Alessandro lunged for my finger. I jumped back, stuck my hand up my shirt, and slipped the diamond into my bra. Alessandro grabbed for it, but I pushed him away. “Don’t you dare,” I said in my take-no-prisoners snarl that scared even me. He backed off.
I knew I was supposed to return the ring. But he cheated on me and he broke the engagement. Right then I didn’t want to give it back. I may never want to give it back. I may throw it in the East River rather than give it back. Alessandro deserved to suffer.
I plunged forward toward our bedroom, dizzy with rage, and pulled the roller suitcase out from under the bed. As I threw my clothes inside, Alessandro sat on the edge of the rocking chair we bought at the old Sixth Avenue flea market. He babbled on, asking why I didn’t want him to have the best defense possible, and wouldn’t it be tragic if he had to do reality TV, and what if he had to go to jail, and what kind of bitch doesn’t return the engagement ring when her fiancé is facing prison, and then the capper—if he had to, he’d sue me for the ring.
The nerve! I looked him in the eye. “If you sue me, I’m calling the owner of the building and telling him you’re here illegally. You can kiss your rent-controlled apartment goodbye.” Was that me talking, the girl that Nigel had just yesterday compared to Doris Day? Would I sink that low? I wondered. Yes, I believe I would. A painful lump was forming in my throat, so I packed faster. If I didn’t get out of there quickly, I would explode in tears.
I zipped my suitcase, which wasn’t easy because it contained most of my wardrobe. Sidling over to the nightstand, I glimpsed our wedding binder under a stack of bridal magazines. I’d been so hopeful making plans for what I thought would be our dream day. The only blessing was that everything had been charged to Alessandro’s American Express card. “Here, take this. It has all the contracts for our…” I choked. “The hotel, the band, the caterer, the florist, the photographer, anyone else we committed to. Right now I don’t remember. I made the arrangements. You undo them.”
Alessandro trailed me toward the front door. “Why should it fall into my lap?” he argued. “It was your wedding too.”
I turned and faced my ex–significant other. “If it was our wedding, then why did you let me make all the arrangements?”
“I thought you wanted to.”
“No, I wanted us to pick the band together, choose the food together, find the—”
“Yeah, whatever. Here, don’t forget your headgear.” He threw it at me. “It’s so sexy,” he spat. My canines meant nothing to him anymore.
I stuck the appliance in my pocket. “Where’s Kitty? There you are, baby.” He was asleep, curled up in his little bed. I picked him up. He was like a warm pillow. “You’re coming with me.”
“He’s my cat too,” Alessandro declared. “You can’t just take him.”
“Oh, really? I thought he was the least of your problems.”
“I didn’t mean…”
“Forget it. Kitty’s mine. The dress, the veil, the tiara, they’re in the hall closet, all paid for. I don’t know if they’ll take them back, but you can try.”
“Holly, I refuse to do all this,” Alessandro said, stamping his foot like a petulant child. “I’m going to be too busy mounting my defense.”
At that moment I saw Alessandro, really saw him. He was appearing in the movie of his life and it was about to bomb. Why would I want to costar with such a loser? Was I that afraid to be alone? Well, not anymore, sister.
I grabbed the binder and stuck it in my purse. Opening the closet, I removed the Kleinfeld bag with my dress and veil, unzipped my already overpacked suitcase, and attempted to cram it inside. That wasn’t going to happen. I pulled everything out, including the tiara, which I stuck on my head, and tried stuffing the dress and veil inside again. This time, I made it work. “Okay, Alessandro, I’ll cancel what I can. Enjoy getting to know the real Alessandro Vercelli. If you ask me, he’s an unconscionable trout.”
Guess I’ll Hang My Tears Out to Dry
THE SUN WAS SETTING as I made my way up Fourteenth Street. With my right arm, I lugged my bursting-at-the-seams suitcase. My bloated purse kept slipping down my shoulder, and I was using my left arm to restrain Kitty, who was squirming like a greased piglet. It was a delicate balancing act made all the more tenuous by the cars whizzing by. Where was Denis King and his fancy white Maybach when I really needed him?
Stop whining, I thought. You can do this. You have to do this. I imagined I was starring in the movie of my life and this was my dramatic flight from a shattered relationship that I was no longer willing to endure. Oh, the pain, the heartache of it all. But I am strong. Wait, I don’t feel strong. Shut up. I will make it…at least as far as Muttropolis. BL will lend me a cat-carrying bag. Or better yet, maybe she’ll board Kitty until I find a place to live.
Crossing Fourteenth Street, my right arm cramped so sharply from pulling the heavy case that I stopped to switch sides. That’s when Kitty bolted.
“Kitty, STOP!” I screamed. Dropping the suitcase, I sprinted after him. He moved like a ball of tumbleweed, swift but rough because he was missing a leg. As he whizzed past Pops, who was playing chess near his stoop with Mr. Lim, the Korean flower guy, I yelled, “Grab the cat!”
Pops jumped up and tried to tackle him, but Kitty was too quick. He slipped
