My Funny Valentina (7 page)

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5~

THOSE SEVEN BEDROOMS
in the palatial mansion Stash had built in one of Chicago’s most touted, most desired neighborhoods, hadn’t filled with any of their own children during those short two years of their marriage.  But they had constantly been filled, Valentina sadly reflected on the details of their love’s demise. 

W
ith Stash’s seven sisters. 

First Aphrodite,
who’d moved in just a few months after they’d returned from their honeymoon, following a fight with her ultra-strict Greek father over the length of her skirts.  Next Agathe who’d rebelled against the nice Greek boy her mother wanted her to date, having fallen for an electro-house musician known as
rockitMouse
she’d met at the big summer music festival held each year in Grant Park.

Then one of the twins – A
lexis or Alecia – to this day Valentina wasn’t sure which one it had been – never able to figure out how to tell them apart – had moved all of her messy belongings that had quickly overflowed into two rooms for three months.  The anonymous twin had complained bitterly and often to her big brother who’d hid his smiles as she’d wailed that their parents were too controlling… ‘and they’re just too…too...
Greek...
Stash!’

It
wasn’t just the twins she’d had a hard time keeping straight.  Valentina had quickly given up on memorizing
any
of Stash’s similarly looking sisters’ names.  Assigning them all somewhat pejorative nicknames in her head instead: 

Sulky
:
a constant mad-at-the-world pout on her pillowy, over-glossed lips.

Stinky
:
wore
way
too much gagging perfume and glittery body lotion!

Boobie
: ‘
gotta be a
triple
D’, Valentina had calculated cup size, after viewing with amazement her sister-in-law’s skimpy tank tops wondering if they’d stand up to the pressure of holding in all that Greek voluptuousness for even one night.

Wispy
: pale and wan in comparison to the warm, olive-toned glow of her seven siblings.

Uni
:
an unfortunate thick black uni-brow – greatly in need of pruning.

Pepp
y:
literally never sat down in one place for more than five minutes, Valentina had observed, thinking a double dose of Ritalin was in order.

A
nd, finally there was…
Myrtle
as in ‘
fertile’…
two babies by the age of twenty but mysteriously, no man ever
anywhere
in sight. 

Stash would take them all in
– no questions asked – assuring Valentina with each one that it wouldn’t be for long.  ‘They’re my family,’ he’d stated firmly. ‘I’m going to always help them if they need it, and besides, all my sisters are getting older every day, Val,’ he’d say, spooning her at night in their star-stroked bed in the quiet refuge of the master suite, his broad chest curved around her naked back.  ‘They’ll be married soon – with husbands of their own to take care of them.’  The husky reassurances were whispered into her ear whenever she’d voiced her complaints.

S
he’d believed him.  Hadn’t protested at first.  Not even after Stash’s seemingly vibrantly healthy father’s death had devastated his entire large family. Stash had been stoic and stalwart in those dark days.  Doing what needed to be done with stiff upper lip.  Organizing the sale of the restaurant that had been his father’s dream, but now had lost its heart.  Trying to be strong, Val had known at the time, for his sisters and for his heartbroken mother who’d donned black in mourning from the morning of the funeral onwards. 

H
er forlorn calls for aid had soon begun to come for Stash with a growing regularity – often in the middle of the night.   The nights Valentina had
adored
when she’d finally had Stash all to herself, his hard, taut body shuddering in her arms.  Their lovemaking exquisite,
earth shattering
…seeming to go on and on…until the phone rang. 

‘
Don’t answer it, Anastasio,’ she’d moan his name the way she knew he loved, her naturally husky voice caressing and extending each of the five syllables of the traditional Greek name.  ‘Let it ring, it can wait till morning.’

‘
I’ll just see what she needs, Val...’

‘
No, Anastasio!’  She’d purr against his parted panting lips, against a flat brown male nipple, slither herself atop him whispering it.  Call it out while riding him hard, the phone shrilly ringing out its own entreaty just as she was nearing the peak…
so very close
…until his hand would reach out towards the phone –

‘
Ignore it!’ Valentina would moan, undulating her body sensually against his to try to stop him from answering, her fingers weaving their way through the jet-black curls on his head, keeping his head pressed to the pillow until the phone would finally stop ringing.  He’d devote all his attention to her once again then, forcefully flipping her over on to her back.  Rearing up, regaining the position of sexual dominance she gladly relinquished.  Thrusting himself into her desire-slick passageway in hard, penetrating, powerful strokes.  Relentless.  Unstoppable...until the phone would begin to ring once again...

Stash would swallow jerkily, the strain
apparent on the carved golden face above hers, obsidian eyes lit by a sliver of starlight allowing her to see just how torn he was by his divided loyalties.  How it
destroyed
him to have to make his tough decision with his body still surging into hers as the phone continued to ring...and ring.  But eventually he would still above her.  Long, soot black lashes lowering down over eyes closing in pain just before he’d withdraw from her body…reaching to pick up the receiver on the nightstand. 

A
nswering his mother’s pleas for help. 

‘
It’s going to be all right,
mana mou
,’ he’d murmur the Greek endearment for ‘my mother’ in a low soothing voice into the phone.  Offer comforting words to his distraught, fearful parent for long minutes while Valentina had listened mute from her side of the bed, lips pursed tight. 

‘
No,
mana mou,
stop worrying.  Everything’s fine, I’m sure no one’s in the back yard – it was probably just a cat knocking over a flowerpot you heard.’   

No
,
mana mou.
The furnace could not possibly explode – he’d hired an inspector and everything checked out just fine. 

No
,
mana mou.
She wasn’t smelling smoke – the neighbors probably barbequed earlier – and besides, he’d installed smoke alarms in every room himself last weekend, just in case…

O
n and on it had gone, his mother’s fears seeming to multiply with each passing day of her husband’s absence.  The traditional Greek husband she’d depended on for
everything
since they were married when she was just seventeen in their small picturesque hometown. Shortly thereafter, her young ambitious husband had brought his bride to America to seek his fortune, opening a small bustling restaurant in Chicago’s Greektown area that at that time, still had a large Greek population. 

The
family restaurant where the only Karas son had also learned his father’s same hard work ethic, employed there first as a busboy, then a waiter, his wages and tips helping pay his way through a prestigious local college where he’d earned his degree as an architect.

W
hen Stash would finally hang up after ending the call with a final reassurance to his mother, his hand had often feathered over Valentina’s stiff, cold shoulder.  ‘Valentina,’ he’d croon her name, hoping to renew their intimacy, she knew.  Increasingly fed up, she’d begun shrugging his hand off, her back kept rigidly to him until with a deep sigh that had revealed the toll of trying to please two women, Stash would flop on to his own side.  They’d both eventually fall into a troubled, restless sleep, their opposing backs kept to each other for the remainder of the night.

And
it had happened once again a few nights before their last turbulent night together, Valentina recalled, fighting back the tears that refused to be kept at bay. The phone ringing, their lovemaking interrupted.  Two backs dueling.  All combining to inch them steadily closer to their
breaking point.  The next morning it had been another impenetrable silence between them in the kitchen as she’d made his breakfast before he left for the office, a cold chill hovering in the air to match the wintry Chicago weather outside. 

The
frostiness between them had become an increasingly common, troubling occurrence – and it had felt very familiar to her.  Valentina had come from a home where passive aggressive behavior was commonplace, her mother’s frustrating bouts of silence when unreasonably angered something she had grown used to over the years.  In the toxic pattern, so often repeated, the thing she had once despised, she now emulated herself as an adult. 

Stash had just stared at her when
she’d slid the clattering plate with crisp bacon and eggs scrambled the way he liked, in front of him on the table without a word but with an extra helping of sullen frown.  ‘Thank you, Valentina,’ he’d said a quiet thank you, a thoughtful gleam in the dark eyes looking up at her before he’d dug in with his fork, the morning paper unfolded before him, coffee cup raised to his lips between hungry mouthfuls.

When he’d finished
his breakfast, ‘that was delicious, Val,’ plate scraped cleaned with accompanying loud sound effects, he’d helpfully placed his dish in the sink and pulled his dark winter coat off the hook by the door, shrugging it on and buttoning it up to leave. Looping the colorful scarf she’d lovingly knit for him around his neck, he’d walked over to her and she’d pretended to be busy loading the dishwasher.  Had turned a cool cheek to his departing kiss instead of offering him her lips as per their usual ritual. 

‘
I’ll see you tonight,’ Stash had murmured after opening the back door that led to the garage letting another blast of cold air in to the already chilly atmosphere. ‘I’ll try to come home early…so we can spend the entire evening together.’

What he means by that
, Valentina had silently translated, slamming dishes into the dishwasher.  Was that he would come
straight
home.  Instead of stopping by his mother’s house to check on her which had become a frequent habit of his after leaving the office in the last few months. 

She’d
soon become suspicious of his movements.  Knowing it wasn’t just some ‘construction project’ delaying him after he’d also begun picking at the gourmet dinners she’d made for him each day from scratch.  It was something Valentina had loved – cooking for him.   He hadn’t wanted her modeling.  Stash, in typical Greek male fashion, had stated he didn’t want his wife posing in provocative outfits before the camera any longer. 

‘
Why would I want any other man to see what is so beautiful, so desirable…and now, legally, for my eyes only,’ he’d husked their first night in the luxurious bedroom suite of their new home, his tongue lathing over a peaked nipple making her body squirm with ecstasy beneath him.  It had been a calculated bit of timing on his part, for when he was deep inside of her, Valentina would agree to all his demands, willingly, eagerly.

M
indlessly.
 

‘
Go back to school if you want to earn your degree,’ he’d suggested.  ‘Join a local improv group and work on your comedy routines, or stay home and take care of our beautiful babies when they arrive, do whatever the hell you please, but I do
not
want you modeling any longer,’ Stash had growled on a powerful plunge between her parted thighs, ‘you agree, Valentina?’ 

‘Yes, I agree, Stash!’ She’d screamed out her agreement on the cusp of a shattering orgasm.  Would probably have agreed to cold-blooded
murder
to keep him sheathed between her thighs at that particular moment!

A
nd she’d kept herself busy at first in the huge seven bedroom, five bathroom house.  Had refused to hire help as Stash had offered, and instead dusted and vacuumed like a crazy woman – attacking any particle of dirt that had dared reared its vermin-filled head with a vengeance.  She’d also become addicted to the cooking channels on cable.  Bought numerous cookbooks, expensive cooking utensils and top-of-the line name brand cookware advertised during commercials. 

I
t had made her feel like a real bonafide ‘
wife.
So proud of the meals she’d made for her man that he’d deemed,
‘damned tasty’
as he’d gobbled them down.  So when he’d stopped eating these lovingly prepared meals, she’d known there had to be a reason.  Had strongly suspected there was another woman.  And of course, there had been.  His mother.

Mana
mou.

When Valentina had pressed him on it one night after he’d taken just a few forced bites of the pasta fettuccine she’d whipped up to perfection closely following a new recipe from her favorite Italian chef on a popular show on the Gourmet Network, Stash had lain his knife and fork down beside his plate.