There Are No Accidents Read online

  I walked back to the villa with clarity, in readiness to play their game. I was aware that this was no cyber game of death and resurrection. We were playing for life and there would be no second chances. I quietly opened the bedroom door, slipped out of the jumpsuit and into the bed beside Tom. I watched him as he was sleeping. I tenderly stroked his brow, smoothing out his worry lines. The furrows on his forehead diffused under my touch and the soft pads of my fingers stroked his tear-stained cheeks. I delicately let my fingers drift towards his eyes, conscious of the dark circles, as I traced the crescent shaped pigmentation. “I love you,” I whispered. He twitched and opened a sleepy eye. His lips formed a smile and instantly… he was asleep, once again. His face no longer contorted by the stress of yesterday, reflected an easier expression. It had changed to one of contentment and relaxation that came with rest and the knowledge that he was not alone. I stroked his forehead once more, keeping contact with his skin as I gently massaged his temples. He was at peace… he slept. I love him… but it’s not the same. Now it was complicated.

  *

  It is noon. I dress for lunch… and then some. The shoes are a little high and the neckline a little too low, but then this is Italy! We arrive at Dino’s mansion on time and I log the family introductions into my head, matching each studied name to a face. Our host is rotund, with a belly that has flourished through inactivity and digesting lavish portions of pasta. He is mild-mannered and warm in his welcome, graciously extending his generosity to us as newcomers. I search his face for a hint of coldness, knowing that he is capable of the cruelest atrocities. But I am deceived, as his demeanor resembles that of a kindly grandfather. Next, we are kissed on each cheek by a generation of glamorous women who offer complimentary remarks about my edgy attire, which is not out of place. At the long table, I am seated next to Dino, with Tom several places removed from the Godfather. I smile at Tom inducing confidence as I begin my induction.

  “Signora Renato, I want to ask you something,” Dino said.

  “Please call me Frances,” I said, smiling.

  “Frances… in Italian, Leone means ‘lion’ and Renato means ‘to be reborn’.” He continued, “How does it feel to be with a man who has the courage to be reborn?”

  “Brave,” I replied. “Those who are truly brave have conquered fear.”

  “You have the qualities of a strong woman with a soft interior,” he said. “Does that reflect in your writing?” He observed me closely, anticipating my answer.

  “They say there is an icicle lodged in the heart of every writer. I am no exception.”

  “Ha…” Dino laughed out loud. “The events that have brought you to my table, are indeed fortuito… a happy accident.”

  “Don’t you know Dino, in life… there are no accidents,” I bravely replied.

  Chapter 16

  SURVIVAL

  “Frances,” Tom’s voice echoes around the stairwell as he calls. “Frances, you were a big hit yesterday. They love you.” I stood at the top of the stairs and looked at Tom as his excitement resonated throughout the villa. He leapt up the stairs, two at a time, like a teenage boy with the immaturity to match.

  “Tom, are you crazy! Yesterday was an act of survival! I wasn’t playing for likes.” Tom stopped in his tracks and a look of puzzlement replaced his smile. I continued, “I thought we had an understanding about surviving this predicament which you got us into?”

  “Yes… I know, but… I thought maybe you had a good time?”

  “Terrific! You watch my back and I’ll watch yours. Tom, we’re living with the Mafia! You think it’s possible to enjoy eating with assassins? Every guy at that table had blood on his hands.” I couldn’t hide my anger at his complacency.

  Tom raised his hands “Enough!” he said. “I know what I’ve done. You don’t need to throw it in my face. We have to live with this situation—”

  “We have to survive it!” I interjected.

  “I disagree. These people have taken us into their family and offered friendship. I think you’re overreacting, judging them too harshly.”

  “What!” I couldn’t believe the words that were tumbling out of Tom’s mouth. “Now you’re defending their way of life?”

  “It’s our way of life too… remember.”

  “Even if it gets us killed.”

  “You know Frances, I thought about what you said and yes, I admit that in our state of adversity I was blind to their manipulation. But I needed an escape and they offered a job, money and a home… in Italy for God’s sake! In my circumstances, that’s a pretty good deal. Maybe, just maybe, I was the one who used them!” He started down the stairs, paused, turned and stared at me. “Be careful Frances, don’t stir things up. I’ve spent six months building good relationships. If you want to keep us alive, fit in, make friends with the women, write a new book… do something, anything but don’t cause trouble.”

  I waited until 9 p.m. and then ate dinner, alone. Tom had not contacted me all day and the rose-colored glasses through which I had viewed him, were now dull and cloudy. He’d changed during these past six months and hardly resembled the man I had fallen in love with all those years ago. He seemed indoctrinated by the family and was in total denial about the degree of danger they posed, even after our clarifying conversation. My mind had been laboring over unanswered questions. How well do I really know this man? He’s let me down, several times and lied to me about important issues. But… placing us in a grave situation without consulting me? This just might be the tipping point. I wondered if I still respected him? Without respect, love dies.

  I thought about the day before we had fallen in love. It was much like any other. How could we have predicted the impact of this unstable emotion, which seized us and rendered us senseless. When it happened, we embraced it as a life-changing experience. We recorded the day, the moment and marked it as special. Falling in love is easy and so is falling out of love. It can happen in the blink of an eye. Love vanishes and we revert to that time before love existed… with one defining difference. That love has a history, it has marked two lives, or more and the consequences of losing it can be devastating.

  *

  I considered my predicament and played with various scenarios of how to endure this life. The family had provided me with a car and at last I had some personal freedom, but still we did not own our lives. We were expected at lunch every Sunday and to attend all social events, of which there were many. I was invited to integrate with the women, which was not appealing and I was running out of excuses. The pressure from the family was becoming intense and I felt trapped. Tom adopted the family’s macho lifestyle of leaving the women at home with the children and socializing with the guys until late. But I had no children. It was my work that consumed me and I needed this substitute more than ever before. So I decided to write my way out of captivity. Tom couldn’t return to the States, but I could. I was a professional writer and I needed to write. My agent was back in the US and I had an idea for a book.

  Any sadness I felt was negated by relief. I had made my decision and so I devised a plan. I began by making an effort to re-establish our relationship, after a week of cool exchanges. I waited up for him, spoiled him, loved him… best I could. I became the subservient wife, which, for me was totally out of character. For three weeks I performed my role, playing to his new-found male ego, until I felt confident enough to deliver my ultimatum. I organized an intimate dinner date in a romantic setting and through the haze of wine, I seduced him into accepting my proposal. I was reticent in my delivery and divulged only that I had met an interesting woman in LA and wished to write her life story. “After all,” I said. “Remember how successful The Journal was, which was based on Lauren’s life. I think I can do it again darling.” He nodded, I smiled, stroked his leg and as he anticipated the night’s loving, he disinterestedly agreed to my trip back to the US. I was the one with secrets now, withholding information from Tom as he had from me. I had become the deceitful partner and m
y devious words had convinced him.

  The next morning I wrote two emails. The first was to my agent with an attached synopsis and the second was to Goldie, accepting her invitation to write her life story. I felt some trepidation about the hidden truths I was concealing from Goldie, but quickly dismissed this fear in favor of extricating myself from this situation. I booked my ticket to LA via Frankfurt and packed my three suitcases. I purposefully left toiletries in the bathroom and clothes strewn around the room in various drawers and closets. I would leave this place as a deserter, but with the look of permanence etched into its walls.

  *

  At the Sunday lunch before my departure, Dino summoned me and taking my arm, he steered me into a quiet corner of the gardens.

  “I hear that you and Tom are doing well now. Often it takes time to resettle, isn’t that so Frances?” We had obviously been observed and the state of our relationship had been reported to the Godfather.

  “Yes,” I agreed. “It takes a while to acclimate. Especially when lovers have lived apart for six months.”

  “A woman should be married. I don’t agree with all this women’s lib.” With his left hand, he took a cigar out of his shirt pocket and gently rolled it between his fingers and his thumb. “Enjoying a cigar is much like a marriage,” he said, severing one end with a jeweled cigar cutter. “First you form a bond,” and he stroked the dark, overlapping tobacco leaves, caressing the tip before holding it to the flame. “Then you taste the sweetness on your lips and inhale the warmth until your body tingles with delight.” He shot a playful glance in my direction. “Over time, the sensation fades, so you learn how to reignite the passion, drawing the scented essence deep inside and perfecting the art of exhaling slowly, delicately and with patience. Any fool can puff out smoke, but with practice the mundane will become beautiful, like this…” He inhaled his cigar, paused and blew circular smoke up into the warm air. “Think about it, Frances.”

  “What if one becomes dependent and the other wants to break the habit?” I glibly answered.

  Dino’s expression became solemn, “This never happens in our family… divorce is not an option. Marriage holds the family together, look…” and he gestures towards the gathering of his family laughing with the children. “I have grown this family. It is from my seed and will propagate for generations to come. I have produced people, what have you produced, Frances?”

  “Books,” I said confidently.

  “Touché!” he said and laughed. “I like your quick wit.”

  I smiled, and to my surprise I realized this man was likable. How in all honesty, could I be drawn to regard this Mafia giant as a father figure? He’s responsible for crime and violence, even death! He’d violated every rule in the book and yet there I stood, contrary to all I believed, accepting advice and enjoying his company. What had I become? Is it that we begin to accept the unthinkable as normal when we glimpse the humane element in a person? Is it this, that defies our ability to rationalize right from wrong? Or was I intrinsically fickle?

  “Look at all these women,” Dino pointed to the array of wives and grown daughters. “They’re content to just have babies. But you Frances, I see that you need more. You have a good brain… for a woman.” I decided not to challenge that point. Old dogs do not change their habits. “It has always been the men in our family that control the business and that will never change.”

  “Because you make the rules? Or because of the lack of clever women?”

  “Huh! You are audacious in your questioning. Ok, I admit there have been one or two smart, strong-minded women who have replaced weak men in the family, but only when it was absolutely necessary.” He held up his index finger as if to scold me. “Promise you won’t tell these women Frances… I don’t want them getting any ideas,” and he laughed heartily. “I like the idea of having a writer in the family… perhaps I’ll engage you to write my biography.”

  “I’d be honored,” I said.

  “Can I trust you Frances?”

  “Yes, of course,” I replied and kissed him on the cheek, and the dichotomy of my action confused me once again.

  “Our family is built on trust. Tom is a good man. He’s clever in his line of work and we intend to keep him… he’s valuable to us. I like the men in my family to be happy and satisfied in their relationships and that’s where the woman’s value lies. But you Frances, you’re different, so I’m going to give you some advice. Always let your husband appear smarter than yourself in the presence of his male colleagues and your marriage will flourish. But… I fear that you will not.” Dino was in earnest and I felt in that moment that he could read my thoughts. “I like you Frances, I don’t want to come looking for you, if you should choose not to return.”

  “Would I be worth the trouble?”

  “It depends on how much you know. Does Tom pillow talk?”

  “I’m not interested in knowing the family business. I’m a writer and I need to write.”

  “Just don’t write about our secrets… until I engage your services and instruct you.”

  “I give you my word,” I replied.

  “Your life may depend on it,” he said, drawing our conversation to a frightening close. They say Hitler was known to cry when he listened to classical music and this man could kill as easily.

  Chapter 17

  FLYING SOLO

  Tom was up early to attend a meeting and arrived back at the villa bursting with news. “Frances,” he said enthusiastically, as he entered the bedroom. “I have it on good authority that I’ll be ‘called’!” Tom’s mood was ecstatic.

  “Called for what?” I replied, closing my suitcase.

  “They don’t tell you the reason, but when you’re called it’s to invite you to officially join the family!” I stood completely still and listened. “There’s an elaborate ritual, in which you’re told the rules of the society, its history and hierarchy. I would officially become a ‘Made Man’. I think it’s going to happen on Saturday. Shame you’re not around.”

  “Are you sure that this is what you want?”

  “Yeah, of course. We were so wrong to be afraid of them, it’s turned out great, hasn’t it Frances?” I stifled my reaction and forced a smile. Tom’s life was here with the Mafia and my independence was waiting.

  Tom kissed me goodbye at the door, oblivious to my planned escape and that’s just the way I wanted it. I waited patiently for my ride and at 9 a.m. the assigned car arrived, flanked by another with two family occupants. As the men stepped forward and shook my hand, it became apparent that they were here on business and not just for a courteous goodbye. They requested my travel details, inspected them and wished me a safe trip. Once inside the car, I kept my body language in check with my eyes focused directly ahead. If I had faltered and looked back at the villa, they would have taken this as a possible sign of no return and at this point I had much to lose.

  We arrived at Rome airport three hours before my international flight and the driver deposited me quickly before the police issued him a citation. I made my way towards US Airlines to check my bags and alter my ticket. I would catch my connecting flight at Frankfurt, not to LA as planned, but to Geneva. Seat 12B on the LA flight would travel on without me. My original airline ticket, with a return date in two weeks, had been evaluated by the Mafioso and I had been permitted to travel. If I had been watched at the airport, they would confirm that I boarded the correct flight as planned. I sat back in my seat, sipped the complimentary champagne and thought about Tom.

  I wondered if he would miss me, or whether his indoctrination by the Mafia would override this sense of loss. At the end of a long relationship, there is always a moment of sentimentality that confuses the emotions. The strength of my conviction was in the leaving. This relationship had run its course and although I could have toyed with sentiments, it was over and I recognized the wisdom in moving forward, alone.

  *

  The captain’s deft hand maneuvered our plane through the snow-capp
ed mountains, descending around the Swiss lakes which resembled glass mirrors floating on a sea of green moss. It all looked so idyllic and peaceful below, which was in stark contrast to the gamut of emotions that raced through my mind. Perhaps Tom’s suggestion of a new identity had been a good idea. He said that I could simply appear to disappear! He’d arrange it. “But I’m a professional writer,” I’d said. “How could I continue my career?”

  “You don’t need to work now,” he’d said. “You could give up the writing and relax.”

  “But I’m a writer,” I’d said again. “I need to write. It’s what keeps the blood flowing through my veins. It’s my passion.” His attitude was totally incomprehensible. What happens when two passions collide? Like two lovers, they had coexisted in a state of compatibility until I’d been forced to choose. The choice was easy. I knew who I was and what defined me. I’d follow my passion and take my chances.

  Our landing was smooth. The driver waiting at arrivals, with my name on a card, evoked a feeling of déjà vu. But this was a casually dressed, Aryan-featured man in the safe city of Geneva. He was cordial, in his perfectly spoken English greeting, as he guided me towards a waiting Mercedes. As we approached, the rear door opened from inside and the figure of a woman was illuminated.

  “Hello my dear. How was your journey?”

  “Without incident,” I replied, as I climbed in and sat down beside Goldie.

  “You look relieved,” she said, as we sped off to her house on the outskirts of Geneva. “I’m pleased you contacted me so soon. I had thought to wait three months until your stay in Italy was over,” she said.

  “It’s over,” I said. “I’ve no plans to return.”