Magdalena's Shadow, page 28
Coco pushed him playfully away and laughed, but she felt someone watching her. Cristina stood on the other side of the room, a look of concern freezing her perfect features. Their eyes met as Alessandro turned to see what Coco looked at.
“I think she must hate me.”
“Why should she?” Alessandro asked in surprise.
Coco looked at Paolo, who stood by the window talking and remembered all the ways they had made love, all the hours they’d spent touching and exploring each other’s bodies.
“I have no idea,” Coco lied. “Jealousy, perhaps?”
“No.” Alessandro shook his head. “I have never before seen Mama jealous of any woman. If she does hate you there must be another reason.”
“Mama?” Coco looked at Alessandro with surprise.
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Alessandro laughed, leaning back on the couch while Coco stared at him.
“So, Paolo is Papa?” Coco recognized the familiar features of the father in the son.
“I should hope so,” Alessandro answered, his face set in confusion, which then burst into a smile. “Who else?”
A photographer walked up to them. “Signorina Rodriguez, may I take your photo?”
“Yes,” Coco leaned into Alessandro and smiled for the photographer.
“And who is your friend, Signorina?” the photographer asked when the picture was taken.
“This is Alessandro D’Ambrosia.” Coco turned to smile at the boy.
Alessandro laughed, kissing her suddenly on the mouth as the photographer snapped another photo. Coco didn’t kiss him back. Her heart felt heavy, and the moment Alessandro released her she saw Paolo watching them.
Coco slept in till noon the next day, waking only a few hours before her plane left. She dressed slowly, trying not to think of the boy at the party or the fact that he was Paolo’s son. It had never occurred to her that Paolo and Cristina’s children were her own age. In her mind, they had been children only a little older than Bebe and Mila. She hadn’t dreamed that they might have a son her age. Everyone knew Paolo was old enough to be her father, but she had managed to ignore that fact until the moment she had met Alessandro.
The car arrived to take her to the airport one hour before her plane was scheduled to depart. The driver took her bags, escorting her into the warm, beautiful interior. As she slid inside she found Paolo waiting for her behind the darkly tinted glass.
“Paolo?”
“How did you sleep?” Paolo eyed her suspiciously.
“By myself, if that’s what you are asking.”
“You cannot blame me for being suspicious. You did meet my son last night. From what I saw, it seemed you liked him very well.”
“I met your son, Paolo, but he is just a boy.” Coco couldn’t meet his eye.
“Yes, but a very charming boy. Very like his father.”
“Yes, very.” Coco scowled and bit her lip.
“It’s funny, but I remember you saying you were done with men.”
“I am.” Coco turned from him, wishing to God he would leave her in peace.
“So, you have moved onto boys?”
“No, Alessandro did what he did without my permission.”
“Well, it upset poor Cristina –”
“There is nothing poor about that woman,” Coco interrupted, her eyes flashing dangerously. “She hates me on principle.”
“Perhaps, but you have had her husband, and you may at any time you please have her son, so you see she has every reason to hate you. However, Cristina isn’t the reason I’m here, Coco. I came to see you off, to wish you a good trip, and to tell you I want to see your spring line before anyone else.”
“Why?” Coco asked. “La Sangre is a struggling label with sketches instead of finished products. I don’t know if we’ll stay alive long enough to make the clothes let alone shoot a lookbook.”
“But you must,” Paolo insisted. “You must succeed at this, Coco; it will be good for you. Just let me see your lookbook before anyone else.”
“Why do you want to see it?”
“I have my reasons.”
Paolo tapped the glass, at which point the driver entered the car and started the engine.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Carmen met Coco at JFK, her little car a startling contrast to the Maserati Coco had become accustomed to. A part of her didn’t want to get in, didn’t want New York City and stress when she could have Rome, pleasure, and luxury.
“Hey, Carmen.” Coco slid in beside Carmen, who gave her a weak smile that spoke of hells yet to be traversed.
“Is it Jack?” Coco asked going for the less stressful conclusion.
“No, he’s fine. It’s Delilah. She’s come up with an old contract that says we can’t change manufacturers for another three years. Also, she’s axed the silk. She contacted the company and destroyed any hope we had of working with them.”
Coco nodded but didn’t reply for a long time. “Paolo wants to see our lookbook. He made me promise to make one and show it to him first. Why do you think he wants to see it so badly?”
“I don’t know.” Carmen stared at the road before them. “I don’t know anything anymore.”
Tia smacked a gossip magazine down on the entryway table in the first floor lobby. “I thought we’d come to an understanding. I though you understood that your promiscuity hurts everyone who loves you.” Coco staggered back, shocked at the energy eighty pounds of angry old woman could wield.
“What now?” Coco looked down at the paper. On the cover was a photo of herself cheek to cheek with Alessandro, an inset photo showed them kissing. The terrible part was the headline that read: Father of N.V.’s love child revealed.
Coco opened the paper, spreading it across the lobby table where Tia had dropped it, flipping until she found the article. Every inch of the story was pure fabrication, but the photos were real: pictures of Coco and James at the park, the zoo, and even one taken walking out of the Blackwell building with both kids in tow. Above the family photos lay an earlier photo of her with Paolo along with that week’s photo of Alessandro kissing her. In the captions below, Coco read Alessandro and Paolo’s names, each referenced as the possible father of her son. There was even a comparison between the baby’s features and the D’Ambrosia men. As if James looks a thing like either of them, Coco thought, staring at the photo.
“What do you want me to do?” Coco looked sadly up at Tia. “There’s nothing I can do.”
“You could stop giving them fresh material for one thing. How long had you known this boy before you decided to start a relationship with him?”
“A playful kiss isn’t starting a relationship.” Coco quickly lost her calm.
“It was in my day,” Tia retorted.
“Yeah, well, just have me stoned to death then. I think that was the common cure for harlots in your day. And of course, there is always crucifixion. But you save that for the people you really like, right?”
“Shame on you,” Tia hissed. “Rob will see this.” She held up the paper. “That will be God’s punishment, and then you’ll have to start dealing with this mess you have made.”
“Shame… on… me?” Coco asked slowly. “Once again, Mrs. Brown, you step out of line. No one talks to me like that. Are we clear? Your idea of propriety and my idea of propriety are very different. Don’t you ever judge me or my life again. I’m no one’s whore or victim; do you understand?”
The look on Tia’s face said she clearly didn’t. No part of Tia could understand a girl kissing a gorgeous boy at a party just because he was gorgeous and they were at a party. The two women locked eyes, each glaring defiantly at the other.
“Oh dear, this kind of confrontation isn’t conducive to a healthy workplace environment,” Delilah sighed dramatically as she stepped around the corner. “In fact, I find this level of workplace aggression rather upsetting. Let’s try to keep our personal lives out of the office, shall we?”
Coco leveled her glare on Delilah, but the joyful sparkle in the other woman’s eyes stopped her. Delilah wanted Coco angry. She wanted a scene, because she wanted something she could use.
“Thank you, Delilah, I’ll keep your suggestions in mind,” Coco answered coolly before turning away to find her kids.
“She’s Satan,” Carmen whined. “No one can deal with that devil. Everything I do she destroys, every move I make, every thought I think is sabotaged by her. I can’t do this, Coco.”
“Yes, you can. You have to because I have to. Everything I own is riding on this label. Let’s concentrate on what we have. We have drawings, we have a few bolts of sample material, and we have the ability to sew. Let’s just make the clothes and shoot the lookbook. At least we will have done that much. There is no way she can screw that up.”
“She’ll find a way.”
“You’re the fighter here, Carmen, so fight. Don’t let her get to you.”
“I don’t think you get it, Coco. She got to me weeks ago. My mind’s a mess.”
“Well, straighten it out.” Coco picked up the design book from her desk. “Just start making the clothes, okay? I’ll make Delilah work on something else to keep her occupied. Just focus. Okay? You’re a brilliant designer, just design and sew, and let Jack and I worry about the rest of it.”
“Okay.” Carmen turned from the room to hide in her office.
The following weeks slid by in a blur of frustration and quiet rage. Only when Coco persuaded Delilah to visit several Mexican manufacturers did they find their much-needed peace. Delilah was gone for three weeks on long drawn-out tours of four different factories, each tour in a different city with a different resort and separate social engagements all paid for by the prospective manufacturers. The ensuing peace was the one glimpse they got of what life at La Sangre would have been like without her. It was Gilman’s all over again: Jack flirting with Carmen, Carmen chatting with Coco while beautifully tailored clothing came together piece by piece on their sewing table.
“Who’s going to model these?” Carmen asked one night while they cut an apricot sundress.
“Me silly! Everything’s been cut to my measurements.” Coco looked up at her friend with surprise. “It’s my label. I’ll work the shoot.”
“You’re under contract to work for Paolo. Are you allowed to model your own label too?”
“It’s not an exclusive contract. Besides, if it was he wouldn’t care, I’m sure….”
“No, you’re not, you better ask him first. Just because he’s your friend doesn’t mean that business isn’t still business.”
“I hate all these contracts. If it weren’t for contracts, we could have fired Delilah months ago.”
“If we had a lawyer we could probably get rid of her now. There’s always a loophole.”
“Probably,” Coco sighed, thinking of Rob while she put away her thread.
She had come to the conclusion that he was out of the country, probably in Europe with Mila. With some minor investigation, Coco discovered that his New York apartment had been sold and his cellphone number now belonged to someone else. Wherever he was, he was offline, off the grid, and out of reach.
Just the day before, Coco had passed a man on the street. He had looked average but his scent had been a bittersweet memory that stopped her in her tracks; he wore Rob’s cologne. The fragrance filled her with a sudden dreadful longing, making her miss his laugh, the sparkle in his eyes, the way he flirted and kissed. No one kissed like Rob. Not Paolo and definitely not Alessandro. They were lovely men, but they both lacked the passion and intensity Coco had felt with Rob. No one touched her the way he had touched her, no kiss compared to his. The intensity he held in a single glance was enough to make her lose control. She missed him, she needed him, and she wanted more from life than the constant grind of another day.
When Coco went to bed that night her heart felt heavy. James was growing up before her eyes and she felt a thousand years old. The long hours in her office and the hectic schedule meant she was missing the most important parts of James’ life and her own. Where had she been when he had first sat up? What had she been doing when he had learned to walk? Where had she been when he had spoken his first word? He was already eighteen months old and he was growing up without her – and without his father, a man who would have loved his son completely. When Coco closed her eyes that night she prayed. She prayed that Rob and Mila were all right; she prayed that they were somewhere close by. She prayed that someday soon she would be able to tell them about James.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Coco and Carmen sat in the sewing room threading small silver beads to a silver A-line dress, its thigh-length hem stretched between them as they added beaded star bursts. Bebe flipped through her book quietly in a chair while James emptied and filled a basket of fabric scraps they let him to play with. Each time he emptied the basket he laughed, each time he filled it he laughed harder.
“What are you doing, happy boy?” Carmen playfully tickled the baby who giggled more.
“Silly baby.” Bebe grinned at him before setting her book down. She slid off her chair and walked to James, placing a scrap of red silk on his head. James froze where he sat, a confused look on his face. Dropping the remaining scraps he reached for the red silk, pulling it down off his head. Bebe smiled as she watched him examine the material that had appeared so magically on his head.
“Beeee!” he squealed at Bebe, shaking the red cloth at her before bringing it back down to examine it.
“Did you hear that, Mama?” Bebe ran to Coco. “James said Bee!”
Coco smiled, kissing Bebe on the head while she watched James play. “He’ll be talking more and more now,” she told Bebe as they watched him.
A moment later he stood up, carrying his basket of scraps on unsteady feet toward Coco. “Um… um.” He lifted the basket up to her.
“Thank you, James.” Coco took the basket from her son, watching him turn around and sit back on the floor to play.
There was a knock at the door, and a moment later a young girl entered nervously, carrying a note for Coco. The girl was one of Jack’s new interns, a fashion student who worked for free. The interns got experience while La Sangre got manpower at no extra expense. The one problem they had found was that the interns were so star struck that none of them could act normally around Coco. As this particular intern approached, her gaze lost its focus and her face turned red. She set down the note and bolted from the room.
“Run, little rabbit,” Carmen called after the departing intern.
Coco laughed and picked up the note. She hadn’t finished it when they were interrupted again.
“That girl is useless.” Alessandro walked in wearing a perfectly tailored Prada suit and shoes. “I sent her to get you, but she is so slow I decided to come myself.”
“Alessandro.” Coco stared at him in surprise. “You are the last person I expected to see here today. What are you doing in New York City?”
“I came to see you, my beauty.” He walked toward Coco with complete confidence and tried to kiss her.
Coco recoiled from him, moving awkwardly away. “You should have told me you were coming.” She looked quickly from him to Carmen and then toward the kids. Bebe was watching, a look of concern on her face.
“And here is the little fellow I read about.” Alessandro moved toward the baby, who was busy examining his toes.
“This is James.” Coco moved protectively to where he sat.
Alessandro looked thoughtful. “I know….” He turned unsmiling eyes on her. “He is the other reason I came. My whole family is very unhappy about him. That article has raised many questions.”
“Why?” Coco reached for James, lifting him in her arms before she turned to confront Alessandro. “You know they never print the truth in those gossip magazines.”
“I know he’s not my son, N.V., but he looks so like me… like us,” Alessandro added, his eyes locking on Coco.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Coco looked down at James’ black curly hair and large brown eyes – so like Rob – but in a way also like Paolo and his son.
Alessandro sat down in Bebe’s chair staring at James. “Mama says that Papa and you are lovers. She saw the photos of the baby and refuses to speak to him. She believes that this is his son. Is it true? Are you lovers? Is that baby my brother?”
“Carmen, please take the kids to Tia.” Coco quickly handed James to her friend.
Bebe stood up, looking from the strange man to Coco, obviously upset. “James is my brother, not yours,” Bebe stated with absolute firmness.
“He is your nephew,” Alessandro corrected, looking at the four-year-old sharply, “not your brother. You do not have a brother.”
Bebe burst into tears, hardly noticing when Carmen took her by the hand. Coco heard her sobbing all the way down the hall.
“What are you doing?” Coco hissed the moment the kids were out of the room. “Don’t you ever talk like that in front of my children. Don’t you dare come in here spreading your insinuations. James isn’t Paolo’s son. He was born months before Paolo and I met. Any fool could do the math.”
“Are you lovers?” Alessandro asked again, his voice calm and direct.
“Not at the moment.”
“Good, I could never share a woman with him.” He lifted a hand, running it down Coco’s arm. “You are, as I once told you, delicious in every way. I’m sorry if I upset you. I was jealous, that’s all.”
“Get out!” Coco moved toward the door.
He didn’t move for a long time. Instead he casually watched the rage play out on her features. Slowly he rose to his feet, moving toward her. The look on his face was still possessive, but soft as if he meant to be kind. Coco felt his hand slide into her hair. He moved to tilt her head back, his lips coming toward hers in an unwelcome kiss. Coco slapped him hard and pushed him from the room.
