The Beautiful People by E. J. Fechenda Page A

to make a pot of coffee; only half listening to the
news as I toasted a bagel. A news story caught my attention and I stopped what
I was doing to listen. The newscaster was discussing a shooting that had
occurred overnight in South Philly on Lombard Street. They said it looked like
a mob hit, even though the Philly mob was supposedly no longer in existence.
The victim had been identified as George “The Stump” Fratelli. It was “The
Stump” that had grabbed my attention. I remembered the other night at Crimson
when Grant and Uncle Marco were discussing a guy named Stump who hadn’t paid
his bill. Could this be the same guy? If so, wasn’t Grant supposed to take care
of it? I laughed at myself and the idea that Grant was in the mafia. This was
probably just a coincidence.
    The rest of the news
was boring and the weather forecast I could have done myself - more freezing
cold temperatures with no end in sight. I scarfed down the bagel, poured coffee
into a travel mug, and bundled up to face the cold.
    The studio lab helped
to distract me and I immersed myself in a sculpture project. I was used to working
with clay and embraced the challenge of working with metal. Once I got a handle
on the welding torch, the metal was just as malleable. I enjoyed getting lost
in the project and felt like I had accomplished something as I walked back to
my apartment. I had tonight to get caught up on my work, before I had to work
at Crimson again. One good thing about not being with Dominic was that I could
get my work done. At least I tried to convince myself of that.
    I turned the corner
onto my block and immediately stopped. Dominic’s Mustang was parked directly in
front of my building. My heart stopped too. I didn’t know what to do. I was
ready to write him off and was not expecting him to be waiting for me. I
thought about turning and going back around the corner but saw the driver’s
side door open and Dominic getting out. He must have seen me. I narrowed my eyes
and made sure my emotions were in check before marching up to meet him.
    His face lit up when he
saw me approach and my step faltered. He saw my hesitation and frowned, the
green of his eyes grew darker.
    “Dominic,”
I greeted him with an emotionless voice.
    “Hi.”
He leaned down to kiss me and I took a step back. “What’s wrong, Nat?”
    I couldn’t meet his
eyes and was beginning to wonder if I was acting psychotic. Sure, he didn’t
call me last night, but here he was standing in front of me, wanting to kiss
me.
    “Oh…I,
um.” I struggled for words and debated whether to give him another chance. I
cursed the effect his very presence was having on my resolve. “Can we talk,
upstairs?”
    “Sure.”
He followed me up to my apartment. Chelsea was in the kitchen making ramen and
we waved as I led Dominic back to my room. I shut the door for some privacy and
dropped my jacket and backpack on the floor. My bedroom wasn’t nearly as
luxurious as Dominic’s. My bed wasn’t made and the comforter hung off the side onto
the floor. The desk under one of the windows had a pile of textbooks on it and
the easel in the corner held a canvas with a painting in progress. One of my
bras hung on the back of my desk chair and I quickly grabbed it and shoved it
in the top drawer of the Ikea dresser. Dominic poked around my room as I attempted
to control some of the chaos. He picked up a framed picture of Grant, me and my
mom that sat on my desk. It was taken at Grant’s high school graduation; when
we were wide eyed and innocent. That was eight years ago and we were both a lot
wiser now.
    I could feel Dominic
watching me as I flitted about the room nervously, pretending to straighten up
in order to buy some more time because I didn’t know how to begin.
    “Nat,
what’s going on?” Dominic broke the silence and I was out of time. Still unable
to look at him, I began to speak.
    “This
is probably going to sound ridiculous or psychotic or both…” I risked a