The Witch on Wall Street

“So is it true?” Carmine asked, itching his cheek with his knuckles. “Are women in Sicily more dangerous than shotguns.”

Jackie didn’t understand the Godfather reference. She had just returned from a vacation in Sicily and didn’t want to be back at her job, dealing with her prudish boss. Carmine knew that and was eager for the opportunity to cheer her up. He felt a connection to the coastline pictures that she posted on Instagram, although he had never been outside of his hometown in North Jersey.

“Was it the time of your life?” he asked curiously.

She laughed. “I’ve been there be-”

Her attention transferred for a moment to a customer walking in, searching for a pair of socks. “Hi how are you? Can I help you with anything,” she said in her sweetest sales pitch.

Carmine was motioning to leave when she said, “I am so hungry. I haven’t eaten all day.”

“I’ll grab a bite with you,” he offered. “I was going to grab a salad down the block.”

A mixture of anxiety and excitement flushed over her face, which Carmine noticed. But she agreed to eat with him and that was all he cared about. They chowed down on salads while the harbor water crashed onto the Seaport steps. Jackie’s tan was beaming on her face, bringing out the beautiful brown in her eyes.

“I’ve been feeling so alone lately,” she said, as two skyscrapers towered over her in both directions. “Especially since my roommate hasn’t been here.”

Carmine was surprised; she seemed like a popular girl.

“Even in Italy,” she said. “I tried to download one of those dating apps.”

“Did you meet anybody?” Carmine asked slightly unsteadily.

“No. it didn’t work. They could barely speak English.”

He let out a hidden sigh of relief.

As they strolled back to her apartment on a sunny summer evening, Carmine could sense she was thinking about what to do next. He stayed quiet; he understood that the air was filled with too many possibilities, and he didn’t want to talk himself out of one.

“Do you want to come in?” she said, in one quick breath. Then she softened her tone abruptly and said, “We could play pool, I guess.”

“Sure,” he said without hesitation, letting her take control of the situation.

She showed him the the lounge area and the pool table, but there was already a group of guys playing.

“Want me to fight them for it?” Carmine asked, in a tone that was hard to tell whether he was joking.

She laughed nervously, as she scrambled to think of something new to do. This was his first time in a Wall Street apartment and he couldn’t help but show his true North Jersey colors.

“What are you laughing at? I’ll take that pool stick and whack him over the head with it,” he said, with a serious look in his eye.

“Stop,” Dani said dismissively. “So… we could go up to the rooftop, but there’s really nothing to do. Let’s just go up to my room,” she suggested.

Then she turned back to Carmine, as if an idea popped suddenly into her head. “But don’t try anything,” she warned.

“OK,” Carmine said, smiling as if he was confused.

As soon as they walked in, the stench of cat piss slapped Carmine in the face.

“Bad cattttttuh,” she yelled, with a numbing ring. She had a black cat named Jonah. Carmine felt a problem coming on with Jonah, as if he was intruding somehow on Jonah’s territory.

Carmine roamed around the flexed studio, inspecting the room and keeping a watchful eye on Jonah. When he glanced through the window, he saw the moonlight peak between the skyscrapers; then, he heard neo-soul vocals blast through the desktop computer.

“What is that?” he asked, pointing to a stack of books buried under her bed.

“It’s an art project I worked on for school,” she said, as she sucked on her JUUL, like a baby bottle.

“Show me,” he said.

She hesitated at first.

“Let’s see,” he insisted.

She dug out her books and then opened her sketch book and detailed each page, explaining how Jonah had helped her come up with the idea while they were passing a Greek restaurant in the village.

“Kostyku- it means kitchen in Greek,” she said, without looking up the word.

“You should show my Greek friend Papa-D,” Carmine said, laughing at the thought of his old friend from catholic school.

Jackie dug deeper under her bed, pulling out sketch pads, notebooks, and a collection of previous paintings.

“This is so cool,” Carmine said, as she flipped through her books.

“So what? Can you like… draw me?”

Jackie studied his face for a moment.

“Sure. I guess,” she said as she took a big JUUL rip.

Carmine ripped his shirt off, but didn’t detect any change in her facial expression, except the fact that she was too shy to even look. She sketched the outline, while he was careful not to move around too much, leaning on his left side.

“Funny story. In sixth grade, my art teacher told the class that I was artistically challenged. My drawings were always the worst in the class, and I was always a wise guy.”

She laughed. “I am sure she didn’t mean it.”

But Carmine knew that she meant it; he could not draw.

Her eyes fluttered back and forth between the canvas and her portrait.

“First you have to draw an outline,” she said. Then, as if she was summoning her artistic powers she said, “Where’s Jonah? Jonah come here.”

“Then you have to shade,” she said, with a ringing sound to each word. “Some erasing to show the light.”

Carmine noticed that his abs were much more defined on the canvas but he was not going to complain.

“That is so cool. I could never do that,” Carmine said. “It is missing a face though.”

Jackie and her cat gazed at Carmine in unison.

“Can you draw my face?” he asked.

She took another long JUUL rip.

“I guess,” she said flatly.

She started the sketch all over again: outlining, shading, and erasing, doing her best to try and teach Carmine as she went. He listened, not to get better, but just to spend time with her. She spent the most time drawing his nose- the most distinct Sicilian feature on his face.

“I haven’t had this much fun in a while-uh,” she admitted. “I don’t need much to keep me happy. I don’t really like going out. I don’t really have friend groups. I don’t really like drinking-uh.”

There was something Carmine didn’t know about her; she never presented herself as a lonely person.

“Don’t you have to go home?” she asked routinely.

“No, I don’t care. I am having fun too, honestly,” he said. “As long as you don’t mind.”

There was a calming silence as options were being weighed in Jackie’s head; Carmine felt Jonah’s eyes scanning the room.

“So… I guess it is my turn to draw you now.”

She paused to think about what she was going to wear. He sensed that she was enjoying the game and spending time with him. It was a challenge for her and it wasn’t her first one either.

“I’m going to put on a sports bra,” she said, grabbing it from her drawer, JUUL in hand.

He thought deeply about how to start, but couldn’t come up with anything.

“OK what do I do?” he said, living up to his “artistically challenged” self.

“Just outline-uh,” she hissed.

As soon as he put the pen to paper, he could feel Jonah getting angry.

“What do you see?” she hissed again. “I’m not that skinny-uh.”

For a second, Carmine thought Jonah was talking, but he didn't see the cat’s mouth move.

“Just erase it and start over.”

His next attempt led to the same mental block.

“My neck is not that big.”

“I told you I can’t draw,” he said, ashamed that he couldn’t even get the sketch right.

“You are just not looking. Let me do it.”

Carmine looked at the canvas for a while, but he was stuck in the same spot, and now he was thinking about it even more. “I am no Da Vinci,” he said.

She let out a breath of frustration. “Maybe I just have a talent-uh,” she said, enamored with herself. Now Carmine sensed that Jonah was delighted. “Maybe everyone can’t draw like me,” she said, as if she was discovering the truth in her fairy tale.

“What is that?” he asked, referring to a portrait nailed to the wall above her bed.

“Oh, that’s my grandmother from Argentina.”

“I like it. I used to hang out with my grandma all the time in high school,” he said, hoping that she wouldn’t notice him walking away from the canvas.

“My grandmother used to tell me how she and my grandfather went to concerts when they were dating. She told me about this one guy named Johnny Mathis, who I started listening to. We should listen to him. I love how he carries his notes.”

“You mean vibrato-uh,” she said with a ring that was becoming increasingly noticeable.

“Vibrado?”

“No, vibrato,” she repeated.

“What is that?”

“It’s the way he carries his notes,” she said. “Should you even go home-uh? I think it’s too late.”

“I could just sleep on the couch, as long as that is cool with you.”

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch.”

“OK, but I have to be in the gym early tomorrow,” he said as he let out a deep exhale of frustration, not looking forward to his morning shift. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

“You know I feel like you are so against training, but you are going to get that one client and change his life, and then you are going to fall in love with it.”

“Yea, right,” he said, laughing at the idea.