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Curiosity
Back to: Apologies of Men Next: Breaking the Silence
Chapter 51: Curiosity

Alarie walked into the Delicatessen feeling a truckload of relief because Illyana had finally reached out to her, and requested to meet up. It had been three days. 72 texts with no response, 13 unanswered calls–Alarie hated talking on the phone so that was testament enough of how concerned she had been to try and call. She figured Illyana had been too busy to reply; it wasn’t unheard of in their friendship to go a week without contact but Illyana was usually good about responding to even one missed call. Alarie was thankful Illyana was all right, though slightly annoyed that Illyana took so long to respond. However, as she spotted Illyana sitting at the usual counter top inside, she knew something was wrong.

“Hey,” she greeted as she approached but stopped at the chair next to her friend and leaned on it. Illyana was staring forward with a frown, “It was about time you texted back.”


“I’m mad at you,” Illyana stated, foregoing any words of greeting.

Alarie paused as thread of terror shot down her limbs because Illyana Sanchez was never one to directly tell someone she was mad at them. One only found out of Illyana’s slow burning yet steadfast anger after years of no contact. She was lucky it had been only three days.

Alarie made a move to the other side of Illyana, noticing Illyana wouldn’t even look at her.

“What did I do?” Alarie asked curiously, taken aback, and hauled herself up onto the counter chair.

“You only left me alone with the vilest, most narcissistic, entitled ass clown in Kashmire!” Illyana replied, still with an unmoving frown. Still refusing to look at her. Alarie had to wonder if Illyana wasn’t just being overdramatic.

“Was he really that ba–”

Illyana cut her off sharply, and finally did turn her gaze to Alarie, “He slipped some kind of drug into my drink, so yeah–he really was that bad. I swear if you spent less time trying to get me to hook up with random assholes, we’d all be better off. So I’m saying this once–I don’t need or want your help when it comes to my love life. I will, in my own time decide when I am ready to pursue anything of the sort, and not before.”

Alarie usually would go on the defensive after being told off like that but Illyana’s words were like ice–sharp and chilling–and it made Alarie freeze up with an encompassing worry. She could understand why Illyana was mad at her but it was never Alarie’s intention to get her hurt. She thought maybe Illyana would get her mind off her ex-boyfriend if she was distracted with someone else. That’s what she would have done in the same position.

She took note that her face was heated and her body was tense, holding in words she would have shot back at Illyana otherwise, the word ‘sorry’ seemed to bubble up in her throat but she pushed that all back because there was something more worrying to her, “Are you okay? He didn’t do anything did he? Because I’ll tear his fucking legs off...”

“Don’t bother, Nick already called the cops about him.”

Nick.

So, it was true. They had been hanging out again. Before Alarie could ask about that development, Illyana dropped a card between them on the counter top, “Speaking of assholes–remember that guy from the casino? The one I punched?”


Alarie nodded.

“He tracked me down. Somehow.”

Alarie’s eyes widened with greater concern but before she could ask anything more about it, Illyana tapped on the business card, “and he knows something about my father.”

The concern transformed to utter surprise. Illyana barely talked about her father, in fact, the one time that Alarie could recall Illyana mentioning anything about him was when they became friends in junior high. The friendship was new, Alarie was getting used to having more people to socialize with outside of her immediate family, as she had been home schooled up until then by her father. She would invite Illyana over nearly every day to hang out and they would swim in the pool if weather was nice or watch TV, or tease Antoine while he tried concentrating on building his nerd-bots. This one day though, that lived in Alarie’s memory was when her father told her she couldn’t have Illyana over because Alarie hadn’t cleaned up her part of the shared bedroom. Alarie argued she had, but mostly because she shoved all her stuff to Alanna’s side of the room, which got her even in more trouble. Of course, perfect little Alanna had cleaned her side and tattled on Alarie for trying to get out of the chore. Alarie had to tell a disappointed Illyana what her father had decreed.


Alarie was beside herself in outrage as she walked home from school, “Ugh! It's so not fair. He is such a hard-ass sometimes. So what if the room isn’t clean? You don’t mind hanging in a messy room, right?”

Illyana shook her head paired with a shoulder shrug.



“I wish Dad would just get off my case,” Alarie pouted and kicked a rock that went clicking across the sidewalk in front of them, but noticed Illyana had stopped walking. Alarie turned back to look at her new friend curiously.

“At least you have a dad,” she finally said.



Alarie picked up the business card to read it–“So he wasn’t mad that you punched him?”

Illyana shook her head, “He didn’t care about that at all.”

“What did he want then?” Alarie placed the card back to the surface of the counter.

“I don’t know, I told him to fuck off.”

Alarie laid her head in her hand and sighed because Illyana often made unwise, short-sighted decisions when she was angry.

A waiter brought them cups of water and asked them if they needed more time, to which they both nodded and waited until no one else was in earshot to continue the conversation.

“Well, did he say anything else?” Alarie prodded curiously.

Illyana narrowed her eyes to think and then said, “He assumed my mother would have told me about him...but mom hasn’t ever mentioned anyone named–”Illyana glanced at the business card and said the name on it pointedly, “Bee-a-cot-tee."

“Well there you have it,” Alarie concluded and Illyana knotted her brows with confusion so Alarie spelled it out for her, “Ask your mother who he is! If he thought she would have told you, she should know. Then we can all get on with our lives.”


“Mom is busy.”

“It’ll take literally two seconds.”

“Maybe,” Illyana said quietly.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s more than just wanting to know who Tony is–I want to know who Dad was. My family doesn’t talk about him, not really. All I have are old pictures, and even then, most of them are put away in boxes. I don’t know why she tries to bury all of him. He’s dead but he can live on in memories, you know?”

Alarie reached out and put a sympathetic hand on her friend’s shoulder with a small nod. She was surprised Illyana had said so much about the subject, not knowing that was how her friend felt for all these years about it. She didn’t handle other people’s emotions that well, and didn’t know what to say but her mind went back to that memory in which made her grateful that she had a father than none at all.

“Hey, let's order. I’ll buy.”

--------


Illyana tapped her fingers on the surface of her desk, each rhythmic hit was loaded with nervous frustration. She pulled her hand away and rubbed her eyes; she had been staring at Tony's business card–more specifically, at the numbers of his cell phone. It was a trap, somehow. She felt it was. The skin on the back of her neck prickled with a bad feeling. He wanted her to call him, that's why he left her with a piece of bait: her father. A man so mysterious to Illyana, and she yearned to know more about. She didn't understand how Tony knew her family, and how Tony had known her. Maybe Alarie was right and she could ask her mother.

Illyana twisted her lips in an unsure manner, knowing her mother was working a late shift —when wasn’t she? Maybe Illyana didn’t want to know, but a part of her really, desperately did. She was as bad as a cat as far as curiosity was concerned.

"Mama, I have a question."

"What is it? I don't have much time to be on the phone before I need to get back to work."


"Do you know who Antony Biacotti is?"

As she said it, she kept staring at the embossed black print stark against the white background of that business card. It looked so expensive, just like Tony–she knew he had money, so why would he know anything about her struggling, working class family?

There was icy silence on the end of the line.

"Mama?" she broke her concentration away from it, noticing there had been no response.

"Where did you learn that name?"

The way in which her mother asked this, it was unlike any tone she'd ever heard. It was of pure loathing and it startled Illyana to the bone, making her feel like she was in trouble, but not knowing what for.

"I..." Illyana's curiosity flared up ten-fold than before she had called. There was some merit to what Tony had said, and her mother was suddenly on guard. She scrambled to sound convincing and casual, "I heard of him when I was in Pandora with my friends. I thought maybe he was a politician or some–"

"Forget about the Biacottis. You will be only too lucky to never cross paths with the likes of them," Her mother cut her off with instruction and then mumbled something in Espanian that sounded like 'Sons of bitches'

Just Illyana's rotten luck she had punched one in the mouth.

"But Mama, why?"

"I don't have time to talk about this, Yana," her mother sounded hassled but her tone turned affectionate a second later as she said in Espanian, I love you, Goodbye."

What a dead end that turned out to be! She wondered if she could ask her brother if he knew why their mother was so bent out of shape at the mention of that particular surname. Iago was older than Illyana by a few years but rarely visited home and spent most of his time shacked up with his boyfriend in Memosa Bay. She decided that this mystery was greater than her pride.


"Illy, long time no talk. What's up?"

"Does the name 'Biacotti' mean anything to you?" She came right out and asked, not in the mood for any catch-up talk. If Iago wanted that, he could afford to come home for the holidays. Bus tickets were only 15 simoleons per trip.

He seemed to pause, to run the name through his memory, "I mean, it sounds familiar but I don't know why or where I've heard it. Why do you ask?"

She shifted her weight where she stood and answered, "I asked Mama and she reacted very strangely. She said, I would be 'lucky to never cross paths with one.' I didn't know she carried grudges..."


"Are you kidding me? Where do you think you got it from?"

Illyana would have stuck her tongue out at him if he were there in person; an inherent reaction to his teasing. Illyana didn't like being teased. She didn't deign him with a reply either.

He was having a few laughs to himself, like he'd cracked one of the funniest jokes in a long while but eventually focused back on her question, "Sorry, but I can't help you with names. Is there anything else you need since you obviously didn't call just to say 'hi’?”

"That door swings both ways," she bit out in Espanian.

"Not until one of us walks through," he replied in kind, and hung up without saying goodbye.

She held in a breath of frustrated air at his retort; he was so stubborn. They hadn't seen each other or really even spoken at length in three years. All because he insulted her boyfriend at the time, the very same one that had broken her heart a little under two weeks ago, and now the insult seemed warranted...but she responded with a more personal insult, being hot-headed and not thinking of the consequences. The consequences ended up being Iago's lack of contact. She wasn't the only one who held grudges.

So, what now? She threw the card back onto her desk and sat again. She didn’t know why the business card attracted her eye so much and found herself staring at it again. It was such a simple yet elegant design. The black and the white, contrasting–it left her feeling uneasy.

She held out her phone in front of her, gnawing on her bottom lip with a nervous energy and then eyed the cell number on the business card. What did he want? Damn it, what did he want from her? She had to know, and quickly dialed the number to get it over with, hoping she wasn’t about to end up like the cat in the proverb for this decision.


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