Benny & Ray 68 Sophia's Baby Dee Gilles Rated R

Tony met them curbside at O'Hare. He was twenty minutes late. It 15:10, or rather 3:10, Ben silently corrected himself with a pang of regret. Civilians didn't go around using military time.

Pearson was in the back seat, peering out at him expectantly, a veritable smile on her face. She yipped for Ben's attention, tongue yapping. Ben smiled in pure affection.

"Hey!" Francesca complained. "What took you so long?" as soon as Tony got out of the car and opened his door. Pearson used the opening to hop out after Tony, went to Ben and sniffed his hand before jumping up and nuzzling his chest.

"Hello, little girl," he murmured. "Miss me?"

Pearson made a sound that sounded eerily close to yep! Ben chuckled, rubbing her muzzle.

The creaky old back hatch to the station wagon creaked loudly when Tony opened it to stow Ben and Fran's luggage. "Sorry about that," he said, "she wouldn't turn over," he said, indicating the old wood-paneled hunk of steel that Tony referred to as "The Beast".

Tony took Ben's garment bag and laid it across the top of the other luggage, and squeezed Francesca's numerous other bags and boxes among the toys and baby stroller, and kids' sports equipment.

"I think the engine's been patched so many times already, there's no resurrecting her after this. Due for a new one," he grunted, as he slammed the hatch.

"It's quite all right," Ben said. "Thank you for picking us up."

"Hey, no problem, Ben." He slammed it shut and the three people plus dog got settled in for the ride home.

Tony pulled away from the curb after glancing over his left shoulder. "Listen. Did Ma get a hold of you this mornin'? She said you would call."

Ben turned toward Tony, curiosity piqued. "No, about what?" he said mildly.

Tony took a deep breath. "Ray's in the hospital."

"What?!!!" Francesca screeched.

Ben felt his heart drop to his stomach.

VVVVVV

Ben sat by Ray's bedside, holding his boney hand. Ray dozed, and in fact had been sleeping all afternoon.

Ray had pneumonia, and combined with his anemia, Ma had felt it was best to bring him in for a couple of days, to knock the infection down quickly with antibiotics, and to feed him intravenously. She had brought him in this morning. She was staying in Ben and Ray's guest room while Ben was gone. When she went to check on him upon waking, and discovered his breathing was so labored that she grew alarmed. She had tried Ben's cell phone, to reassure him not to be alarmed when he got home and Ray wasn't there, but the phone wasn't connecting.

Ben turned Ray's hand over in his palm, gazing at the long thin fingers; pianist's hands, his dad would have remarked if he were here. Ray's wedding band, a twin of Ben's, was loose on his finger. Knobby wrists were connected to long thin arms. Ray wasn't eating enough. The chemicals that saturated his body also tainted his taste of food, and he simply wouldn't eat anymore, not for Ma, for Ben or for anyone.

Ben studied Ray's face. So thin. So pale. Watched his eyes roll underneath his lids in REM. Ben wondered what Ray was dreaming about.

Ray wore his pajamas, the blue pair that Ben had gotten him for Christmas. The top two buttons of the pajama top were open, and Ben observed Ray's crucifix on his bony chest. Grooves of Ray's ribs showed clearly, and his collarbone stuck out prominently. The cap of his chemo port, embedded underneath his collarbone, protruded.

What Ray looked like, really, was death. The thought made Ben's heart rate quicken with panic. What if Ray dies? What if he leaves me here? The thoughts came unbidden.

He burst into sudden tears, surprising himself. He slapped his hand over his mouth, trying to suppress the sob that rose in his throat, suffocating him. He looked at Ray's beautiful, sensual lips, and thought how he would miss the feel of those lips on his skin, miss the flavor of the tongue in his mouth, and the strong hands all over his body. To live without the sound of Ray's voice, in all it's crazy rhythms, tones and ranges, from nasally whine to off-key squeaks to angry shouts. Impossible. Impossible to live without Ray. The agony took Ben's breath away.

Soft warm hands touched Ben's shoulders.

"Shhhhhh...." Sophia said.

She had left to take Frannie home, to get some dinner, to get some fresh air. Ben had refused to budge from Ray's side. Sophia rubbed his shoulders.

Ben did his best to suppress his weeping. He pushed it down into his chest, and it made him gasp and gulp for air instead.

"Shhhhh," Sophia reassured him. "He's going to be alright, Benito."

"I feel so... helpless," Ben cried. "He's hurting and there's nothing I can do to make him better."

Sophia sighed in sympathy and understanding. She gently turned him toward her and guided his head to her bosom. Ben's body tensed, resisting the intimate contact. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, rubbed. "It's fine, Benito. Mama's here." She kissed the top of his head, and stroked his hair. "Mama's here," she repeated.

Ben finally wrapped his arms around her thick waist, and released his tears.

VVVVVV

Ray had finally awakened shortly after, and eaten a little. Ma saw to it that Ray drank a can of Ensure. She made Ben eat too.

Ben told Ma and him about his weekend with Fran, his honor ceremony and retirement. He recounted every detail of the mass, ice skating with Fran, the dinner with Meers, and even the dcor in the hotel room. He talked until they were all drowsy.

"How do you feel about that, buddy, now that it's all said and done?" Ray asked, his voice hoarse, breathing still a little labored.

"Scared." Ben had admitted.

"Twenty years is a long time," Ray said. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you. I let you down."

"Oh Ray. You've never let me down."

"Never?"

"No, never," Ben said.

Ray smiled, and drifted off to sleep again.

VVVVV

Ma had gotten Ben settled into the empty bed next to Ray, since again, he refused to go home.

Sophia was going home. She had other family who needed her as well. She bent over Ray and gazed at his sleeping face with love in her eyes. Smiled. "Raimundo," she said. She pulled his blanket up to his chest. "My baby." She kissed his forehead.

"Ma?" Ben said, watching her from the bed, feeling a mixture of love and envy that Ray was really hers. "Did you ever mind?"

"Mind, Benito?"

"About us, I mean? About Ray and me?"

She smiled ruefully. "Maybe...in some small way, in the beginning. But what can I do? The heart wants what it wants."

"Would you be surprised if I told you that your attitude came to us both as a surprise? We were both afraid to tell you. Ray thought you'd be angry with him."

She bent and kissed her sleeping boy again. "Did I ever tell you about how Raymond got his name?" She asked, seemingly apropos of nothing.

VVVVV

She told Ben her story of her and Sal.

Anna-Sophia Esposito met Francesco Salvatore Vecchio in June of 1958 at her sister Marie-Therese's wedding, He was one of the groomsmen's brother. Sally was one of those people who lit up a room. A real "good time Charlie", as they used to say. He was loud, boisterous, funny, and loved to be the center of attention. That day, cutting a suave image in his rented tuxedo, he caught the attention of many a girl. Sophia was no exception.

Most of the Vecchios worked in automotive steel in the Gary, Indiana area, and Sal was no exception. He made a lot of money for those days, and loved to flash it around. Sophia knew him by name, but had never met him before. He certainly turned her head around that afternoon. He was handsome, with a thick head of hair, lean, and elegant.

This was Sophia's first big wedding. She had gone through finishing school. She had brushed up on her Emily Post. She felt like a high-society debutante. She was eating cheesecake with a knife and fork, wearing her white gloves, when he glided in, all smiles.

They sat and talked for a while, and soon, he had the reserved girl up and dancing. She laughed so much that day. They were one of the last couples to leave the reception hall.

One year later, she found herself married in that same church, and they danced again in the same reception hall. His friends and family were stunned that Sal had caught himself such a refined girl, the daughter of a doctor, no less.

They settled near Sal's family in northern Indiana-Valparaiso. Sal got a little money from his Papa, a little money from his Uncle Vitaliano, and worked a second job on the weekend for a year to put down money on a little house in the neighborhood, quite a feat for a twenty-five year old. Things were fine for the first few months, but eventually, Sally began to unravel. He started drinking, staying out late on Saturday nights, and then Friday nights too. Rumors were that he had a lover. She didn't know. She never asked.

He didn't seem to have patience with Sophia somehow, with her ways, with her speech, with her outlook on life. He did not get along with many members of her family, a constant bone of contention.

Nevertheless, she did everything she could for him. Like every married woman at the time, she stayed home and looked after the house. She waited on him hand and foot. But he was short with her anyway.

One day a man named Raimundo Bartolomeo opened a bakery in their neighborhood. He was young and fresh-faced, just starting out. He often ran the register, and waited on customers personally. He also was a skilled baker, having trained in Italy. His gelato was divine.

Every Saturday, Sophia bought fresh breads, handmade pastas and Italian desserts from Mr. Bartolomeo. Sometimes after lunch, she would walk the few blocks for a bit of gelato.

Mr. Bartolomeo and Mrs. Vecchio began a cordial friendship. It was nice to have someone besides Sal's family to talk to. The Vecchios were rather cautious of her; they thought that she and the other Espositos thought they were better than everybody else, which was not at all true.

Sophia grew bored with her life of unchallenging domesticity. She wanted to work in medicine like her father. And she wanted to get a driver's license and drive herself around sometime. Sal did not approve. He was a real man. He would take care of her.

As fall grew into cold dead winter, they fought. Sophia began to develop a sense of dread that she had married the wrong man. She began to feel trapped and depressed.

Mr. Bartolomeo, seeing her sad face week after week, made sure to wait on her personally. He told her silly jokes to cheer her up. Every week he had a new one. Sophia began to find a reason to shop twice a week, and then three times a week.

By the time the daffodils were blooming, she found a reason to drop by and see him every day, if only for a few minutes. Mr. Bartolomeo admitted that her visit was his most favorite part of the day. He would pick for her the bright yellow flowers that sprouted all over the neighborhood, and slip them into her bag of treats.

One day she was detained, and did not get over to the shop until late. He and his workers had put up everything for the day, and he had shut down the register. He opened up again for her, and gave her the tortoni she requested, for free. She had tried to press the money into his hand, and he had refused.

He drove her home. "Thank you, Mr. Bartolomeo," she had said as she slid out of the front seat.

"Please," he said smiling. "Call me Ray."

Soon after, she would often meet him after he closed the shop, and they would ride around together, or on occasion share an espresso at his cousin's place a few blocks down from his.

Sophia knew what she was doing was dangerous. She told no one. Not even her sisters.

One day, the inevitable happened. Ray kissed Sophia. He pulled her into his shop after closing, locked the door, and their mouths came together, easy, like they were old lovers. And Sophia was certain at that moment that she had married the wrong man. This man. This was the one. How could she have gotten it so wrong?

Later that night, lying in bed next to her husband, she wondered at the possibility of leaving Sal, weighed the consequences of the shame of a divorce on the family, while at the same time, knowing it was impossible.

In April, Sophia skipped a monthly cycle. She realized that she had skipped March too. Her doctor's visit soon after confirmed her suspicions.

She told Ray two days after she knew. His eyes grew large and teary.

After that day, she began to take the bus to the bakery on the other side of town, her belly growing larger and larger each week. She knew she couldn't lay eyes on Ray again. She wouldn't be strong enough to endure the pain.

Her baby arrived a little earlier than they expected, on September 20, 1960, at 4:45 a.m. He was tiny, a bright-eyed, mewling little thing. She named her baby after her love, even though Sal hated the name. She refused to budge on this. He forced her to Americanize it, at least. His children were Americans, he had said, and he wanted them to have American names.

She was pregnant again two months after Little Ray was born. Paul Francesco Vecchio was born on October 28, 1961. By the time Maria Lisa came along in 1963, they were in Chicago, on Octavia Street.

But she never, ever forgot Raimundo Bartolomeo.

"Did you ever see him again, Ma?" Ben murmured.

"No. But I heard that he retired and closed the bakery finally, in 1988. He died the following year, just a few months before Sal. He never married." Sophia began to tear up, remembering the old pain. "I always wondered if he was waiting for me to come back to him. I always wondered," she said. "And I would have."

She yanked a Kleenex from Ray's beside table, and blew her nose.

"So who am I," she said. "To say `no' to someone else's love. We love who we love, no?"

Ben crawled out of bed, and went over to her. He gave her a kiss. "Thank you, Ma. Thank you."

"I'll see you in the morning," she said. She kissed him, turned, and went home to her family, her life.

FINIS