To my dear regular readers, this is a softer version of my normal, and the sex is coming in late to the story because she's a virgin. In her grayed young world, although unbeknownst to him, her uncle became her rock. She wanted to give him what was most important- her virginity. He gives her new life from the neglect of her past, but in the end they are still niece and uncle. Can her inexperienced naive seduction erase all his qualms? As always, comments welcome.
* * * * *
"Fwank is here," I mumbled to myself, standing on tiptoe and peering out the front window to watch his jaunty walk up the weed choked sidewalk.
Not Uncle Frank or even Frank. I couldn't roll the R's like everyone else so Fwank it was and always has been. Unruly straw-colored hair, sharp jawline, and thin lips created his handsome and somewhat boyish face. Mama always referred to him as her handsome brother even though he was her only brother. Her
baby
brother, she always has to remind.
The morning of my sixteenth birthday Fwank showed up in his usual suit of gray pinstripe, blue tie, black suspenders, and dark gray fedora. No men wore hats anymore and I was always intrigued by it. Always, meaning the annual visits he made that were usually on my birthday.
He said, "Dolcezza I want you to come with me to pick out your birthday present." Mama insisted that she would come along. He told me later that he threw his sister a red herring and I didn't ask what that was because all l knew was, she didn't come with us and I was glad.
Two hours later we were back in my shiny red car with the white sticker in the window. I had a new car and two hours of Fwank to myself.
We parked in front of the house. He turned in his seat and said, "This is your car. Don't let her take it from you. Get it?" I nodded in understanding. Although I didn't ever admit it to myself.
He left me a set of keys but took the second set, then hugged me goodbye on the curb and left.
Mama had left for her hair appointment and manicure, but on her return the first thing she asked was where the extra keys were. I told her he had them, and her face screwed into an ugly frown. She never even wished me a happy birthday.
My name was not Dolcezza, and I was at sea to what it meant but I did love the way it rolled off his tongue... Dol-chay-za. It was certainly better than the lispy sounding name
Bethany
.
Mama speculated about his money and told me in a dramatically conspiratorial whisper that she could expose him as a gangster but being her brother and all, she wouldn't.
But I knew she had a crush on Eliot Ness. That's why she looped crackly black and white Untouchables on sleepless nights. She just needed to romanticize that someone in her life was a mobster, or better, that she was important in his life.
No matter, I bought into it, and after that he was Dirty Fwank to me. I did think the fedora made him more gangsterish. I watched a few of the Untouchable shows so I was savvy.
I expected Dirty Fwank on my eighteenth birthday, but he was a no show.
Not bad enough that my birthday was in July, during summer break. Birthdays that fell during the school year at least had a party with homemade cupcakes and shiny colorful hats. To make matters worse, still no Dirty Fwank.
I did not have my hopes up anyways on my nineteenth birthday. Mama would always pat her beehive hairdo and tell me,
Bethany that's the way Frank has always been. We never could depend on him.
. But she never had cupcakes or a present for me. So that's the way she has always been.
I just wanted his presence, not a present. He was my rock in a sea of Mama's mishmash and neglect. My best friend in high school told me once that I lived in a
melluva hess
at my house. She never knew the half of it.
By my twentieth birthday I didn't even consider that he would show. I had just started my summer break from the local technical school for cosmetology because I was going to be a hair stylist.
A package wrapped in wrinkled purple paper and an orange string arrived that morning addressed to Dolcezza at my address. I carefully untied and unfolded to save the wrappings.
It was a cell phone with his phone number programmed in. A note with it in scrawled handwriting said...
Call me at midnight
I showed Mama the phone but not the note. "Look what Dirty Fwank gave me."
But she just glanced at it, said nothing and grimaced, stretching her lips across her teeth to apply her red lipstick. I used to think she was sad because she could not afford anything for me, but I don't think she was sad about it at all. It never bothered her that her daughter had to wear thrift store clothes to school. I was glad when I got to the technical school we had to wear uniforms for my cosmetology classes. It was the first time I looked like everyone else.
Daddy had walked out on us before I knew him, and although she worked two jobs, we never seemed to have enough money for a hair cut for me, for clothing or shoes, no Christmas and no birthday. All I had to look forward to, or be miserable about, was a hit or miss visit from Dirty Fwank.
They say you don't miss what you never had but I was thrilled to be like others and finally have my own phone.
Mama worked the night shift and left at eleven, so I had to wait another hour to call. I nervously tapped on the phone icon under his name.
"Dolcezza."
"Yes."
"I am sorry I missed your birthday."
"Birthdayssss," I enunciated and stretched the S at the end, just to make sure he knew that I was all grown up now and he had missed it.
"Yes yes, I'm sorry, I did miss a few, didn't I?" His voice flowed like honey over the phone, sweet and calming.
I nodded, my eyes spilled tears. I don't know why he became so important to me. He was rarely around and then when he did show up, it was only for a matter of hours, and he was gone again. Yet, he was my rock.
We never knew where he lived but Mama thought probably with other gangsters and that it was best we didn't know so we wouldn't have to go into some sort of government protection and then have to give up our identity and never talk to family or friends again.
So, I guess it was good we didn't know.
"Dolcezza?"
"Yes?"
"Are you mad at me?"
"Yes. No," I waffled.
"So, you must be in college now?"
"Technical school. I'm going to be a hair stylist."
"How were your grades in school?"
"I got all A's. Mama said I was always book smart."
"You're very smart, honey. What would you want to do?"
"I want to be a teacher."
