142:Upper West Side

November 30
“You’re sure this is the address?”

Charlie looked up at the gorgeous Upper West Side brownstone and couldn’t reconcile it with her bagel and coffee friend.  Even if it belonged to Millie's nephew, why in the world would someone with this much money allow his aunt to live on the streets?

She felt herself getting angry on behalf of the sweet little old woman as Jon pushed the bell. 

“Yeah, I’m sure.”  He slid his fingers between hers and squeezed.  “Calm the fuck down, please?  I can feel you’re ready to beat this guy’s ass before he says hello.”

Pursing her lips, she fastidiously looked straight ahead at the wrought iron doors, muttering, “You’re not supposed to know me that well.”

“I’m not?” came his quiet scoff.  “We’ve fought since before we met.  I’d be a dumbass if I couldn’t recognize your phases of pissed-off.”

She didn’t want to be amused, but her mouth didn’t get that message and slid back on one side.  “Well, we already knew you weren’t a dumbass.  Now don’t be a show-off.”

“I’m a performer Chiara.  It’s part of the trade.”  The ripe humor in his voice made the other side of her mouth slide back, but when she turned in response to the tugging at her hand, Charlie found that he wasn’t laughing.  “I know you.  Don’t ever doubt it.”

The two second intervals where he fully opened the door on his emotional broom closet slayed her every time, and this was no exception.  The muscles in her lower abdomen seized and then rippled, leaving her speechless for a half-second before she teased, “What happens if I do?”

“I give you a reason not to.” 

There was no opportunity for her to respond to the matter-of-fact statement before the front door was opened and a man greeted them with a reserved smile. 

“Mr. Bon Jovi.  Ms. Del Vecchio.  I’m Carmine Castellano.  Please.  Come in.”

Still reeling from the unexpectedly deep exchange with her boyfriend, Charlie employed her auto-pilot lawyer persona.  Upon stepping into the foyer, she extended a hand and the proper pleasantries that included a request to call her Charlie.  Jon did the same and it left Carmine to dip his head in a succinct nod.

“If you don’t mind, we’ll talk in the library.” 

Charlie followed the direction of his gesturing arm and her boots clicked over the gleaming oak hardwood before finding the soft pile rug that ran the length of the fifteen-foot hallway.  Glossy walnut doors on the left were closed, but the matching open staircase to the right gave her plenty to take in. 

Wide and climbing, there were two matching floor-to-ceiling columns beyond the base of them.  Between those, the stair railing continued and ran the length of the hallway until meeting up with a descending staircase.  The parlor was through a doorway just beyond that.

Jon’s hand was at her back as they skirted through the room with two high-backed ivory armchairs and a pearl-gray couch that must’ve been nine feet long.  It sat atop inlaid flooring and beneath a crystal chandelier, creating a picture of understated elegance.

“Your home is lovely,” she admired upon entering the honey oak library whose bookcases reached two stories high.  There was a skinny staircase that accessed the second level, which was encased by wrought iron railing, and an arched window revealed a terrace outside.

“This is Aunt Camilla’s, actually.  She’d be pleased to know you like it.  Please sit.”

This was Millie’s?  Stunned wasn't a drastic enough adjective to describe Charlie’s state of mind as she grappled with that piece of information.  She and Jon had talked about the likelihood that Camilla Castellano was the widow of “Big Paulie”, head of the Gambino crime family and “Howard Hughes of the Mob”.  The explanation had made sense until now – when Charlie was faced with the physical environment that supported their notion.

The fireplace seating area was comprised of a moss green sofa accented with beige toss pillows, two matching beige armchairs separated by a glass table, and a leather chair that matched the golden hue of the woodwork.  In the midst of it all was a six-foot tufted coffee table, upholstered in a shade that was complementary to the cushions and chairs.

She and Jon chose to face the fireplace by taking the sofa, while Carmine chose the leather chair in front of the windows.

The man was stereotypical Mafia, in Charlie's mind.  While not tall like Matt, he shared the same broad shoulders, and they completely filled his charcoal pin-striped suit jacket.  Carrying on the theme of bulkiness, his thick neck was ringed by a snowy shirt collar, and square hands adjusted the tie there.  She would wager to say that his nose had been broken at least once, but dark eyes were surprisingly gentle behind his rimless spectacles.

“You’re going to have to forgive my jaw on the floor, but the Millie I knew…  This place is stunning, but I can’t reconcile her presence here.”

“Aunt Camilla was worried that you would be upset about her duplicity,” he confessed.  “She can explain it much better, but I’d like to say that she spoke often and well of you, Charlie – and more recently, of Mr. Bon Jovi.”

Jon acknowledged the compliment with a brief smile, crossing his legs and tucking one hand between the thighs of his slacks.  They’d both dressed for a business meeting, with him wearing a jacket and dress shirt while she was in slacks, a sweater and her power pearls.  Seeing Carmine's suit, she was glad they had. 

“It's Jon, and we were both very fond of your aunt.  To hear of her passing was upsetting, and we’re  sorry for your loss.”

“Yes.  Indescribably so.” 

Although, in reality, Charlie was sorrier for her loss.  She'd been busy with family the last few days, as well as the beginning phases of another art project and getting their boys back to college, but the mental image of the woman in the red beret was never far from her thoughts. 

Today, being Monday, made Millie’s absence more prevalent, and melancholy was firmly infringing upon the edges of Charlie’s heart.

“Thank you.  After the tumble she took a few weeks ago, we knew it was coming, but it doesn’t get any easier.  My siblings and I loved her as much as our own mother.”

“So that fall was related to her heart condition?” Jon clarified, while Charlie ached for the man whose eyes carried a darker melancholy than that surrounding her heart. 

“Yes.  She became short of breath, got dizzy and fell.  We tried to get her to take it easy after that, but she refused, saying that she spent twenty years taking it easy.  She wanted to live, and there was no stopping her.”  He cleared his throat and again adjusted with the knot of his subtly patterned silk tie.  “One of her last wishes was that I tell you how sorry she was to miss Thanksgiving with you and your families.”

The tears came out of nowhere, blinding Charlie in the flood as she struggled to swallow with a throat that had gone painfully tight.  Thank God there was tissue on the coffee table.  Leaning forward, she snatched one from the box and blotted her eyes, unable to speak.

She noticed through her sniffle that Jon coughed before he could say, “Not as sorry as we are.  You mentioned siblings.  How many?”

"I have a brother and two sisters.  We took turns bringing our families for dinner in the evenings."  With a deep breath, Carmine took his own turn leaning forward, but he retrieved a remote control rather than a tissue.  He pointed it at the flat screen over the fireplace, flaring it to life. 

“Aunt Camilla thought about leaving you both a note but decided she wasn’t – and I quote – ‘writing a damn novel that nobody wants to read’.  I guess there was a lot she wanted to say, so one of my sons helped her record this.  I haven’t seen it, but my instructions are to stay ‘until it’s time to go'.  Another direct quote.”

Eyes dry for the time being, Charlie found herself warming at the affection in the burly man’s tone.  Millie hadn’t been alone at the end.  She was with someone who loved her this much, and it eased some of the ache in Charlie’s chest.

She scooted closer to Jon as they waited, and he slipped a hand under loose waves to curve it around her nape.  His touch was both strong and reassuring, and Charlie sent up yet another silent prayer of thanks as she laid a hand on his thigh.  There was no one she’d rather have next to her, and when Millie’s face appeared on the screen, she was even more thankful for his presence. 

“Charlie Girl.”  Damn the tears that blurred the vision of Millie sitting up in a hospital bed, wearing her red beret and a fuzzy blue sweater.  Charlie reached forward for more tissues as the familiar voice continued on.

“And Jon, I presume you’re here, too, since that was my request.  Can’t imagine you putting our Charlie Girl through this on her own.  You’re too besotted for that, so thank you both for coming to indulge an old woman’s last wishes.”

The weak smile and laugh delivered a stab of pain that triggered another round of tears, and Jon’s hand fell away from her neck so that he could tuck her close.  When he quietly asked if she was sure about doing this, she nodded emphatically and pointed at the television.

“Anyway.  Pish posh and all that shit,” the sassy woman declared with a dismissive wave of her frail hand.  “The reason I’ve asked Carmine to make you my captive audience is that I have some confessing to do.  I guess by now you know I’m not your typical bag lady.  As smart as you two are, you’ve likely figured out everything on your own, but I’m going to pretend this is the end of one of those great mystery novels they don’t write anymore and tell you just the same.”

Pressing a fist to her chest, and covering her mouth with the other hand, Millie coughed several times before returning her eyes to the camera.  Weariness and disgust were written across her pale features. 

“It’s a bitch being sick.  Avoid it if you can.”  Folding both hands in her lap, she shrugged it off and launched the story she wanted to tell. 

“Paul Castellano was much older than I, but my father knew he was a man with a wealthy, if not an illustrious, future so I married him.  That’s what you did in those days – married who your parents told you to.  Paulie wasn’t a bad husband, and he had the Midas touch with real estate.  Everything he touched turned to gold, including the house you’re sitting in.  It’s been in my possession for forty years and I’m vain enough to believe that you’d like to see it Charlie Girl, so Carmine will give you the grand tour once I’m done with you.”

She creased the hospital blanket and smoothed it again.  “Paulie wasn’t the kind of man to be home for dinner every night, so I’d sometimes go out with some of the other organization wives for a nice meal.  On one such occasion, I met Aldo.  You’re both familiar with that story, and I’d like you to know how much it pleases me that you wear one of his bracelets, Charlie Girl.”

Charlie fingered the diamond bangle as Jon’s arm constricted around her waist.  It had more meaning now than ever.

“I was a bit infamous by association, so after Paulie was killed, I stayed home almost all the time.  I figured the day that I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize myself…  Well, that’s when I decided nobody else would recognize me anymore, either.  It was a couple of years ago, not too long before you first found me, with my little cart.  What I never told you was that cart didn’t hold dumpster treasures, but blankets, toiletries and other life necessities for my friends on the streets.

“I always claimed that I lifted 'the goods' from a drugstore or some other such outlandish tale, but I made sure the ones who needed it had the essentials.  That’s why I’d never take anything but a cup of coffee and a bagel from you, Charlie Girl.  I have to tell you, those cups of coffee we shared were the highlights of my week.

“Oh, sure, it was an adventure wandering through Manhattan completely overlooked yet absorbing everything, but New York is a busy place.  That was what I expected.  Not a lot of people have extra time on their hands, and they definitely don’t use it to deliver coffee to an old woman on a regular basis, nor would they dare share a piece of their lives with that old woman.  Not like you did.

“I always knew there was something that weighed on you.  Kept your eyes duller than they should be for a beautiful, brilliant woman such as yourself.  When you came back from the Hamptons with them sparkling, it did my old soul good.  And then you did me the honor of introducing Jon.”

She shook her head, looking at something off to the side and smiling serenely.  “You’re lucky I’m not thirty years younger or I would’ve given you a run for your money with that man.  Jon, you know you’re handsome.  No great secret there, but the way you’ve changed our Charlie’s life had me more smitten than those chiseled cheekbones of yours.  You’re not the stereotypical egomaniacal celebrity, but I suspect you know that, too.

“At any rate, I couldn’t bear the knowledge that someone’s ass…inine…. Once in a while I remember I’m a lady.”  She whispered the last sentence from beneath an arched silver brow before resuming her normal speaking voice.  “That someone’s asinine husband was cock-blocking the happiness of two people I’d begun to care a great deal for.”

A frail shoulder lifted inside her fuzzy sweater.  “And sometimes I don’t care that I’m a lady.  You know?  So I pulled some old strings to remove the cock-block, and that’s all that shall be said about that.  You know.  I know.  That’s all that matters.  Now, Jon…”

With Millie's bony finger pointing directly at them, Charlie felt him sit straighter on the sofa.  “Take good care of our girl, and you two name a dog after me or something.  I have a very nice bottle of wine I’d like for you to have, so Carmine is going to take you to get it now so Charlie Girl and I can have a few moments alone.  Take care of yourself young man.  If I manage to make it to the penthouse instead of the basement, I’ll watch over you every now and again. Goodbye, dear boy.”

She touched fingertips to her lips and blew across them, sending the kiss into the camera.

At that point, Carmine pressed a button that had Millie’s image freezing on the screen.  How long tears had been streaming unchecked down her face, Charlie couldn't say, but Jon was handing her more tissue.

“Baby, do you need a break before you do this?” he asked softly, and the tenderness in his eyes only invited the tears to flow more freely.

“Please take all the time you need, Charlie,” Carmine graciously echoed.  “I’ve set aside the entire day to handle my aunt’s affairs, so you won't be keeping me from anything if you’d like to step onto the terrace for some air.”

Nodding, she accepted the offer with relief.  She’d rather be strong than… this but couldn’t find the vein of strength that would allow her to do that.   It was devastating that she would never know the real Millie – the one who held enough clout with the Mafia to get a man killed and who lived in an Upper West Side mansion instead of on a park bench. 

Charlie wadded the damp tissues in one hand while the other found a place in Jon’s, and she accepted his support in guiding her to the door.  One foot was placed in front of the other and the floor beneath her changed from polished oak to weather-distressed wood as she vaguely heard him thanking Carmine.  Then the gentle hum of New York joined with the buzz in her ears, filling them with a white noise that obliterated whatever Jon said when he folded her into his embrace.

His strength was all she could focus on a late-November afternoon where the air was crisp and the sun brilliantly lit the sky.  A part of her knew that the sunlight should carry heat, but it provided nothing more than the illusion of warmth.  Only Jon’s arms staved off the bone-deep chill that threatened to freeze her from the inside out, and Charlie's face burrowed into his shoulder. 

She didn’t know if she could bear to hear the rest of Millie’s message.  Not without him at her side.