M is for Mother

Sensitive Content: Murder, Sobriety, Language

            The last handful of earth scarcely touched the shiny black casket when the press began to swarm. 

Like flies to shit, Luca thought. His father’s voice echoed in his mind, scolding him for such language. Except his father was no longer here. 

The family barely got to see his body lowered into the ground before they were ushered away, large black umbrellas shielding them from unwanted photographers.

Rocco Bianchi, ruthless businessman and famed entrepreneur was murdered, leaving his family millions and a company to run. Every paper in the state wanted in on the action- the first time their tiny town made any kind of news.

            What’s worse, was the police had no leads except for the brand and color of lipstick the murderer wore- Lancôme’s French Idol. A nearly invisible smudge was left on his father’s collar, stirring up all sorts of scandal and rumors.

             In the back of the sleek town car, Luca relaxed into the plush leather. His mother Sohpia lounged across from him, a dainty hand resting on her forehead.

“The family attorney is flying in from the city tonight. Be a dear Luca, and welcome him for me? I’m afraid I just can’t entertain in this state.” His mother’s deep southern drawl eclipsed any Rs from her words and made them into long, lush As. So he was always Luca dee-yaah. And he was expected to enta-tain some big wig from the city. Just how he wanted to spend his night. 

“Whatever you need, mother.” He wasn’t one to argue, especially now. The autopsy took forever, which delayed the funeral. If mother wanted to rush the rest of it, so be it.

The gentle jostling of the car rattled Luca’s stomach. He’d been off the booze for three days now, evidenced by the subtle tremble to his hand resting on his thigh. He could handle this whole thing if only he could have a drink.

            He rolled down the window, letting the October chill into the car to soothe his nerves. It reached the back of his neck, evaporating drop by drop the sweat that formed there.  

“This business will be concluded by the end of the week,” his mother declared, more to herself than to him. 

And that was final, Luca knew. When Sophia Bianchi decided, the only person who could argue or would, was dead now. He wondered how long it would take him to miss him.

***

Luca paced the foyer of his parents home where he still lived. A glance in the hall mirror reflected a skeleton of his usual charming appearance. His bright eyed, tanned face was hollow and pale. His glossy blonde hair looked stringy and flat. He wanted to blame the late hour but knew there was more to it. This is who he is without beer goggles on- or in his case, the kinder lens whiskey offers.

His gaze fell to the pristine white marble tile at his socked feet. Mother would have a fit if she knew he planned to greet their guest in his pajamas.

He moved to the sitting room, just off the foyer. The side table full of decanters and wine bottles mocked him. Before he could make a regrettable decision, Fredo, the family butler approached the threshold. 

“A call for you, sir.” Fredo offered him the house phone, a black cordless receiver.

“Hi Luca, this is Vicky Russo. Estate attorney. My trip has been delayed a day due to some untimely news.”

Luca paced the expensive Persian rug, the hem of his flannel pants dragging beneath his feet.

“What’s going on?” he asked. 

“I’m afraid we won’t be able to transfer the estate as soon as your mother was hoping,” she responded. “It’s terrible really. There seems to be a hold up with the company paperwork and founders.”

Luca shook his head. “That can’t be. My father built that company alone.”

And his father would never let his family forget that. Anytime he was minorly inconvenienced they were reminded of how he sacrificed for his family.

“That’s what we thought, but there’s a second name on all the initial paperwork that we can’t seem to track down.” Her voice was warm like honey, which should have comforted him. 

He scratched at his cheek, the faintest of stubble growing there. “And I’m assuming it’s none of my family members or we wouldn’t be having this discussion, would we?”

“Correct. Her name is Avani Kavan.”

Her? This wasn’t making sense. His father was notoriously greedy and detached but apparently had a silent partner of some kind. And to top that, it was a woman?

“Have you asked my mother?” The heat reached Luca now, from the fireplace or the implications of this call, he wasn’t sure. 

“I was hoping to speak with your mother, but didn’t want to press when she said she was unavailable. His partners don’t seem to know either. Seeing as you don’t know her, I may need time to do some digging,” she said, a hesitance in her voice.

“Of course. Do what you must.”

Luca tossed and turned all through the night, contemplating the mystery partner. Could his father have had a mistress? Absolutely. But could she be connected to his company? Absolutely not. His father was meticulous when it came to business and a bore when it came to pleasure. There’s no way he’d mix the two.

The next morning, tired eyes again met Luca in the mirror. His weary hands purposefully turned the crystal faucet knobs, which emitted the tiniest of groans. 

Four days off booze and his father was gone. With him went the relentless pressure of Luca’s future, the daunting task of assuming head of the company. With the booze went Luca’s entire identity. He wasn’t himself without a buzz.

Heading the company would still come, he was sure- without the bull chasing him though. The alcohol he wasn’t so sure about going back to. Not after watching who it turned his father into.

Nausea roiled in his stomach as a question unfolded into his mind. Who was Luca, without a drink in his hand and his father’s gun to his head?

He scanned the downstairs for his mother and found her seated at the small table on the veranda. Despite his silent footfalls on the carpeted steps, she knew he was coming. She always did.

“Good morning Luca dear, come take some coffee with your mama.”

He did as she asked, settling into the sturdy yet comfortable wicker chair. He squinted as the brightness of the day fell upon his face, the sun’s light like a laser through the window.

The enormous backyard sparkled in the morning sun, decadent with overflowing flowerpots and ornamental shrubs. The grass was impossibly green for this time of year, rich and deeply pigmented. The yard used to make him angry. As a child he wasn’t allowed to play or run around it. So many times he craved the feel of it beneath his bare feet.

“What did the attorney say?” His mother raised her delicate tea cup to her lips, the saucer in the other hand.

Luca reached for his own, the bitter aroma reaching his head first, then his stomach. Too strong.

“What’s in this?”

“Thought you might need a little something after a rough couple of days.”

She knew he was trying to quit, and tempted him anyway. His hand faltered as he returned the cup to the table. Every reflex in his body was urging him to pick it back up. Just a sip and everything would be fine…

“The lawyer said there’s some mishap with the paperwork. Some other name she has to track down before she can turn everything over. Do you know anything about a female partner of dad’s?”

“Why don’t you just take a drink darling? It’ll calm your nerves. You’re looking so stressed lately.” His mother eyed him from above the rim of her cup. 

His phone buzzed urgently from his pants pocket. A sign, he was sure, to leave his cup where it was. Vicky’s name flashed across the screen. 

“Excuse me, mother,” Luca stated flatly, rising from the table. The chair legs gently scraped the floor in his haste.

“Hi Luca, I made it into town. Can you meet me at the town records building off Market Street?”

He eagerly agreed, racing up to his room to change. He may have looked like hell, but his mind was starting to clear, and something was definitely amiss in his home.

***

“Did you talk to your mother?” Vicky pressed, manila envelope in hand. She was casually beautiful, with her fiery hair swept into a claw clip. The tendrils that escaped framed her face perfectly. The county records room was small and ugly in comparison, with its sand colored walls and stained white trim.

“I did,” he answered. “She dodged the question, which is very like her when she has something to hide. What did you find?” 

“Birth records.” She looked at him squarely, and pushed the folder to his side of the table. “Take your time with that.”

Luca looked at her quizzically, then did as she suggested. Opening the unassuming folder, he found nothing alarming. This woman Avani was born and raised in this town, and had registered for the LLC that started his father’s company.

“So this just confirms what you already knew?” he asked Vicky, glancing up expectantly.

She nodded. “Keep reading.”

Luca scanned the page. This woman also had a baby, a boy. She listed him as a dependent for an insurance policy, and to receive her share of the company in the event of her death. Still nothing groundbreaking here. He looked up again. 

Vicky sighed and rolled her eyes. “Last paragraph of the page, third line up.”

Luca furrowed his brows, but continued reading. The boy’s name was not listed, but traveling to the suggested paragraph he did find the birthday, June 8th, 1990.

“That’s interesting, that’s my birthday too,” Luca said.

Vicky blinked at him, a moment too long until the realization hit. The flutter of papers was all that was left in his wake as he fled the room.

“You’re not my mother?” He found Sophia in the family room, or the formal entertaining room as his father called it. Not that it was any different than the other two, except for its lack of television.

She barely looked up at him from where she sat, propped up in his father’s leather arm chair, paper in hand. 

After what felt like forever, she removed her glasses and let the paper fall to her lap with a sigh.

“No dear, I’m not.”

There wasn’t enough water in the world to quench the dessert in Luca’s mouth.

“Come sit.” She patted the velvety ottoman in front of her. “Back then, your father had certain interests that I wasn’t interested in satisfying. He found other ways to do so and that was fine. Until Avani. She was different. Smart, fiery. He wanted to keep this one and I wouldn’t allow it. So he was careless and got her pregnant. Thinking I’d let her move in, what a rascal that man was. Instead, I made her an offer. If she gave you up, I’d get her name on the paperwork. She’d never want for anything again. A girl from the wrong side of the tracks can’t resist that kind of money, son.”

Luca blinked rapidly, his feelings of exclusion stronger than ever.

“So this woman…,” he began. 

“Yes. She’s your mother.”

“And you never thought you should tell me?” he asked, incredulous.

“Frankly no, dear. You’ve had everything you ever wanted here under this roof. Why on earth would we wanna upset that?”

He threaded his hands through his hair, fighting the urge to rip it from his head. In so many ways, this made sense. Where his mother was as cutthroat and relentless as his father, Luca was reserved and thoughtful.

“It doesn’t mean anything dear, I’m the one who raised you. She just…”

“Created me? I wouldn’t exist without her mother, that’s not something to be overlooked.”

His mother rose abruptly. “Don’t be dramatic.” She turned to face him, towering above him, ever the matriarch. “For all we know, she’s the reason he’s dead.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The police are looking for a woman with a motive. What better motive than revenge on the man who turned his back on you and took your child with him?”

Luca pondered this. The way his mother told the story, she was more behind that than his father was, but Avani may not know that. His best chance at getting the truth was to find his birth mother.

“Where are you going?” His mother trailed him like a shadow, but he pressed onward and out of the house. Toward answers he wasn’t sure he wanted.

***

Luca perched on the edge of the wood stained porch, starting a hole through an unassuming front door on the other side of town. Vicky had proved herself useful by getting him the address. 

He hadn’t knocked yet, but the occupant knew he was there. The door creaked open a whisper and the eyes peaking out from behind it matched his own. 

“Can I help you?” A soft and feminine voice came from behind the paneled door.

 He hadn’t thought this part out. What he’d say. 

“I’m Luca. Your son.” Real smooth. 

The door swung open wider, revealing a woman inches shorter than him with shaggy dark hair falling around her shoulders. But it was her eyes that did it, hooded and deep with wonder.

“We have much to talk about,” she said, gesturing him inside.

Her story matched his mother’s, almost word for word. She spoke genuinely but matter of factly, which he appreciated. He wasn’t ready for a big show of emotion just yet.

“Your mother had every right to hate me. I was a threat to her. Yet instead of casting me out, she gave you a life I never could. And gave me the financial security I’d never get for myself. Your father though…he was awful to the both of us. I loved him, and he cut me off like a rotten limb.”

“When was the last time you talked to him?” he asked. 

“Some months ago now. He called me up out of the blue, was talking about retiring and getting older. He sounded sad. Your mother heard him on the phone with me, she was furious. I never heard from him again.”

Luca nodded, glancing at the clock. “I better get going. But this was helpful.” He'd at least learned that Avani couldn’t have killed his father. This waif of a woman wouldn’t hurt a fly and wouldn’t dare endanger her financial security.

“Maybe I could come again?” He rose from the worn couch, lamenting having to leave the comfortable and homey space. Someday, he’d get to know this woman. But for now he was content with just connecting with her.

“Of course dear. You’re welcome anytime.”

Luca went looking for his mother Sophia as soon as he returned home, ready to face the other side of the coin.

“Do you feel better?” His mother inquired, poised to leave the house. “I’m running to town, if you want to join me.”

“Yes I do and yes I will.” And he meant it. Meeting his birth mother soothed something inside of him he didn’t know was aching. Healed a wound he didn’t know was there.

“I hope you don’t mind if I visit her again,” Luca said tentatively.

His mother didn’t flinch thankfully. “Of course not dear. Now that your father is gone, her existence is no longer a bother. She really never was, honestly. It was him you had to watch out for.”

He smiled, having gotten the approval from her he was looking for. Biological mother or not, she was his anchor now that alcohol wasn’t. The only remaining landmark of who he thought he was. 

The pair made their way to the waiting town car, the setting sun ablaze over the treetops of the winding driveway. His mother paused.

“I forgot my purse. Be a dear and run in to grab it for me?”

Luca moved automatically without responding, back into the house. He scanned the marble countertops for her starchy leather bag. Finding it, his hand trembled as he reached for it. The bag tumbled to the floor and sprayed its contents.

“Damnit,” he remarked, dropping to a knee to clean it up. He collected some pens, a thin wallet, and at last a tube of lipstick. He studied the last item. Mother hadn’t worn lipstick since before father died. The black tube rolled in his fingers until the gold lettering stared him in the face, impossible to ignore: Lancôme.

Luca swallowed audibly. He made to open the cap to study it, as if he’d committed the color to mind- but he didn’t need to go that far. The name, along with the truth, was written on a sticker across the bottom. 

Without a second thought, he rose from the pristinely cleaned tile and deposited the item in the trash bin.

“Luca dear, what’s taking so long?” she shouted from the driveway.

“Coming, mother.”