Flawless, page 5
“How dare you stalk me like vultures, come on my property, and then insult me by suggesting that I have been anything but loyal to this country?” I shout.
The second reporter, is backing away, and the first one is hightailing it to her van, but the third reporter who initiated the insults, is standing his ground.
I knock the camera from his hand.
“Hey! You can’t do that! You have no right! You’re going to pay for that!” he threatens.
I’m aware that the other two reporters are probably capturing all of this, and it will be on some news channels and social media, if not multiple ones, before the night ends.
“And you’re on private property! You have no right to be here!” I shout.
Just as I pull my fist back to punch him, I hear a shout from behind me.
“Zenon!” I turn to see my elderly neighbor, Mrs. Maria Caparelli, rushing in my direction, wielding a broom in one hand and a rolling pin in the other.
She’s wearing a reprimanding scowl on her deeply tanned and heavily lined face. Mrs. Caparelli is no more than four-feet and eleven inches, weighing roughly one-hundred-ten pounds, but she puts the fear of God in me despite my six-four height and two-hundred-nine pounds of lean muscle.
Instantly, my clenched fist drops to my side as if it has a mind of its own.
“Get out of here! All of you!” she shouts, chasing the third reporter back to his van as the other two hurriedly close their doors and watch the melee from inside. When the third reporter pulls off, she walks to the first van and begins banging on the door with the rolling pin until the van leaves, and the second van instantly follows.
By the time that she turns around and walks back up the drive, I’m struggling to contain my laughter. She’s quite a sight with the broom and the rolling pin chasing off the reporters like they were stray cats.
When she comes to a stop in front of me, she leans the broom against the wall of my house but clings to her rolling pin.
“And you!” she says, shaking the rolling pin at me. “What have I told you about ignoring those idiots? You don’t give them what they’re asking for, no? That’s what they want. If you act out, then you’re giving them something else to report about, and you’re better than that.”
“Mrs. Caparelli, I had no plans on hurting him.”
“Don’t lie to me. I know you, Zenon Diaz. You’re a good man, but you’re also emotional and passionate like my late husband, Bruno, was. I saw the news reports. Let them talk.”
“They’re questioning my loyalty, Mrs. Caparelli. My honor, my word, and my allegiance to this country mean everything to me. Yes, I would love to play for Brazil, but I didn’t make it. I accepted that a long time ago, and when the opportunity for me to play for Italy arose, I jumped at it.”
“Come here,” she says, beckoning me with a finger to lean down closer to her as she tucks the rolling pin under her arm.
I do as she says, and she grabs my cheeks in her doughy hands. “You’re so honorable, but you make things hard on yourself. Tell them the truth.”
“No.”
“You owe it to yourself.”
“No.”
She kisses my cheeks, pats them, and then steps back.
“Why not?”
“Telling them that Brazil tried to recruit me back after my first two years won’t solve anything.”
“It will stop them from questioning your loyalty. They won’t ask if you purposefully lost that game so that your home country could win.”
“No matter what I tell them, Mrs. Caparelli, they’re going to find something else to drag my name through the mud about.”
“Yes, that will be one less thing, though.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, shrugging.
“I’ve got some gnocchi and tiramisu,” she says, smiling at me.
“I’ll be right over,” I promise as she turns and walks away laughing at me.
I jog into the house, shower, and change for dinner at Mrs. Caparelli’s home.
***
Dinner at her house was wonderful, as always. She still cooks as though all her children are living at home, and truthfully, she only sees them twice a week now. As usual, she sent me home with leftovers, and for that, I’m grateful. That’s less cooking for me.
As soon as I step outside of her house, though, I spot two more news vans across the street from my house. As soon as they spot me crossing the lawn, they jump out and head in my direction.
This time, I ignore them calling my name and recall Mrs. Caparelli’s warnings. My phone rings the moment that I step foot inside of my home.
“Hello.”
“Z, Mamãe is worried sick about you. She’s been calling you for the last two hours, and you haven’t answered your phone,” my older sister, Aurea, says.
“I was next door with Mrs. Caparelli for dinner. I left my cell phone behind. I’ll call her.”
“Make sure you do. But how are you? We saw the video.”
“What video?” I ask, peering through the curtains as I watch two entire camera crews set up across the street from my front lawn.
“Earlier today, you assaulted some camera guy. Then, this old lady comes out assaulting them with a broom and a rolling pin. What is going on over there, Z?”
“Aurea, it’s not as bad as it looks. They were harassing me, okay?”
“But you knocked the guy’s camera from his hand, and it looked as if you were about to knock him out had it not been for that old lady. Who is she, anyway?”
“She’s my next-door neighbor, and honestly, I probably would have.”
“Papai said that they would be coming back. He warned Mamãe that with the onset of your anniversary, that would be a great news piece for them again,” Aurea says.
My father owns a newspaper back home, and he always had a nose for good news. He could detect a story out several miles away. Luckily, I’m his son, so when I assaulted a player from the opposing team causing me to be evicted from the game and our country to lose the FIFA World Cup Championship, he didn’t cover it.
“I know. They’ve been parked outside of my door, and now two more crews are setting up right across the street from my yard. I guess they must have gotten the warning.”
“Well, you be careful. Why don’t you come home for a while? At least until this blows over,” Aurea suggests.
“I think I’ll pass on that offer, but thanks, though.”
“It’s been a while, Z,” Aurea says.
“I know, and I’ll return for a visit. Just not now.”
“All right. Well, call Mamãe before she worries more.”
“Okay,” I say, hanging up the phone.
As I dial my parents’ home, I get a text message from my younger sister, Uxia, who is working in Colombia.
UXIA: I saw the stories on IG. OMG! Are you good?
ME: Everything’s good. Don’t believe everything you see.
UXIA: You mean like my badass brother kicking ass? LOL!
ME: Yeah, even that.
UXIA: Well, I personally liked what my eyes saw. Hope that you sent them a message, and they don’t return.
Glancing out of the window, I think about how unlikely that is.
“Hello?” my mother answers.
“Hi, Mamãe,” I greet.
“Zenon! Oh, I was so worried about you. Are you okay? Did they press charges? Did anyone get hurt?”
UXIA: You still there?
ME: Yep. On the phone with Mamãe.
UXIA: Good luck with that.
“Zenon! Did you hear me?”
“Yes, Mamãe. No, they haven’t pressed charges, and nothing was hurt except for his pride.”
And his camera, I think, but don’t say.
“Is it safe where you are?”
“No one’s going to mess with me. I’m just fine.”
“Your Papai and I were thinking maybe you should come home for a while,” she says.
“No, that’s your Mamãe saying that. I said let the man be a man,” my father says in the background, making me laugh.
ME: I need that good luck already.
UXIA: LOL! I told you. If you need help, let me know, and I’ll come over there and kick ass for my big bro.
ME: You stay beautiful. I’ve got this under control.
UXIA: Actually, you do need my help. Beat ‘em down granny was kicking ass.
“I just think it’s safer if he returns home,” my mother argues in the background with my daddy.
ME: Where did you get that name from?
UXIA: That’s what everyone is calling her.
ME: Either way, I’ve got this handled. I’ll talk to you later. I need to handle Mamãe right now.
UXIA: Bye-bye.
I resume listening to my mother list off all the reasons that I should come home.
“Mamãe, I’m going to end this call right now. I love you and Papai, but I need to get some rest.”
“Okay. Please be safe.”
“I will.”
As I end the call, my text message chimes again, and I see that it’s my middle sister, Graciana.
GRACI: I know it’s late there, so I won’t keep you. Are you okay?
ME: I’m good.
GRACI: Good. Talk to you soon.
As I head to my bedroom, I think about my family. They’re loving but pushy, thanks to having a family full of women.
One thing they all suggested, I can’t help but agree with, though. As I peer out the window in my bedroom, I see that the news vans are still there, and another one has joined them.
They’re not going anywhere until this all blows over. I do need to get away. I just don’t want to go home.
I set my phone on my nightstand and slide the charger in it. When it doesn’t register, I pull the cord free and open my nightstand drawer.
I have two more unopened chargers inside of the drawer. As I pull one of them free, I see a little envelope at the rear of the drawer.
Pulling it out, I look at the cute, faded script on the front.
The key to my heart,
DM
Opening the envelope, I shake the little bronze key out into the palm of my hand.
Smiling, I recall a beautiful summer spent on a little island in America. Palming the key, I toss it up a few times and catch it as a smile and a plan blossom.
Sullivan Island, South Carolina would make the perfect escape.
I know that no one will find me there.
6 – ZENON
The skies appear bluer today than they have in a long while. Out on the horizon, the skies meld into the water becoming one. It’s difficult to tell where one begins and the other ends.
The sweat drips down my body as I come close to finishing the last mile. I’ve run three miles today. I had begun slacking off from my normal exercise routine since I’ve been on the island.
My days have been full of eating, watching TV, and fixing up the place. Not that it’s shabby or anything. It’s not that by far. There were just a few details that needed attention; like a new paint job, shutters replaced, the garden needed to be weeded and mowed, and some minor repairs on the inside of the house.
I’ve been here for almost a month today, and I’ve found myself missing Zílda like crazy. Her mother is off visiting family in Russia, and she won’t return home to the States for another week.
I’ve been thinking about asking her to bring Zílda down to visit me when she returns, but that doesn’t feel right. Although Larisa and I are no longer together, she’ll ask millions of questions about whether this is my beach cottage, who it belongs to, whether I was cheating on her with the woman and a million other asinine questions that I don’t want to deal with.
Instead, I might fly to them and spend a couple of weeks with my daughter in Florida. The one thing I won’t do is take our daughter somewhere that her mother doesn’t know she’s going to.
I slow my run into a jog as I near the beach. People are starting to come out to enjoy the beautiful weather as the day warms.
This morning, I started my exercise regimen a few minutes before nine, and it’s now going on ten-thirty. I finally head back to the cottage to grab some breakfast.
I slept in this morning which is also unlike me. I’m usually up and moving around no later than seven in the morning. Last night, I was plagued with thoughts about my past and my future.
I have two failed relationships under my belt, and as much as I know that no one’s perfect, I can’t help but think that I keep picking the wrong woman. Prepared to propose to one and married to the other; both women toyed with my heart.
I pull the door open to the cottage and head to the shower. Adjusting the water, I think about Danica Maxwell again. It’s been a while since I’ve seen or heard from her.
I was hesitant about coming to this cottage that belongs to her. Although she’d given me the key to the cottage and told me that I could escape here whenever I needed peace from the world, I hadn’t taken her up on her offer.
I figured she might be using it herself. And while I haven’t heard from her in some time, I decided that at this point in my life was the best time to make use of that offer.
There were mountains of dust on everything when I arrived, and the place had a musty odor from being closed up for so long. The furniture had sun streaks on it from where the sun peeped through the curtains at different times of the day and shined only on sections of the furniture.
The refrigerator and freezer were both empty, but there were expired canned goods and boxed foods in the pantry and in the cabinets. I’d emptied all that out and spent the first week cleaning up and restocking the shelves, refrigerator, and freezer.
I had no set time of how long I intended to be here. And while I knew that I should call or text Danica to let her know that I was using the place, I wasn’t in a hurry to notify anyone of where I was in the world.
I waited until I was settled in there for a day before I finally dialed her number. I received her voicemail, so I left her a message. That was four weeks ago. That first week, I called her numerous times with no reply.
After that, I called once a week. I still haven’t heard from her, and I hope that everything is okay.
I hop out of the shower after washing my body and hair. As I towel myself dry, I hear a noise in the front of the cottage. Frowning, I wrap the towel around the lower half of my body and grab another one for my dripping hair.
I make my way to the front, calling out “Hello,” wondering who has entered the cottage. I could have sworn I locked the door behind me, not that it was necessary but that’s what I’m accustomed to doing.
“Hello,” I call out again just as I step into the living room and see the curve of a very fine ass lifted high into the air.
She jumps and turns around with a shriek.
“Danica.”
“Z? What are you doing here?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing, but uh...this is your cottage.”
“You think,” she asks, lifting an eyebrow and crossing her arms over her chest.
“Well, I uh...didn’t know that you would be using it, and I needed some time away. I called numerous times.”
“Yeah, um...I was taking a break from life for a minute,” she says a bit shakily, looking me over from head to toe.
She looks uncomfortable and shouldn’t be in her own place.
“Just give me a few minutes, and I can get my things together and leave,” I say, jerking my hand in the direction of the bedroom I’ve been occupying.
Nodding, Danica says, “Okay.”
Disappointment floods every part of me as I head back to the bedroom.
After I get dressed, I grab my suitcases and begin tossing items inside. Just as I’m zipping up the final one, Danica knocks at the door.
“Come in,” I call out.
“Hey,” she says, holding onto the doorknob as though she might bolt at any moment.
“What’s up?”
“No need for you to leave. This is a three-bedroom cottage, and I think that we should be good as long as we stay out of each other’s way. Besides, whenever I’m here, I normally spend most of my time at the beach.”
Lifting one eyebrow as I recall the condition that the house was in upon my arrival I ask, “Do you even come here anymore?”
Turning her lips down and scowling, she says, “It’s been a while since I’ve been here. You know life and all.”
I nod slowly, wondering what she’s been up to. I don’t follow gossip blogs, celebrity magazines, or talk shows. As a matter of fact, I don’t follow much of what happens in America. My focus is usually on Italy, Brazil, or the UK unless something notable happens in America.
“Well, like I said, you’re good to stay. Besides, I don’t plan on being around for long.”
And though it shouldn’t, sadness fills me with that statement. I cannot help the curiosity that arises within me.
“How long is not long, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Shrugging nonchalantly, she answers, “Oh, a few days. A week at best.”
Danica has always been that way, noncommittal about most things. It was one of the few things that agitated me about her. She had difficulty committing to anything, including me.
“I’m about to shower, change, and then head down to the beach,” she says, supporting her earlier comment about spending most days down at the beach.
“Okay,” I say and watch as she walks out of my room.
Of the three bedrooms at the cottage, two of them could be considered a master suite. They all have an en suite, small sitting rooms and a walkout leading to the deck. All three are decorated in beach colors: greys, blues, whites, and tans.
The room that I chose has a mural of the ocean against the night sky with the moon shining down on it and the sand below. The other room that Danica is in has seashells and sand everywhere, and she also has peach tones in her room.
The final bedroom has a mermaid motif.
Sitting on the bed, I drop my head into my hands.
“Why?” I grumble.
Of all the times that she chose to come, why would it have to be when I’m here? I knew that I ran the risk of seeing her when I decided to come here, but I also recalled that the few times we visited she shared with me then that she seldom used the cottage because she was always traveling.
