Curtain Challenge
May. 17th, 2003 03:47 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
murielperun.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
ds_flashfictionI'm a relatively new member of this group and I haven't posted any fiction before. Here goes! 932 words
Curtains
“Raimondo, che cosa stai facendo?”
His mother’s question drifted down the stairs to where Ray stood by the living room window looking out, one hand holding back the lace curtain.
“I’m not doing anything, Ma,” he called back. “Just waiting for you.” Just waiting for you to go to cousin Vincenza’s, he added silently, so she can fix me up with somebody’s niece or some divorcee she knows. If only they knew how futile it was.
After school he used to stand at this window and pull back the curtain to see who was in the street, playing stickball or tag, mixing it up, flirting, whatever. Nights, he used to crouch here peeking around the lace to see if Pop was coming home pissed again, lurching along the sidewalk like a truck with a crazy wheel. Then Ray would herd the little ones upstairs and come back down to stand by Ma.
He watched little Anthony and his sister tear past the window, squealing with glee. Lucky kids. Where work was concerned, his brother-in-law Tony was a deadbeat, but he didn’t drink and he loved his kids.
Ray glanced to the left, his eyes following the Martino boy, his red raincoat spreading out in the wind as he ran up the block after Anthony with a raucous pack of kids at his heels. A moment before, that flash of color in the drab, wet street had drawn Ray to the window.
He might as well face it. He had thought it was Fraser.
Ray looked down, pressing his forehead to the glass. How long was it now? Three years and counting since Fraser had said good-bye to Ray as he lay in a hospital bed with a bullet in his lung. Fraser had gone back to the Territories and Ray had coughed up the bullet and taken off for Florida with Stella. Only he healed up so good he couldn’t stay on disability, and it hadn’t lasted with Stella, anyway. Six months later he’d been back at the 27th doing his job, as memories of his time in Las Vegas faded away.
His memories of Fraser were not so quick to fade.
Kowalski. What a jerk. He had made Fraser—
But there was no use blaming Kowalski. He was just a guy who saw something good and jumped on it. It wasn’t his fault Ray couldn’t do the same. After all, Ray had been there first.
As Ray swept his gaze down the street, he saw the twitch of a lace curtain in the Martino house. Without looking, he knew it was old Mrs. Fischetti, Mrs. Martino’s mother. Nothing happened in this street she didn’t know about. And then there was Mrs. Garibaldi, and Mrs. Tucci. Jesus, there was an army of them out there sitting behind their lace curtains, the old nonnas who saw it all and knew it all and told everybody what they knew. The idle minds, the vicious, spiteful tongues…
And Ray had been afraid of them.
Oh, not that he had spared them a thought that night, the night before Fraser left for a month in Canada. Standing in Fraser’s darkened room, trying to say good-bye, Ray had reached out, or Fraser had. Somehow, they had found each other. They had spent that night skin to skin, their mouths and hands all over each other as they confessed the times they’d hoped, the times they’d wished— When Ray closed his eyes he could still remember how it had felt to have Benny’s legs around his back, holding him tight as he pushed inside. And Benny’s tongue stroking his chest and thighs, Benny’s cock inside him—
The next morning, sitting in the car at the terminal, Benny had told Ray he loved him, and, looking into Benny’s eyes, Ray had laid his hand over Benny’s and promised to be there at the airport to pick him up when he got back.
Still feeling in his body that languid and delicious soreness from making love all night, Ray had gone home to face the questions, the reproaches, the dirty looks. When he had stormed out, behind each lace curtain all the way down the street he swore he had seen a pair of eagle eyes ready to tear him to bits.
And by the time the offer came from the Feds, it had seemed a lot less dangerous to play a mobster in Vegas than to be an Italian son and a Chicago cop with a male lover.
Startled, Ray jumped to feel his mother’s cool hand touch his wrist. “Raymond, what are you doing?” she asked him petulantly. Where his fist had gripped the lace it was wrinkled. She smoothed it out with both hands and let it swing back to cover the window. One hand touched his face. “What’s wrong, caro?” she asked as if she really wanted to know.
Ray had spent a lot of time blaming her, but it wasn’t her fault, either. It was him, his fault, for thinking that it mattered so much what other people thought that he had to give up what he needed. Oh, he knew better now, but it was too late. Fraser was never coming back. Even if Ray couldn’t put the pain behind him, he had to put it away. Somewhere in his mind, a curtain swung back into place. Taking Ma’s hand from his cheek Ray kissed it and held it between both of his. He smiled at her. “You look nice, Ma,” he said sincerely.
“Raimondo, che cosa stai facendo?”
His mother’s question drifted down the stairs to where Ray stood by the living room window looking out, one hand holding back the lace curtain.
“I’m not doing anything, Ma,” he called back. “Just waiting for you.” Just waiting for you to go to cousin Vincenza’s, he added silently, so she can fix me up with somebody’s niece or some divorcee she knows. If only they knew how futile it was.
After school he used to stand at this window and pull back the curtain to see who was in the street, playing stickball or tag, mixing it up, flirting, whatever. Nights, he used to crouch here peeking around the lace to see if Pop was coming home pissed again, lurching along the sidewalk like a truck with a crazy wheel. Then Ray would herd the little ones upstairs and come back down to stand by Ma.
He watched little Anthony and his sister tear past the window, squealing with glee. Lucky kids. Where work was concerned, his brother-in-law Tony was a deadbeat, but he didn’t drink and he loved his kids.
Ray glanced to the left, his eyes following the Martino boy, his red raincoat spreading out in the wind as he ran up the block after Anthony with a raucous pack of kids at his heels. A moment before, that flash of color in the drab, wet street had drawn Ray to the window.
He might as well face it. He had thought it was Fraser.
Ray looked down, pressing his forehead to the glass. How long was it now? Three years and counting since Fraser had said good-bye to Ray as he lay in a hospital bed with a bullet in his lung. Fraser had gone back to the Territories and Ray had coughed up the bullet and taken off for Florida with Stella. Only he healed up so good he couldn’t stay on disability, and it hadn’t lasted with Stella, anyway. Six months later he’d been back at the 27th doing his job, as memories of his time in Las Vegas faded away.
His memories of Fraser were not so quick to fade.
Kowalski. What a jerk. He had made Fraser—
But there was no use blaming Kowalski. He was just a guy who saw something good and jumped on it. It wasn’t his fault Ray couldn’t do the same. After all, Ray had been there first.
As Ray swept his gaze down the street, he saw the twitch of a lace curtain in the Martino house. Without looking, he knew it was old Mrs. Fischetti, Mrs. Martino’s mother. Nothing happened in this street she didn’t know about. And then there was Mrs. Garibaldi, and Mrs. Tucci. Jesus, there was an army of them out there sitting behind their lace curtains, the old nonnas who saw it all and knew it all and told everybody what they knew. The idle minds, the vicious, spiteful tongues…
And Ray had been afraid of them.
Oh, not that he had spared them a thought that night, the night before Fraser left for a month in Canada. Standing in Fraser’s darkened room, trying to say good-bye, Ray had reached out, or Fraser had. Somehow, they had found each other. They had spent that night skin to skin, their mouths and hands all over each other as they confessed the times they’d hoped, the times they’d wished— When Ray closed his eyes he could still remember how it had felt to have Benny’s legs around his back, holding him tight as he pushed inside. And Benny’s tongue stroking his chest and thighs, Benny’s cock inside him—
The next morning, sitting in the car at the terminal, Benny had told Ray he loved him, and, looking into Benny’s eyes, Ray had laid his hand over Benny’s and promised to be there at the airport to pick him up when he got back.
Still feeling in his body that languid and delicious soreness from making love all night, Ray had gone home to face the questions, the reproaches, the dirty looks. When he had stormed out, behind each lace curtain all the way down the street he swore he had seen a pair of eagle eyes ready to tear him to bits.
And by the time the offer came from the Feds, it had seemed a lot less dangerous to play a mobster in Vegas than to be an Italian son and a Chicago cop with a male lover.
Startled, Ray jumped to feel his mother’s cool hand touch his wrist. “Raymond, what are you doing?” she asked him petulantly. Where his fist had gripped the lace it was wrinkled. She smoothed it out with both hands and let it swing back to cover the window. One hand touched his face. “What’s wrong, caro?” she asked as if she really wanted to know.
Ray had spent a lot of time blaming her, but it wasn’t her fault, either. It was him, his fault, for thinking that it mattered so much what other people thought that he had to give up what he needed. Oh, he knew better now, but it was too late. Fraser was never coming back. Even if Ray couldn’t put the pain behind him, he had to put it away. Somewhere in his mind, a curtain swung back into place. Taking Ma’s hand from his cheek Ray kissed it and held it between both of his. He smiled at her. “You look nice, Ma,” he said sincerely.
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Date: 2003-05-17 08:33 pm (UTC)I've always thought that Ray could get so caught up in what other people expect that he might let his own needs go.
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Date: 2003-05-17 04:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-17 08:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-17 09:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-18 10:45 am (UTC)Thanks for your comment!
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Date: 2003-05-18 12:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-18 01:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-18 10:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-18 07:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-20 10:55 am (UTC)Poor Senora Tucci has to do something to fill up the time. ;-)
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Date: 2003-05-19 04:30 pm (UTC)I really enjoyed it.
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Date: 2003-05-20 10:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-20 01:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-21 10:03 am (UTC)