Little Deaths(54)

Then she said, “One day, when we’d known each other a while, Ruth asked me, ‘What did you want to be when you grew up?’ ”

She smiled.

“It had been a long time since anyone had asked me that. Since anyone thought I had a choice. Anyway, I told her, ‘I just wanted to get married and have babies. Like everyone else. Like you.’ She looked at me, and I could tell what she was thinking. Me, with my cheap clothes and my cheap dye job, and my fat ass. It’s what everyone sees.”

Pete opened his mouth and she waved him away.

“Don’t worry. You don’t got to be polite, Pete. I know who I am. I pretend I don’t give a damn, and most of the time it’s true. But I used to want what all little girls want. Prince Charming, the fairy-tale wedding, the happy ending.”

She drained her glass, set it down, and poured another.

“I know better now. Men don’t want to marry me or have kids with me. Sure, they want to drink with me. Have a little fun with me. But I’m not the kind of woman that men marry. They have their fun, then they go back to their wives. Or they leave me for someone a little younger, a little skinnier.

“Anyone ever asks me, I say that love is for fools. That I don’t believe in happy endings. But I got a box under my bed full of romance stories. I’m telling you this because you’re here and I’m halfway to being more drunk than I’ve been in years.

“Once a month or so, I go and see a movie at the Dominion—one of those Bette Davis numbers where the ugly duckling turns into a swan and gets the guy and they live happily ever after. Deep down I always wanted that.”

She blinked. “Didn’t exactly get what I hoped for, did I?”

Her honesty made him reckless. “You mind?”

She shrugged.

“Truth be told . . . yeah. Sometimes. Sometimes I mind. At night, when I’m alone. When I know Mick’s with his wife, when Paulie isn’t returning my calls.

“I’m going to tell you something, something I never told no one. Even Ruth. I walked by her window one day last spring. Frank was still living there. It was about six. Ruth was dishing up supper and I was on my way to meet some guy at a bar. I was broke that week. Remember hoping he’d at least give me the cab fare to get home. I stopped to light a cigarette and I heard her talking about something normal—Frankie’s new shoes or the linen sale at Gertz—just normal, you know? Frank was watching her—and there was something about the way he looked at her. Like he couldn’t get enough of her.

“Then she gave the kids their plates and she kissed Cindy’s head and I saw her press her nose into her hair. Just for a moment. And breathe her in.”

Her eyes were wet, and this time she didn’t blink the tears away.

“Ruth never knew how lucky she was. To her, that was just a regular Tuesday. To me, it was everything she got that I don’t: a guy who worshipped her, two beautiful kids. A family.”

Gina blew her cheeks out and picked up the bottle again.

“Jeez. Sure you don’t want a drink?”

This time he shrugged, picked up the other glass, waited for her to pour, and then clinked it against hers.

“Did you ever ask Ruth the same question?”

“Huh?”

“Did you ever ask her what she wanted to be?”

Gina smiled. “Oh yeah. Know what she said? She said, ‘I never wanted what you do—marriage and kids and all that. I just wanted to be special.’ ”

She emptied her glass, ran her finger around the rim.

“Guess she’s got that now, huh? Everyone in Queens knows who she is.”


Time passed. They talked about the kids, and then Pete asked, “Why did Ruth and Frank split up?”

Gina shrugged. Lit another cigarette.

“For Ruth, Frank was looking back. He was the best she thought she could do when they were in school. And I guess getting married so young meant she could get away from home. Away from her mother. Her father died when she was sixteen—did you know that? She loved him. The way she talks about him, she was a real daddy’s girl. But after that . . . well, she and her mother never got along. She wanted out and Frank was her ticket. But she was past that by the time I met her.

“The thing is, Pete, Ruth’s different. She’s pretty, sure, but she’s got something else. Men want her. Some men will do anything for her. She could’ve had any guy she wanted, and she didn’t know it till it was too late, till she was married to a mechanic with two kids and a shitty job in a shitty bar.”

She rubbed her eyes. “I’m not sure Frank understood any of that. Or maybe he did. He was always jealous of other guys.”

Then: “I asked her one night, ‘You ever think of just letting him have the kids? Just dropping the whole custody thing?’”

Pete put his glass down carefully. “What did she say?”

“She was all over me like gravy on mashed potatoes. How could I even ask that. Furious. I said, ‘Hey, I’m just asking. I’m not saying you should. I’m asking if you ever thought about it.’ She calmed down a little then, and she just said, ‘They’re my kids. I’m their mother.’ And that was it. Subject closed.

“I think she couldn’t bear the idea of letting Frank win. She’d fought every little battle so hard, she felt sorta . . . she’d be damned if she’d let him win the war. She used to say he was a deadbeat father anyway. Could barely take care of himself. She said a few times that if he had the kids for a few weeks, he’d feed ’em pizza for three days straight when he got his paycheck, then watery creamed corn until the next one came in.