1 Classic Negroni:
To the birth and reception of a future Boss
“I was born on a dark and dreary night in East Harlem, a place that back then felt more like southern Italy than America. It was a great place to live, Italians had always been a hospitable and friendly bunch,” the voice of a woman spoke, the tone was firm and strong yet although it held a certain softness, it was not enough to distinguished their gender. The figure stood in the shadow of a dark room and it was the curves on her silhouette that made it clear the figure was a woman.
The woman finally turned to stare at the person she was speaking with, the intensity of her dark eyes made the seem almost like a tiger's eyes glowing within the darkness of the forest. They were almost the color of the liquid in her cup, the rich amber and yellow hues that shined like a gems when the light hit it just right.
“We felt right home since my ma was Italian-American, although knowing my father,” the woman's white teeth shine in the otherwise dark room as she sneered like a predator baring its fangs, “the only reason we were still there was because her father left her the apartment when he decided to retire.”
The room looked like an office with metal filing cabinets against one wall and a sofa on the other while a massive wooden desk stood in the center, with a leather chair that looked more like a throne illuminated by the only light in the room which was a lamp on the empty desk.
“What, not a drinker?” the woman cut off her narration to ask the person sitting across from her, gesturing to the other glass with amber liquid that hadn't been touched. “You sure you from Boston,” it wasn't really a question and while the woman's tone was calm and almost playful, a raised eyebrow had the other person taking the glass and having a sip of the drink. Their face twisted like a child being forced to drink bitter medicine. This made the woman let out an almost mocking sound but the gesture seemed enough to pacify her into continuing the story.
“That night, the streets that were normally filled with so much life and smells, were empty except for the idiots too smoked [drunk] to have any self-preservation or fear the loud thunder or rain that felt like little hailstones falling from the sky.”
The woman stopped and took a sip of the drink, not even flinching as if it was just water.
“My mother said that it was an easy and quick birth but then again after having four, number five should be duck soup [easy]. She did says I came out fighting,” the woman declared with an almost nostalgic sigh. “My mother said that she knew from that moment that I would be trouble. I mean, obviously,” the woman opened her arms with a devious and almost proud smirk, “she wasn’t wrong but let’s not get ahead of ourselves let’s go back to that night, to the very beginning of it all…”
“What?!” a voice exclaimed like the screeching of a broken appliance, “Another fucking useless girl?!”
In a small room that was made smaller by the large bed to one corner where a woman laid covered in sweat and exhausted, a man furiously berated making everyone around him flinch. The midwife who was by her side and held the small bundle wrapped in a blanket that had more holes than actual covering, stay quiet as she tried to calm the newborn.
“At that time, everyone knew not to get involve in problems between husband and wife.”
The room seemed to serve multiple purposes from a bedroom, a birthing room, a living room and a laundry room highlighted by the clothes that were hung to dry like the poorest form of art. The room also served as a dining room with a small rickety table against the wall barely leaving any walking space between it and the bed. The last purpose of the room was a kitchen which was more of a tiny corner with a stove, a sink and one counter.
“It might not sound like much but it was all we had. My ma always thanked God that we were all girls since she said girls adjusted better and were more accommodating,” the woman narrating sneered with such a pure and clean distaste it was almost terrifying. “I never believed was the compliment she thought it was.”
In the room, the angry man stood tall, towering furiously over both women as he glared at the short portly older woman before him and at the baby in her arms. He had soulful brown eyes that at times could seem intense and dangerous yet somehow alluring, his wavy black hair was combed back with so much grease that it seemed to shine. He had soft delicate features that made women want to ignore the blaring alarms those eyes and temper clearly gave off.
“At the very least it made my mother ignore them. There is no denying that the bastard was good looking and charming when he wanted to be, which was rare.” For once the woman seemed to have a bitter taste in her mouth yet it wasn't from the alcohol.
“As you can guessed it, that ball of joy and acceptance was my father, Miguel Agustin Salazar and he was not happy that my mother had just given birth to another girl.”
“I’m sorry sir, but the child is daughter,” the midwife trembled in fear because despite his almost distracting good looks and exotic accent, there was a darkness to him that almost poured out like a cup under a waterfall.
“You can’t even seem to do this right,” the man sneered. It was clear that Miguel wasn’t too surprised by his wife’s failure. He grabbed his jacket and he stormed out of the apartment without caring about his wife or new born daughter’s condition.
The small one-bedroom apartment seemed to shake under the man’s departing fury, the residue of which felt like poison hanging in the air. The midwife passed the newborn over to her mother who finally smiled at the sight of the newborn.
“Can we see her now?” To the midwife’s side a young girl with big bright dark eyes similar to the man who had just left stared up at her, the little girl who was no older than four or five had two big buns, her face held firm to the innocence and pure joy that one was only filled with during youth.
“That’s one of my older sister’s Dorothy, she’s a little of a dumb dora [stupid girl]. Don’t get me wrong I love her and would blip off [to kill] anyone who hurt her, but she’s a little empty up top.” The woman gesture to her head with a 'what can you do' shrug. The sound of scribbling on paper filled the room and made the woman glared at the person before her.
“Careful what you add there, I might be able to say anything about my family but you and I are not the same,” the warning was clear, although the woman never raised her voice or looked angry there was a iciness in the air that had the other person seen their breath. There was no hesitation as the other person frantically crossed something off.
“Anyways, she gets herself in all sorts of situations in the name of going on adventures. I will say that if you want to have some fun then she’s your girl. Every game I’ve ever played or learned and every toy that I’ve ever had was all Dorothy. She taught me how to play and how to make my own toys as we clearly could not afford any.”
“Of course, but…” Dorothy grabbed the bundle and was gone before the old woman could even finish speaking, “...you must be careful.”
“Do not worry, we'll take care of it.” a stern and far too serious young voice declared. To the side, the voice belong to a young girl who was clearly older that the last, her much lighter almost honey brown eyes were filled with a maturity that despite being much older than Dorothy still seemed almost wrong on her.
Everything about the girl spoke of organization and properness, her shoes were neat although old and worn out, her rags [clothes] while clearly having seen better days had stitching that seemed almost done by a meticulous seamstress and her hair was in a tight and neat bun with not a hair out of place.
“That’s Stella, my least favorite older sister,” there was something in the woman's voice that made the other person flinch and once again the air in the room grew colder.
“What can I say about Stella,” the woman stopped but it wasn't due to hesitation. “She’s a bluenose [prude]. She was the boring and serious to our fun and carefree. Where Dorothy taught me everything fun, Stella made it her life’s mission to unteach me what she called ‘bad habits.’ She was a strict rules follower and would berate anyone that deviated from them.”
The woman stopped to pour herself another drink immediately drowning it before pouring another one.
“We usually just ignored her rants except for Dorothy, who’s favorite hobby was to make Stella’s uptight ass explode.”
A younger girl followed behind Stella like a duckling following a mama duck in an effort not to get lost. She hid behind her older sister, bright eyes barely peeking through; unlike her other sister, she was the quintessential American girl next door. Sweet and demure with pigtails and big innocent eyes with a swan-like grace and elegance despite her young age.
“That there was my third big sister Anna, and she was by far the sweetest and kindest person you will ever meet which sucked for her but you’ll see why later.” The pursed lips and eye twitch made it obvious that what was coming later would not be good.
“Anna was a pushover, kind, but a pushover even with us. The good thing was that she could often blended into the background which saved her from a few beatings.”
“Here's the money, there’s a few coins missing but it was all I could sneak away before…” Another girl turned to the midwife and passed her a few coins with obvious shame and a little bit of something else that could only be seen in her clenched fist.
“Do not worry Marguerite, I’ve delivered you and all your sisters, you haven’t failed me yet,” the midwife assure the responsible young girl who was clearly heading into her pre-teen years.
“And you haven’t failed us so thank you. I swear we will pay you…” the old woman waved the older girl's words off with a simple smile.
“I know, I know. I’ll see you in a few years.” The old woman teased as she walked away
“I hope not,” she missed the almost imploring words from the oldest girl.
She was clearly at the start of her journey into womanhood. The young girl was the only one who had all the dark features of their father instead of being a blend of both like the other girls. There was an air of maturity around her.
She obviously carried the heavy weight of her family with a smile and selflessness that others would clearly take advantage of. But it was the cross that she knew, as the eldest would always be hers to carry, whether she wanted it or not.
“Now that is my last older sister Margarita -the eldest of us all- mainly known as Marguerite by others since that was the more 'American' version of her name although to Miguel, she was always Margarita and anyone who dared says otherwise -in the house- would get some sense knocked into them.”
The way the woman spoke about her father's violent tendencies was almost abnormal in how calm or blasé she was about it despite living through it.
“She was by far the strongest and most devoted woman you’ll ever meet. She tackled anything head on with a smile on her face and a faith that was quite frankly delusional in my opinion. When the world knocked her down, she got up and took some more hits, that doesn’t make her too smart in my book...but definitely strong.”
Once the midwife left, Margarita walked over to where the woman laid covered in sweat, once more holding the bundle in her arms with a sweet smile on her face. Anna silently carried bloody towels and blankets to the small bathroom, to be soaked in water and washed later.
Dorothy fawned over the bundle in the exhausted woman’s arms while Stella went about prepping some water to clean her up. It was almost like a rehearsed dance that all the girls knew by heart and performed flawlessly without fail.
“Margarita, come meet your sister,” Ruth Salazar seemed to be in great spirits despite the labor and her clear exhaustion.
The woman was beautiful with hair the color of rich warm American whiskey and eyes soft and light like honey. The olive-colored skin glistened with sweat, yet her smile was sweet and her eyes were happy. She was a traditional Italian beauty with high cheekbones, wide eyes, and plump lips yet despite her beauty, humility covered her like a cloak.
“That was my mother; she was a great mother, and she didn’t deserve half the things life threw at her, but life was all about the choices we make. My mother, unfortunately for her, chose to marry my father despite my grandparents not approving.”
Everyone knew how big this was in Italian culture, to marry someone that was not approved by the parents was practically a declaration of disownment.
“They never liked Miguel, which is a point in their favor for their great judge of character. A trait my mother did not inherit,” the woman scoffed, rolling her eyes.
“Despite her flaws, she was a great mother if not a weak woman.”
“I don’t know what’s to meet, it’s another girl. Father was not happy about it.” Ruth flinched at the reminder of her husband’s anger and Margarita glared at her sister for ruining the moment with her blunt words.
“Stella!”
“See, what I tell you, she's a bitch,” the woman declared as if anyone had been doubting her.
“Stella was the perfect example of a conditioned woman. She believed that men were basically a personification of God on earth and as mere mortals us women owe them obedience and reverence for simply being allowed to exist in the same space as them.” the woman made a face of disgust as if she tasted something rotten or bitter.
“Margarita told me that it had been because Stella had felt guilty about not being born a boy so when she was younger, she would do everything to please Miguel even dress like a boy and pretend to be one of them. To me, she’s just a hypocrite,”
“What? It’s true,” Stella shrugged with an unbothered pout.
“Whether he was or not, doesn’t matter,” Margarita scolded more like a parent than an older sister. “This is a happy moment for our mother and us, don’t ruin it.”
Stella pouted and glared at her older sister but kept her mouth closed, she was clearly not in the celebrating and happy spirit that the rest of her family was in.
The girls all sat around the much more subdued woman to look at their new sister. Stella’s comment served to knock Ruth’s spirits down but if there was one thing she could do it was pretend everything was fine.
“What’s her name?” Anna spoke her first words of the night and she was almost drowned out by the thunder and rain, but her mother knew to keep an ear out for the soft-spoken girl so she heard her.
“Geraldine, her name will be Geraldine.”
