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practice. Help me, stand by me and I’ll buy you the moon—will you do that?” “Oh, yes, Dom, my darlin’, darlin’, Dom, I’d do anythin’ for you.” I still can feel that kiss that could always fire my passion. Oh dear, what a night of lovemakin’ that was. I was content for a little while and I meant to keep my promise to Dom, I really did, but—here I was stuck with all those gorgeous table linens, the Crown Derby china and that sterlin’ silver, to say nothin’ of the hundreds of gifts that Mama was send-in’ out west to me. I simply had to have the place and space to store them, didn’t I? So, I sashayed myself down to W. and J. Sloane’s and bought a little furniture … well, I can tell you, I was as nervous as a wet hen until it arrived. And just as I expected, Dom hit the ceilin’. It was our first fight… really big first fight, sayin’ all sorts of mean and nasty things—just so as we could hurt one another… and we did just that. My God, the things Dominic said positively shocked me. In fact, I get mad right now when I think about that night … over thirty years ago. Callin’ me a spoiled, possessive, uncontrolled, undisciplined bitch … and ’course I wasn’t about to take that kinda sass from him, not for one cotton pickin’ minute, so I called him every name in the book I could think of—and in Italian it sounded even better. I ended by sayin’ I hated him—and at that moment, I sure as hell did. But as though that wasn’t enough, I threatened to pack my bag and go home—and I meant that for damn sure. I think what hurt me worse than anythin’ was when Dom said he’d help me pack. Then I really got so damned mad, I threw somethin’ at him—let’s see, what was it? Oh, what difference does it make now, but I did hit him so hard, right in the stomach, he doubled over, then fell down on the floor, hittin’ his forehead on the corner of our new coffee table. My God, did my heart pound—why I thought I’d killed him. I can see it all so clear, me runnin’ over to him, takin’ his head in my arms and rockin’ him back and forth as the tears streamed down my face. “I’m so sorry, Dominic, darlin’, I’m so heartsick, I really don’t know why I do these things.” Finally, he recovered and I washed away the blood. Like all quarrels, the makin’ up was sweeter than ever—if that’s possible. But it was—why, we found things to say to one another durin’ our lovemakin’ we’d never said before … such sweet tender things—I really gave myself to Dom that night … and did I ever give myself to him!
    Catherine drank the last drop in the wineglass, sighed deeply. Weary, and a little light-headed, she roused herself as though out of a dream and looked at the television. The only thing on the screen was the big white silent blob staring back at her. Quickly, she got up and turned it off. She was so tired of thinking. Once again, she returned to bed, and this time, fell into a deep sleep which took her far into the third day of her self-imposed exile. When she awoke, it was one in the afternoon.
    The day seemed endless, although she tried to busy herself with unimportant things. After lunch she manicured her nails, then applied coat after coat of pink polish which seemed never to dry. She flipped on the television, turned the knob from station to station, but everything bored her. Shaking her head she thought, wasn’t total isolation dreadful. Never before had she known anything like it in her life. Funny—at one time, she would’ve given anything for a little quiet and peace—what with raising those seven rowdy, and at times, unmanageable children. But, oh my, how she and Dom had loved them. Taking the box of chocolates, Catherine carefully observed the contents. Reaching for a cream, she popped one in her mouth. Nothing like Barriccini’s, but not bad for plain old store-bought. With the box of chocolates she lay across the bed and selected a nougat this time.