit with a gold shirt, white cravat. Lacy white fingerless gloves, gold platform heels. Pink sunglasses with gold chains hanging down the sides. A bouquet of flowers in one hand, a wrapped gift under his arm.
The other hand holding a joint. Smoking it on his fucking front steps.
“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” Angelo hisses. “Put that out.”
Alonzo offers it to him.
“I said put it out.”
He shrugs, daintily extinguishes it on the bottom of his shoe. “Relax, baby.”
“I’ll relax when this is over. What the hell are you wearing? I said dress appropriately.”
Alonzo widens his eyes innocently. “This isn’t appropriate?”
“What do you think.”
“I picked it out special. Hoping for another girl.”
“Fuck’s sake. Get inside.”
He moves aside to allow Alonzo to step past. “Where’s Bianca?” Alonzo asks.
“In the garden. Along with everyone else. Let me take those.” He allows Angelo to take the gift, holds onto the flowers.
“Oh no, sweetie, I want to give them to her myself.”
Angelo sighs wearily. Every single time, this fucking charade. “Isabella!”
His wife appears in the doorway of the living room, mid-laugh. Her expression freezes when she sees Alonzo, curdles slightly before recovering. “Alonzo,” she says, overly polite. “I didn’t think you would be able to make it.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Kisses on both cheeks, going through the motions. “You look radiant as always. Here, these are for you.”
“They’re very beautiful.” The flowers would be in the compost as soon as he left.
“Not as beautiful as you.” Words accompanied by a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“I’ll put them in some water.” She starts moving towards the kitchen, then glances over her shoulder. “Angelo, could you grab some more champagne?”
“Of course, gioia mia.” Here we go, he thinks.
“Uncle Lonnie!”
Bianca tears into the room breathlessly, dressed in a pink frilly dress, a little tiara perched jauntily on her head. She runs straight at Alonzo, who scoops her up (Isabella shoots Angelo a cold, pointed look before disappearing into the kitchen – supervise. The champagne, he supposes, will have to wait).
“Ciao, piccola.”
“We match!” she exclaims happily.
“We do.” Alonzo adjusts her tiara. “Eres una princesa hoy?”
“No. Soy una bruja.”
“Una bruja!” He laughs. “Que guay.”
“Did you bring me something?”
Alonzo pulls a face. “Was I supposed to?” She pouts. “Oh, yes, I almost forgot.” He sets her down, then pulls out a necklace from his pocket – thin gold chain with little stars hanging from it – and crouches down to fasten it around her neck. “Look at that. Que bonita.”
She fingers the little charms, then turns to Angelo. “Babbo, guarda.”
“I see. Very nice. Go play in the garden now, tesoro.”
Bianca looks at Alonzo. “Ma –”
“We’ll be along in a minute, darling. Escucha a tu padre.” She twirls, then skips off. They watch her go.
“What’d I do wrong this time,” Alonzo says dryly, without turning his head.
“Didn’t say anything.”
A slight smile. “Don’t need to, Angie, I can read you like a book.”
Angelo sighs. “Isabella doesn’t like it,” he admits. “The gifts. She says it’s extravagant. Inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate.” Alonzo sucks air through his teeth, an ugly look passing over his face, then smiles again, wide and insincere. “Well, mother knows best.”
“You don’t gotta do that.”
“Do what, sugar?”
“Pretend.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, baby.”
“You think I can’t read you too?”
“Bathroom in the same place?” Alonzo says smoothly. “I need to freshen up.” He stalks off without waiting for an answer.
Angelo sighs a third time.
It was going to be a long afternoon.
---
“Why is he here,” Isabella demands as soon as he walks into the kitchen. The flowers have been arranged neatly in a vase on the table.
“We were talking. It came up. What was I supposed to do?”
“Why did it come up?”
“He asked if I was free this weekend. It slipped out. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Mm, yes. It doesn’t seem like you do much thinking, where Alonzo Torquemada is involved.”
Angelo feels himself grow angry, forces himself to take a deep breath. Grabs the champagne while he waits to cool down.
“What’s Bianca playing with?” She’s looking out the window, into the garden.
“Necklace.”
She swears under her breath. “What did I tell you, last time? I don’t want that bastard’s fucking drug money buying my daughter’s love.”
“He just pulled it out and gave it to her. Again, what am I supposed to do? Rip it off her neck?”
“You are supposed to be her father, Angelo. You are supposed to be my husband, and a man. Why this is so difficult for you, I don’t know.” Her voice breaks at the end of the last sentence, and he immediately feels like shit, walks over, pulls her into his arms.
“Amore. Perdonami.”
“I want him gone,” she murmurs into his neck.
Angelo closes his eyes, purses his lips. “Okay.”
“Not just today. I don’t want him coming around here anymore.”
“We still got business together.”
“Why?” she says sadly. “You keep saying you want to be done with it. Be done.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
He shakes his head. Can’t explain it to her, can’t open the lid on all the ugliness. That vault is locked tight, not fit for human consumption. How do I explain it? He’s like a black hole. A vortex. No matter what I throw in, it keeps demanding more. “I just can’t. But I’ll keep it out of the house, from now on. Fair?”
Isabella pulls away from him. “None of this is fair.” She takes the champagne from him and walks out into the garden.
---
Alonzo’s on a call when Angelo comes back out into the living room, discussing something in hushed tones. “Take care of it,” he says, and flips the phone shut.
“What was that?”
“Business,” he responds nonchalantly. “Don’t worry about it.” He sniffs slightly, rubs at his nose. Angelo narrows his eyes.
"What was that." Alonzo cocks his head slightly.
"Have to be more specific, Angie."
"Don't play dumb with me. Did you just fucking do a line?”
Alonzo huffs. “No.”
“Do you think I’m fucking stupid?" When Alonzo doesn't reply, he demands, "Pockets.”
He scoffs. “I’m not emptying my fucking pockets for you,” he says, voice dripping with contempt.
“So you are carrying.” Angelo’s hands curl into fists. She was right. She was right. Fuck.
“Carrying doesn’t mean indulging.” Alonzo laughs suddenly, sharply. “Goodness, Angie, you don’t trust me?”
“No.” Hurt flashes in Alonzo’s eyes, but Angelo doesn’t care, he’s too fucking angry. Angry at who? he thinks, and it makes him angrier. “You bring drugs into my fucking house?" he continues. "Around my fucking daughter? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Alonzo rolls his eyes. “Look.” He flaps his suit jacket open. “It’s a pocket inside of a pocket. All sealed up. Nice and safe. You want me to show you?”
“No. I want you to fucking leave.”
Alonzo jerks the jacket closed. “You? Or lovely Isabella?”
“Me.”
“I find that hard to believe, amore mio.”
“Don’t fucking call me that.”
Alonzo looks away, jaw clenched.
“Uncle Loooooonnie.”
Bianca’s back, holding the cat in her arms.
“Bianca, go back into the garden.”
“But Vito wants to say hello.” Vito struggles to get free. “Look, Uncle Lonnie.”
“Very nice, bambina.” Alonzo’s voice is strained.
“Are you coming out to play?”
“Uncle Lonnie has to go home, tesoro,” Angelo says gently.
“Whaaaat?” she cries. She drops the cat, and it bolts down the hallway. “But you just got here.”
Alonzo crouches down to her level. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll come back again real soon.” He glances over at Angelo, who shakes his head slightly – Bianca throws her arms around Alonzo’s neck before Angelo can see his reaction.
“Next time, I want to show you my crystals.”
“Your crystals?”
She pulls back, starts counting on her fingers. “I have a purple one, and a green one, and two white ones.”
“Wow. Are they for magic spells, bruja?”
“No! Well, I don’t know. I think you need...I think you need a lot of crystals, like 10.”
“10 sounds like the right amount of crystals,” Alonzo agrees. He kisses her forehead, stands up. “See you later, baby.”
“Bye, Uncle Lonnie.” She runs down the hallway, presumably to re-capture the cat.
Alonzo stares off for a moment. “So that’s it?” he asks finally.
“Come on.”
“Persona non grata, now? After 17 years?”
“It’s not like that.”
“It obviously fucking is.”
“Look.” Angelo takes a deep breath. “The baby’s coming in a few weeks. Shit’s going to be hectic around here for awhile. You weren’t gonna be able to visit anyway.”
“No?” He smiles bitterly. “Would have saved you babysitting money.”
“Let’s go, Lonnie.”
“Please.” Alonzo steps close to Angelo suddenly, their faces inches apart. A hand goes up to caress his cheek, and Angelo grabs it, holds it. “Don’t shut me out like this,” Alonzo murmurs.
Angelo laughs tonelessly. “Me? Shut you out?” He drops Alonzo’s hand, turns towards the door. “It was never me shutting you out, Alonzo. You can forget everything else I ever told you, but remember that.” He opens the door. “I’ll see you around, okay?”
“Right,” Alonzo says softly. “See you around.” He steps outside.
“Ciao, Angie.”
---
Three weeks later, in the waiting room at the hospital, Angelo gets the call.
“Fucking bitch,” Alonzo’s voice is hoarse, like he’s been screaming. “She’s pressing charges.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The cunt from the party. Ugly little fucking bitch.”
“Alonzo, I don’t have fucking time for this.”
“You need to help me.”
“Help you with what?” and it’s the wrong thing to say. The answer should be, no. The answer should be, my wife is in labor, as we speak. The answer should be, stop calling me every time you decide to ruin your own life.
“Help you with what, Lonnie,” he repeats, and feels himself get sucked back into the vortex.