The Housemaid

cheating little scumbag

o1. cheating little scumbag

 

 

If this day were up to me I'd have stayed in bed. I'm dog-tired but my grandmother hasn't a care in the world. She steers through crowded streets of heckling Germans and Italians, and side-steps sloppy puddles in wide potholes in the sidewalks. We're in Little Italy in our bustling metropolis of Chicago, near the West Side, where all the universities clutter together like chickenpox. I'd rather be spending my day-off sleeping, but if I have to be dragged out of the warm confines of my bed for a little mild adventure I'd rather be south of town in Chinatown, betting my earnings from last night in mahjong and eating warm, soggy wontons in chicken soup.

I'm here because my own grandmother lied to me. She said Anthony would be here to come along with us. So I hurriedly get dressed, throwing on a pair of snug jeans that are distressed at both knee-caps and a peach-colored empire blouse, a pair of cute, strappy heals with chunky heels. And who do I not see in the foyer? Anthony. Because she lied. I should have known I mean honestly, Anthony would have wanted to come alone.

I hold the train of my blouse in my warm hands as I skitter after Minerva's quick moving, sneaker-enshrouded feet. I should be wearing those. My outfit is a hundred and ten percent cute however not suitable for Little Italy.

"Where are we going nonna seriously?" I whine pathetically at her small back.

Minerva points ahead at a little shack of a shop. Oh god its Tony's dad's third cousin's butchers shop.

"No, no, no, no," I start up a mantra of rejection, "No, no, no, no, NO! Nonna you know how I feel about this place!"

As my grandmother tries to yank me across the street and over into treacherous territory I see the person from across the way, the guy I didn't want to see, and he's holding a raw, covered slab of meat in his arms, muscles flexing under the strain and I begin to pant. Why is it suddenly so hot?

"Bambi!" He screams across the way, "Holy shit, look at you! Bam-bi-no! Hows' it?"

I relent to my grandmother. She walks me across the street. I awkwardly stuff hair behind my ear.

It's Tony, my musclehead, cheater of an ex-boyfriend. He was a good guy I thought, and he distracted me from unrequited feelings I was harboring for Anthony.

Tony was this newly uprooted Italian guy from Jersey and I thought he was cuter than buttons. He was working (and apparently still is) at his family's butchers, and I met him coincidentally. We went to dinner, one thing led to another, we were hot and heavy and became an item, and his Ma back in Jersey was picking out monogramed wedding invitations. I come over to his apartment one night, while we're swapping saliva on his sofa, my fingers latch onto something and I yank and reveal the culprit. A pair of racy red lace underwear, size S. I know for a fact that I happen to wear a size medium. And then our relationship crumbles to pieces, I start working more at the Drakes and Tony reveals some platinum blonde bimbo with huge tits a couple of days after the break-up.

He was never one to dwell.

"Where's your uncle Bobby?" Minerva asks Tony, shaking me from my reverie, "I'm here to pick up the lamb."