Life Before Damaged Vol. 2 (The Ferro Family) (LIFE BEFORE DAMAGED (The Ferro Family)) Read online

  Anthony’s eyebrows furrow, considering my question. “Do you kiss him back?”

  “No, I don’t kiss him back, I have a boyfriend! I’m not going to kiss some cheeky Casanova back!”

  “Again, non-issue. You know you’re being faithful. You can’t control other people’s actions, Regina.”

  I must be a glutton for punishment, trying to find the guilt in my actions, but I need to make sure I haven’t crossed any lines.

  “Okay then, Smarty Pants. What if I find him attractive? Let’s say I flirt with someone I find very attractive, and he kisses me, but I don’t kiss him back. Is that cheating?” I’m trying to find a flaw in his way of seeing things. There is no way this situation can be right.

  “Nope. Not cheating at all. You wouldn’t be flirting with him if you didn’t find him attractive in the first place, now would you?”

  Interesting. I sip my wine, enjoying the fresh crisp taste of it, somewhat relieved that this secret is more or less out in the open. I’m not certain I like his very liberal view on flirting, but maybe this is just more proof that I’m way too uptight, as Erin has so often suggested. Maybe I’ve been so concerned about keeping to the straight and narrow all my life that I have no definition for innocent flirting.

  We sit in silence, me reflecting on our conversation, trying to come to grips with the right and wrong of it all, while Anthony checks his missed text messages. A buxom woman wearing a feminine tuxedo and holding a basket of roses stops near our table. She nods politely to both of us and focuses her attention to Anthony, speaking with a faint French accent.

  "Would Monsieur like to purchase a rose?" Her eyes bounce from Anthony to me, sparkling with the romance of the suggestion. I recall Anthony’s jab that serving tables is a hard job I wouldn’t understand, and think absently that selling roses to romantic couples sounds like fun. How wonderful to be able to aid in such a sweet gesture. Across the table, Anthony rubs his hands on his pants and looks uncomfortable.

  “No, thank you,” he answers waving her away. “Maybe another time.” Although it would have been romantic—and God knows I could use a little romantic attention from him tonight—I know his financial situation is tight. If my dad weren’t picking up the tab for tonight's meal, we wouldn't be in a restaurant like this at all. This restaurant and its accompanying romance are both way out of his price range.

  I’M GREEN - AND NOT THE SICKLY KIND

  6:56 pm

  As if on cue, Daddy arrives with a kiss on the cheek for me and a fatherly clap on the back for Anthony. He sits down and the roses are quickly forgotten.

  "Sorry I'm late, but I'm sure you two lovebirds were able to fill in the time. Anthony, I'm glad you could make it to dinner, son. I know what a tight schedule you have. I hope you didn't have too much trouble taking time off of your residency? Regina tells me you've been working double shifts lately." My dad looks at Anthony with all the pride of a future father-in-law.

  "Yes, well, considering I've been putting in a lot of hours and my performance has been exemplary, they just couldn't tell me no when I asked for a night off with my best girl." Anthony takes my hand and brings it to his lips for a quick kiss, surprising me at his sudden show of affection in a public place. An uneasy feeling goes through me, as I realize he just told my father a little white lie. Daddy buys it hook, line and sinker, gazing at Anthony with a stupid, almost love-struck smile. Jeez! It’s like Anthony is wooing Daddy instead of me!

  Anthony scoots his chair closer to mine and drapes his arm along the backrest of my chair, earning yet another appreciative glance from my father. I desperately want to cuddle into his side, but know he'd probably push me away, so I don't. I take in whatever closeness I can get from him for the time being. There will be time for closeness later in the privacy of his apartment.

  The woman with the basket of roses passes by our table once more, and Anthony reaches out to stop her. Clearing his throat, Anthony says to the woman, "Excuse me, I'd like to purchase one of your roses."

  I put my hand on his arm, thinking he feels guilty about my earlier disappointment, “Anthony, you don't need to buy me a rose."

  His eyes bounce from me to my father, "A beautiful flower for a beautiful woman, right?" Dad's eyes light up like he can't believe his luck. Damn! Those two really should be dating each other! But still, it's nice to know that Dad approves of Anthony so much.

  Anthony pays the woman and hands me the rose. I try to thank him with a kiss, but he turns his head so that I end up kissing him on the cheek instead.

  Dinner progresses smoothly. By the time we reach dessert and espresso, the men are pretty much done talking about the technical aspects of their pet project. I take the opportunity to discuss business of my own and pull out my notes to show Dad. After going over my reports and explaining how money is being squandered uselessly, Dad just shakes his head. Here it comes.

  "Princess, don't worry about it. Granz Textiles has more than enough liquidity to cover any additional costs, should they arise."

  I should be used to this by now, but I’m a little peeved he disregarded me so quickly. I look at Anthony with an I-told-you-so face and he shrugs his shoulders in response. So much for his earlier conviction that Dad would take my concerns seriously.

  "But Dad, with the way our stocks plummeted today, we shouldn’t take any financial risks right now. We can't just sell off our assets to fund an experimental project that won't bring in any real profits for a while." I jab my thumb toward Anthony. "I suggest we use...”

  Anthony takes my hand and sits up straight. Finally! True to his promise, he's going to take my side and get my dad to listen to me, to take me seriously, and he’ll push his own good ideas forward in the process. Hell yeah! Power couple!

  "Regina, your father knows Granz Textiles inside and out. If he says there's nothing to worry about, I trust him. Take his advice and use this as a learning experience. You're still very green and have a lot to learn, but the perfect role model to learn from is sitting right in front of you.”

  Well, fuck me sideways! My head snaps toward him and my jaw drops. He smiles at my dad, who nods his approval to Anthony then pats my hand. He's actually patting my hand! How old am I, two? I'm crushed and stunned into silence. How do I recover from that? There is no way Daddy will take me seriously now. Anthony was supposed to take my side on this, but he belittled me instead. I’m still very green?

  As if nothing even happened, Dad picks up the bill, Anthony thanks him for his generosity, they man hug, and we all leave the restaurant. I am completely ignored.

  I'm fuming as Anthony and I walk from the restaurant toward his apartment. My hands are clenched tightly into fists, and I can feel some of my unhealed wounds cracking open as my nails dig into them.

  How could he? He told me he was going to help me get my point across with Dad, but instead he made me sound like I didn't know what the hell I was talking about. Anthony is either completely oblivious to my mood shift or choosing to ignore it, probably blaming it on PMS or something. I'm way too quiet, and the rapid sound of my heels clicking on the sidewalk only emphasizes how pissed off I am. Pissed is an understatement. Fire hydrants have nothing on me! I just barely refrain from stabbing him with my stilettos.

  We pass a newsstand, and my eyes catch a glimpse of a tacky gossip magazine’s front page. It's one of those really trashy magazines, where you can usually see blurry UFO pictures and two-headed babies. I don't usually pay attention to those types of magazines, but something draws my attention. This edition boasts a picture of a man with his arms draped around the shoulders of two beautiful women. The bold yellow letters of the headline read, "Pete Ferro scores big with sexy lingerie models.” I slow down to read the caption under the picture, "After wreaking havoc at a lingerie fashion show after-party, Pete Ferro leaves with two of the models for his own private demonstration."

  Oh, that's just great! Grabbing Anthony's hand a little too roughly, I pick up the pace and walk like a woman on a missi
on. Lingerie models. Right. Looking down at my own body, I don’t wonder why Pete turned me down. So what if my legs aren't long enough to wrap around his hips twice? So what if my breasts are smaller than his fat egotistical head? So what if I’m not seven-feet-tall? Not that I’d even want to wrap my legs around him twice, but the fact that I’m not pretty enough for him stings.

  By the time we get into Anthony's apartment, I can't help myself. My anger forgotten, I jump him the instant the front door shuts. Literally. My legs wrap around his hips and my arms wrap around his neck. I press my body as close to his as I can get it with clothes on, kissing him frantically and pulling at our clothes. I’m strung so tight I feel like I'll burst if he doesn't touch me soon.

  This is so unlike me but, after the other night with Pete and considering that Anthony and I haven’t had sex in over two weeks, I'm hornier than a Viking's helmet. I desperately need an outlet for the passion Pete ignited in me, and that outlet needs to be Anthony. Even if he was a dick over dinner tonight, I know Anthony loves me and I know he’s attracted to my body. Lingerie models my ass!

  THINGS ARE JUST PURRFECT

  JULY 5TH, 4:38 pm

  It's Friday afternoon. Restlessness is consuming me, swallowing me whole. Nom, nom, nom, ugh! I tap my toes on the floor, earning annoying glances over the top of my cubicle from my colleagues. I know swirling my pen between my fingers and then rhythmically tapping it three times on my desk is annoying, but I can’t help it. This is the better option, considering what I want to do is jump on my desk and scream. My coworkers would have strokes if I did something like that, something that wasn’t perfectly proper. Even my panties are proper. No lace, no thongs, and G-strings belong on cellos, not up my ass. The thought makes me giggle. Simon, the guy in the cubicle across from me, scowls at my tapping… again. Well, screw him! I’m too excited about going dancing tonight. I might burst into giggles if I don’t fidget.

  Erin sent me a text last night, letting me know there is a grand opening tonight up in Port Jeff, a place right on the water. She didn't give much information on the establishment, just that I should “dress for dancing my ass off” and that there would be “hip cats and dolls at the romp,” whatever that means.

  She loves being cryptic.%

  My first reaction was, “Hell no!” It’s way too soon for partying with her again, maybe ever. But then she mentioned dancing and I was hooked. She also assured me this party would be totally legal.

  I’d hoped to see Anthony tonight, but he won’t be joining us. The poor guy is always stuck at work.

  I think back to the last time I saw him—at his apartment Tuesday morning, the morning after I tried to jump him. How he managed to pry me off is still a mystery. New use for lube: removing your horny girlfriend, you lather up and she slips off.

  No, seriously, he wasn’t a total ass about it. He shoved me into the shower—alone—under the pretext that I needed to cool off a bit. Okay, maybe he was an ass. I thought he was asking me to freshen up for our little romp in the sack. So I took my time, put my perfume in all the right places, and put on that pale pink glittery lip-gloss he likes, but by the time I got to bed, he was asleep.

  I paused a second, staring at him incredulously, trying not to take it as a personal rejection. So much for my lip-gloss! I had plans for those kisses. Anthony works so hard and really does need his rest.

  I was just about to try to sleep unsatisfied, when I remembered a certain pink toy Erin had slipped into my bag as a joke. Desperate, I decided to take care of things solo style. I grabbed the toy from my bag and climbed in bed next to Anthony, hoping he really was sound asleep.

  Cautiously, I turned the toy from off to low, the button illuminating the sheets with a faint pink glow. I wiggled the toy this way and that way, but the low vibration of the rabbit shaped toy just wasn’t doing it for me. In frustration, I finally blasted the dial to full power. My bad. The overwhelming sensations made me gasp—at least I thought it was a gasp—my eyes closed and rolled back, my vision lost in my wave of bliss. I reflexively arched my back.

  “Wow, seriously?” Anthony’s voice sounded annoyed. “You woke me up to fuck yourself?”

  I, on the other hand, was mortified. I’ve never done anything like that in front of him—ever! Self-pleasure is not permitted under the rules of our relationship agreement. I looked down, embarrassed, and found the sheet glowing bright pink. My face burned the same shade of pink, and I hastily turned off the toy.

  “We made promises, Gina.”

  “I know, I just miss you and didn’t want to wake you up.” I tossed the toy on the floor and leaned in toward him, trailing my finger down his bare side. “I’ll make it up to you.” It was my second offer of the night.

  Anthony rolled toward me, his eyes drowsy and angry. My hand slipped from his side. “You’ve had an endless pile of cash your whole life, so you can’t understand. Everything I have, I’ve worked for. I want to keep you happy, Gina. I want to offer you the same things your family does, and to do that I have to work. Maybe it won’t always be this way, but can’t you just put aside your carnal urges for a few days, so I can provide for you like I want?”

  Guilt is an ugly monster. He looks like a gooey green Cookie Monster, covered in oozing green goo—boogers. He’s made of boogers. He’s gross, slimy, and all consuming, leaving every inch of my body and heart aching. I never asked Anthony for anything, but regardless he feels threatened by his lack of funds and family connections. He feels he has to work twice as hard to have anyone notice him.

  I tugged the blankets up and rolled over. “I’m sorry. I know how hard it is for you. I just wanted—”

  With his back to me, he said, “No, you don’t have any idea how hard it is to be accepted in your group. They don’t accept me, Gina. I have to prove my worth, every damned day. I didn’t want to burden you with any of this, but there’s more to life than sex.”

  “And there’s more to life than money.”

  He laughed bitterly, “So says one of the wealthiest women in Manhattan.”

  I rolled over and put my hand on his shoulder, but he pulled away. “Never mind. Some things are just a certain way, and until I break through that wall, I’m nobody. The day I do, though, everything will change. I will take you to nice places, buy you expensive clothes—”

  “I don’t want stuff, Anthony. I want you.”

  He rolled over the rest of the way and looked me in the eye. “You say that now, but if it came to living in a shoebox and wearing Wal-Mart clothes, I don’t think you’d like it. I ate Cheerios at every meal for eight months straight, trying to get ahead. I don’t want you to make those types of sacrifices. Let me do this and stop worrying. And if you want to break our agreement, about the toys—”

  My face turns bright red. “No, we can keep our agreement. No toys, only each other.”

  “That’s my girl.” He reached out to cup my cheek. “Wait for me and remember I’m also waiting for you.” Then he rolled over and went back to sleep, leaving me with a heavy conscience.

  I hate it when he’s right. I’m not sure what sparked his no toys rule, but it seemed romantic when I agreed. Then again, we not only had sex more than once a month, we were in the same freakin’ room more than once a month. I’m lonely and I miss him so much.

  That’s probably why Pete got to me. With that realization, I felt better and drifted off to sleep.

  PARTY HARDY MARTY

  5:58 pm

  By the time I finally get home, I'm ready to pull that stick out of my ass and toss it into the South Bay. With my luck, a golden retriever will bring it back.

  Cut it out, Gina. Let loose a little bit. I shake out my shoulders and close my eyes. For a moment, I’m someone else, someone who I’ve buried deep within. I’ve rarely met her. She’s not the ballerina or the perfect child. She’s me.

  The corners of my lips twitch into a smile, and I grab a hairbrush. Holding it to my mouth like a microphone, I start singing softly like a little churc
h girl. I take a deep breath, choose a song I can relate to a little too much, and try again.

  There are a lot of songs about surviving out there, but this one lights a fire in me. My fingers tighten around my makeshift microphone, and I let the beat course through me, finally letting my outer shell fall away and belting out the lyrics.

  I sing as if I don’t care if anyone can hear me—the household staff already knows my secret anyway, that I’m less than perfect, that I act like someone I’m not. They also know I’m tone-deaf, one hundred percent, irredeemably tone-deaf. Describing my singing is simple—think of a cat stuck on a weathervane during a tornado. The thought makes me giggle.

  That’s when my mother barges into my room, as if I’m five-years-old and playing with matches.

  “Gina, what on Earth?” Mom trails off, surveying the scene in my bedroom.

  I’m wearing only my bra and panties, my hair rolled up in curlers, and a brush by my mouth. The music is blasting and, as she shoves inside my room, awarding her a front row view of my booty-shaking dance moves. Her resulting giggle stops me cold, and I whirl around too fast. The brush goes flying across the room, bounces off the headboard, and smacks into the wall with a thud.

  Mom blinks, an amused smile on her face. “I didn’t think you liked rap music.”

  I snatch my robe and pull it on. “It’s not rap, Mom. And you could knock. Really.”

  “Because you might be doing something embarrassing?” She offers a shy smile and walks across my large room. Mom chose the pale blue walls and white trim a few years ago. The raw silk drapes, the velvet headboard, and the antique French armoire—everything was chosen by her. I don’t even like blue…unless it’s on Pete Ferro. I flinch. Where’d that thought come from?