Ice Hogs and the Fort Wayne Komets and the Bloomington Prairie Thunder.' He could see she had no clue what he was talking about. 'Instead of hockey, it should've been called boxing on ice. '
'Is this where you learned to fight?' Angela said.
'No,' McCabe said, 'but I got a lot of practice. There were four or five fights every game. Ever thrown a punch on skates?'
'Let me think,' Angela said, rubbing her jaw for effect. 'No, I don't think so.'
He liked her smartass attitude, and the way she looked at him. 'We beat Fort Wayne in the finals, won the Colonial Cup my first year. That's like the Stanley Cup of the UHL, if that makes any sense.'
'I'm impressed,' Angela said.
'You should be. I was making four hundred dollars a week as a rookie, living the good life.' He grinned to show her he was kidding. 'We had a salary cap, a limit of $250,000 for the whole team. That's all the league allows. To put it in perspective, the lowest paid player on the Detroit Red Wings makes $475,000.'
'If you didn't play for the money,' Angela said, 'why did your
'I loved the game, and it's a pretty good life for six months a year. I lived in Muskegon, the beer tent capital of the world, a rundown blue-collar town on Lake Michigan. We traveled by bus and stayed in cheap motels — what a surprise, huh? We played at Walker Arena in front of five thousand fans. There isn't a lot to do in Muskegon in the winter, so people came to see us.'
'The United Hockey League does not sound so good.'
'It was a blast and it was a legitimate way into the NHL.' He paused. 'My goal since I was a little kid was to play for the Red Wings.'
Angela said, 'How old were you?'
'Nineteen, one of the youngest guys on the team. I played defense.'
'Were you good?' She rubbed her hand through the hair on his chest.
'I was rookie of the year,' McCabe said. 'But the beginning of my second year I got checked on the boards and tore my AC joint.' He pointed to his shoulder. There was a long ropelike scar that started at his collarbone and angled over his left shoulder where he'd had the operation — ligaments and tendons damaged. 'That was it, the end of my hockey career.'
She touched his shoulder gently with her fingertips. 'I'll try not to hurt you.'
He couldn't lock her in the bathroom and he couldn't trust her, so sleeping with her seemed like a good compromise. They made love again, slower this time. There was no hurry. McCabe liked her dark eyes and hair and olive skin that looked like she had a natural suntan. He liked the way she smelled, and liked her body, the way they fit together, like they were made for each other.
McCabe opened his eyes and saw the sheet folded back He got up and put on his jeans and went downstairs, walked barefoot through the main room into the kitchen. She wasn't there, either. He went outside, stood on the pebble drive. The car was gone, and now he felt like a fool.
He went in the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, picked up a bottle of Pellegrino water and took a swig. She could've been back in Rome. He could hear her saying, 'I turned on the charm and he fell for it.' Without her the show was over. What had happened between them seemed real. If she was acting, she was a pro. He thought back about what he did and what he might've done differently, and decided there was no reason to second-guess himself now.
Viterbo was four or five kilometers away, La Quercia maybe half that distance. He could walk and catch a bus back to Rome, and figure out what to do from there. He was upstairs getting his things when he heard the car, looked out the bedroom window and saw his rented Fiat coming up the driveway, pulling in next to the house. He walked in the kitchen as Angela Entered with a basket of groceries, singing a song he'd never heard, or maybe it was because her voice was so bad.
'It's market day,' she said, studying him. 'What's the matter?'
McCabe just stared at her, trying not to give anything away, but she saw something, sensed his concern.
'You looked so peaceful I did not want to wake you,' Angela said. 'You thought I went away?' She studied his face.
'You did. I can see it in your eyes. If I was going to do that I would have done it before.'
He went over and took the basket from her. It was heavy. He looked inside and counted four bottles of wine, cheese, fruit, meat and bread. 'How long you think we're going to be here?'
'You never know,' she said.
'I called Joey after you fell asleep, told him we'd be ready tomorrow. I said you have the money? He said, 'Wait and see.
Angela said, 'What did you say?'
She took the wine bottles out of the basket and lined them up on the counter, two reds and two whites.
'I said, you want Angela back? He said,' Succhiami ilcazzo!'
Angela said, 'You know what that means?'
McCabe said, 'Uh-huh. I didn't think he spoke Italian.'
'He doesn't.'
She took the cheese and meat out of the basket and put the packages in the refrigerator, closed it and looked at him.
'How well do you know him?' McCabe said.
'He's my cousin. I met him when I was thirteen. My father sent me to visit my aunt Angela, Joey's mother. I flew to Detroit with Carmella, my nanny. Uncle Joe and Aunt Angela picked us up at the Metro Airport and drove us to their home in Bloomfield Hills. Joey came over the first night and had dinner with us. I could see he was interested in Carmella, but that was all. Nothing happened.
'The next day we visited the famous places of Detroit: Greenfield Village and Motown, where the music was recorded. We saw the factory where the Model T was built and the General Motors Building. There is not so much to see. We went to a baseball game. I had my first hotdog.'
'What did you think?'
'I loved it.'
McCabe said, 'How do you think Detroit compares with Rome? I mean architecturally, culturally.'
'You are funny,' Angela said. 'We drove with my aunt and uncle to Harbor Springs on Lake Michigan.'
McCabe said, 'Where the rich people go.'
'They have a big house on the water with a sand beach and a motor boat. Joey came to see us and was there for a couple of days, staying because of Carmella. Thinking back, he was insecure, you know, because she was so beautiful. He reminded me of a schoolboy. He liked her but didn't know what to say to her or how to act. He would make fun of the way she spoke English, and the way she dressed. Joey is not a good person.'
'That's the impression I get,' McCabe said. 'How old was Carmella?'
'Twenty-two. And Joey, at the time, was twenty-five. The last night we were there he went to her room in the middle of the night and he forced himself on her.'
McCabe said, 'Why didn't you go to your uncle?'
'You would have to understand how they thought of him. Joey was their little prince.'
'What did Carmella do?'
'What could she do? She was embarrassed. She was ashamed. Who was she going to talk to? What was she going to say?'
McCabe said, 'Tell them what happened.'
'Do you think my aunt and uncle would have believed her? Would have taken her word over Joey?' She paused. 'I tell you this because Joey is not going to make it easy. I hope you know that.'
'Don't worry' McCabe said. 'I'll be ready.'
Chapter Twenty-eight
