Bosom Bodies (Mina's Adventures) (15 page)

“Why did you do that? Are you trying to get killed?” He spoke into her face, not letting go of her.

“Boy, are we touchy. I wanted to feel the gun. I didn’t see you getting it from your boot earlier this evening. How do you do that? Doesn’t it hurt your ankle? How much does it weigh?”
Smile, Mina.

He kept staring at her, freed her wrist. “Are you for real? Mina, this is not a game.”

His body relaxed, the color came back to his face. Something extraordinary had just happened. She witnessed a
hundred eighty
degree transformation in the blink of an eye
, t
he kind of make believe Mina only saw in movies. In that moment, she realized the man bowed in front of her was a killer.

Morning light expanded on the bedroom walls. Mina welcomed the new day regardless of what it would bring. After hours of arguing with Diego the evening before, she ended up sleeping in his room after all. His point was that his bedroom was the safest place in the condo, mainly because the only window in that room was on the
fourth
floor and not facing other buildings. He slept on the couch, or so he said.

She felt a sense of betrayal over the whole gun confrontation. More than betrayal, a sense of loss. She needed a friend so
badly, and
had been
ready to open her heart to Diego. That was the way it
had been
with Brian. He was there for her when her mother died.
Why can’t Brian be here now?
What was he doing roaming foreign countries and leaving her all alone at Christmastime?

All was quiet. Was Diego awake?

Riiiing.

It sounded like her phone. Were the walls between condos so thin you could hear the neighbor’s phone?

Riiiing.

“Mina, phone
,
” Diego called out.

Instinctively, she jumped out of bed and ran barefoot toward the ringing. She had slept with her clothes on. Diego stood at the end of the hall, pointing into the living room.

Riiiing. It was her phone. On
his
coffee table. She picked it up.

“Finally,” Brian said, “I’ve been calling you day and night. Where do you go all the time? Do you sleep in your own bed? Whose bed have you been sleeping in?’ The anger in his voice stirred the anger in her heart.

“I’ve been sleeping in my neighbor’s bed. Any other questions?” She hung up.
Oh, no.

She s
lumped
as if she were
a marionette with broken strings
. She
sensed Diego’s nearness, but was too embarrassed to look up. She felt ugly, frumpy and unloved. Fueled by leftover pride, she headed for the hall
before
remember
ing
it
wasn’t her place. She kept on moving
. W
hen she walked by the open door of the guest bath, she caught a glimpse of herself.

Dio
m
io!
The mascara from the day before had turned into dark halos around her eyes.
Maledizione.
A raccoon, a giant raccoon, that’s what she had become.
W
here
did
she put her make-up kit
? S
he
needed
some make-up remover.

The door
to the room next to
the bathroom was left wide open. Diego forgot to lock the mystery room? She slowed her pace, stretching her neck to see what was so special inside there. She didn’t know where Diego was
. H
e could have been in the kitchen reading the paper or right behind watching her every move, but she wouldn’t turn and risk facing him
, not
the way she looked.

The only thing visible in the forbidden room was a large desk and two computers. Why would someone need two computers? She reached the master bedroom, stepped in and closed the door.

The clock on the night table said
ten
a
.
m. It felt like
seven
a
.
m. Maybe he kept his clock on New York time or something. Sooner or later she would have to face Diego and give him some kind of explanation about her rude behavior. Truth was, she hated herself for hanging up on Brian, but he sort of brought it on himself.
Whose bed have you been sleeping in?
He made her feel guilty when she hadn’t done anything wrong.

Apart from the color and fluffiness of the towels, everything in
his
bathroom looked like hers. She turned on the shower. The bath towels smelled really good. Mina compared them with her towels, reeking of shampoo. Maybe he had a cleaning lady who did his laundry. Or maybe he was one of those boring
,
nit
-
picking perfectionists. Memories of last night’s confrontation flashed in her mind’s eye. She sighed. No, Diego was many things
,
but a boring perfectionist wasn’t one of them.

She had clean underwear and a clean top but no bottoms. She tried to smooth out the wrinkled jeans she had slept in, gave up and put them on, combed her wet hair behind her ears so it wouldn’t drip on the front of her blouse.
Her skin smelled of Mountain Pines like
he
always did.
It was the soap
. She liked that.

“Hey, in there, everything okay?” Diego called from outside
his
bedroom door.

“Yes, fine, thanks. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Good, breakfast is almost ready.”

Breakfast?
She hadn’t thought about eating. She wasn’t hungry or thirsty. She wasn’t anything at all except sad
, s
o sad she wanted to disappear forever.

Diego’s kitchen, while
like
hers, looked—sunnier. He had a small wicker table and two chairs against the wall. The furniture
,
painted a lemony color
,
had fat pillows covered in a flowery fabric with yellow and light blue flowers. Very
Pier One Special Beach Edition
and a tad girly, she thought. The placemats matched the pillows. Okay, girly or not, she was impressed
. S
he didn’t even have a chair with four level legs in her kitchen.

If Diego hadn’t slept
,
she couldn’t tell
. H
e looked cheerful and full of energy.

“What would you like to eat?”

“What, no menu?”

He
twea
ked
her
chin.
“Coffee, milk, frozen OJ, toast and…
drum roll…
Nutella
.”

“You really have
Nutella
?” She felt giddy over a jar of chocolate hazelnut spread? “I nominate you honorary Italian Citizen.”

His smile
froze;
he
tweaked
her
chin
again, turned his back and went to pour coffee.
What happened?
When he put the steaming mugs on the table he seemed peaceful and pleasant again.

“I’m not much of a breakfast person,” he said. “I won’t be offended if you rush to a restaurant for a real meal the moment I drop you off.”

“Diego, how did my phone get into your condo?”

“Magic. Not a big deal, I have extra long phone cords and figured you m
ight
want to use the phone
,
”
he hesitated, “or even get a call.”

She looked away.
“You went back into my condo? Didn’t
DeFiore
say to stay away?”

“I’m sure he meant for you to stay away. Anyway, I don’t take my orders from
DeFiore
.”

Mina spread the
Nutella
on her toast
, not sure what to think about what he said
.
H
e didn’t take orders from
DeFiore
. Was that good or bad?

“Maybe you should call him back
,
”
For once
Diego s
ounded
unsure
.

“Brian? I can’t. Don’t know his phone number.”

“How about asking information? There is such a thing as international information service, you know.”

“You don’t understand
.
I have no idea where he is, honestly.”
The
Nutella
tasted like dirt. She felt Diego studying her
. Didn’t he
believe her?

“Listen, he left about a week a
go to accompany his mother to Mo
de—Medug—
maledizione,
some kooky place in Yugoslavia where stupid people with too much time and money go to see the Virgin Mary by appointment or some other idiotic story like that.” Her frustration clogged her brain.

“You mean Medjugorje?”
He
sounded tense.

“That’s it. You know about it?”

“You are dating a good Catholic boy, I see.” His tone didn’t match the lighthearted remark.

“Neither Brian nor his mother are Catholic. His mother heard about these apparitions on the
twenty-fifth
of each month and decided to travel there to see if the Virgin Mary, in her spare time, can cure her headaches.”

“Sounds like you
’re not too crazy about
your future mother-in-law.”

“She is not my future mother-in-law
,
and the feeling is mutual
. T
rust me.”

“When are they coming back?”

“That’s
just
it. Their passports were stolen, and they can’t leave the country. She probably hid the passports so he
couldn
’t be back by Christmas.”

“Mina, listen to me. They are
too
close to Sarajevo. They need to get the hell out of there, now.” He clenched his jaw. What was going through his head? Probably nothing she cared to know.

“Now you understand why I was so frustrated last night? He gets mad at me
. H
e has no idea what’s going on in my life. I will not be accused of doing something I didn’t do.”

“You did sleep in your neighbor’s bed.”

Mina gave him
her most
withering look and
hoped it was effective. She
decided to finish her coffee somewhere else. When she attempted to stand up from her chair, he grabbed her wrist
,
a repeat of last night.

“Give me their names. I may be able to help.”

“Names? What names?”

“Brian and his mother.”

“What do you care?”

“I care about you.”

She sat back in the chair
. H
e let go of her wrist. The coffee in her mug made tiny waves against the rim. She managed to
set
the mug on the table, not wanting Diego to see her tremble and not ready to ask
how
he cared.

“Brian and Louise Starr.” She cleared her throat. “Aren’t you going to write it down?”

He got up. When he came back she hadn’t moved at all, and still avoided his eyes.

“Any middle initials?” Diego wrote on a white sticky note with a dark blue pen.

“Maybe
.
I don’t know. The subject never came up.” He wrote in a very slanted, large cursive. “Your handwriting is very nice
.
”
S
he wanted to say something pleasant
but not
too personal.

“Thank you.” He folded the note and put it in his pocket.

“Diego, what did you mean when you said they are too close to Sarajevo?”

“There is—political unrest. Not sure it’s a good place for Americans.”

“Oh, I had no idea, a
nd they are stuck there. Maybe I wasn’t very nice, huh?”

Diego didn’t answer and seemed to avoid looking at her.
T
he u
nspoken words made the silence unbearable.

After a minute that seemed like ten, she said,
“I noticed the door of your secret room is open.”

“Keeping my promise. You unzipped your gym bag, I unlocked my door.”

“Oh, yeah. I should go and check it out.”
They didn’t move, didn’t look at each other.

“Yes, you should.”

Awkward.