With Help from Michael O'Leary Pt. 04

"My pleasure," she rubbed her forehead and laughed.

He could not believe it when she came in the next morning to switch the hardware store's checking account from Bostonian Bank, the bank next door to the hardware store, to Earth Bank, the bank diagonally across the street from the hardware store. He thanked God for finally delivering him his angel and his angel's name was Gabriella. Unfortunately, his angel was married and had a 3-year-old daughter.

Chapter 18 His Angel

He could not remove his eyes from the rhythm of her walk. She enthralled him. He wished he had found her before. He wished she were not married. He wished she were his.

For two years, she came to his window whenever he was free. When the time approached 9:45am and 3:45pm and he spotted her through the window crossing Hanover Street, he rushed his customer to free his window for her. Often, he was able to clear it to accommodate her and to look in her eyes, to fill his brain with the sound of her voice, and drink in her loveliness to take her away with him in a dream that interrupted his sleep that night.

His pillow was her lips and his blanket bunched around him was her body. His imagination fueled his desire for her. He was desperate for her. Yet, she was his only in his dreams because she belonged to someone else.

He saved such lust for her. He so much wanted to bed her, to touch her, and to see her naked. He so much wanted to make slow and passionate love to her while hearing her say those four words, "I love you, Michael." His dream of her always started and ended with those four words.

It ruined his day when she had to use another window but, even then, she always caught his eye to say her smiling, "Hi, Michael, how are you?"

When she used his window, he could not take his eyes off of her. Yet, every time she came to his window, she stole his tongue along with his heart and the conversation was the mundane same.

"Hi, Michael, how are you?"

"Fine, Gabriella, and you?"

"I'm good," she said with that sexy Italian accent that drove him mad with desire for her.

"It's a nice day, today."

"Yes, it is."

"But they said it might rain, later."

Every time she came to his window, the sexual tension between them turned the conversation to the weather. He wanted to say more but could not.

Is it hot enough for you, Gabriella? Do you like it hot? Tell me, Gabriella, how hot do you like it? Can I tie you up and blindfold you? Can I spank your ass? Would you take me in your mouth? Can I lean you over the counter at the hardware store and bone you up the ass? What if I bang you in the vault? Would you like that?

She made him crazy. He was so horny for her. It only took a look from her, from those eyes to make him hot and hard. Oh, he so wanted to dip his prick in her tight pussy and fuck her until she moaned his name in that sexy Italian accent.

"Oh, Michael, fuck me. Stick that cock in my mouth first. Let me make you hard with my tongue before you stick your dick in my pussy."

Never has he had such impure and pornographic thoughts about a woman. He realized finally the reason why she made him tongue tied was because she was married, married to another man. Michael who was once almost a priest subscribed to the Ten Commandments, especially the tenth commandment, you shall not covet your neighbor's house; you shall not covet your neighbor's wife, or his male servant, or his female servant, or his ox, or his donkey, or anything that is your neighbor's.

Okay, he did not want the neighbor's house nor would he ever covert his male servant, even if his neighbor had one, he was not gay. He would not covet his neighbor's female servant, that is, unless she was single and looked like Gabriella. And, he had no use for an ox or for a donkey, so there was no reason for him to covet those animals, even if his neighbor had an ox and a donkey, which fortunately, he did not. Unfortunately, it was the neighbor's wife that caused him the most guilt and that got him in trouble with God. Oh, yeah, he broke that commandment wide open by coveting his neighbor's wife. He saw Moses atop the mountain holding the Ten Commandments and yelling at him.

"You of little faith shall not covet Gabriella, thou neighbor's wife, and that means you, Michael O'Leary."

Then, one day, she patiently waited for him to finish with another customer, something she had never done.

"Hi, Michael, how are you?"

"Fine, Gabriella, and you?" Generally self-assured and confident in her demeanor, Michael noticed her nervousness.

"I'm getting a divorce."

She's getting a divorce. Did she just say that she is getting a divorce? Gabriella, the woman I have loved since the day that I saw her two years ago is getting a divorce. Suddenly, Michael saw Moses atop the mountain holding the Ten Commandments and smiling.

"She's all yours, Mickey. Go for it."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Gabriella." He loved saying her name but just as the ella rolled from his tongue a smile betrayed his sincerity. Oh, happy day, Gabriella is getting a d-i-v-o-r-c-e.

Now, their secretive lustful relationship was free to blossom into love openly. Prolonged by conversation filled with flirting, teasing, coy looks, and innuendos from both, her transaction took longer each day. Yet, inhibited by his priestly manner for fear that Moses would somehow emerge from the mountain holding the Ten Commandments and break them over his head because her divorce was not final, yet, he never crossed the line of inappropriate behavior with a married woman. Before she told him that she was getting a divorce, whenever he saw her at the hardware store or away from the security of his teller's window, he was unable to reveal his deep desire for her. He could handle their relationship as friends but he could not summon the courage to take it to the next level and ask her out. And that frustrated him.

She knew how he felt, he suspected, it was obvious. She always made eye contact with her sensual hello, engaging him in conversation with the musings of today, tomorrow, and yesterday. She offered him her good-bye with eyes as full as her breasts and with a smile as bright as the sparking medallion of the Virgin Mary that dangled from the shiny, Italian gold chain around her neck. Surrounded by Irish women with red hair, blue eyes and freckles, she with her mahogany hair, brown eyes, and olive complexion was exotically exciting to him.

"Hi, Michael," she said his name in two distinct and melodious syllables. Then, with a wave of her perfect, little hand, she said when leaving, Ciao, Michael."

Even when a customer waited for his attention, a violation of Mr. McCarthy's customer service policy, he watched after her as she walked through the lobby, exited the front door, and disappeared across the street before he helped the next customer. Even the customer turned to watch her leave the bank before expecting his attention and service.

Her perfume teased his nostrils after she left the bank and he inhaled to savor the scent of her. Her voice lifted him to a higher place. The glow that he received from her visit made his day. He loved how she pronounced his name, accenting the second syllable more than the first, and allowing the hael of Michael to drift off her lips like smoke from a cigarette after making love. He wrote her name everywhere and everyone at the bank knew that he loved her.

He frequented the hardware store everyday accumulating a collection of tools and hardware that any master carpenter, journeyman electrician or professional handyman would envy. The other tellers teased him whenever he returned from lunch carrying the seasonal sale items, a hose and spade in the Spring, a beach chair and suntan lotion in the Summer, a rake and leaf bags in the Fall, and a shovel and deicer in the Winter.

Their fingers touched across the counter as she handed him his purchase or gave him his change. The sensations of her soft skin touching his created an excitement that traveled through his body like electricity, warming it more than the hottest hot chocolate could on the coldest day. He wanted to take her little hand and hold it. He wanted to lift her delicate fingers to his lips and kiss them. He wanted to kiss her and devour the feeling of her soft, full lips.

He wanted to slowly undress her, to see her in her bra and panty. He wanted to lie next to her while staring at her in her underwear. Slowly, he wanted to remove her bar, caress her tits, and suck her nipples. He wanted to feel her through the fabric of her panty before he rolled them down and removed them exposing her pussy to him. He wanted to touch her pussy and feel her moist lips before playing with her clit and finger fucking her to make her wet enough to accept his hard cock. He so wanted to see her naked, to hold her, and to make love to her.

He bided his time waiting for the day when her divorce was final and when he would see her away from the bank, away from the hardware store, and away from the spying eyes of the ignorance of the neighborhood residents with their stupid gossip before asking her out and divulging his feelings for her. Never did he see her anywhere by accident or by fate. When she came to the bank, there were always other customers and bank employees around. When he went to the hardware store, there were always other customers and hardware store employees around. He felt foolish.

Unfortunately for him, but fortunately for her, Gabriella, before her divorce, took the postal examination and passed it and, during her divorce proceedings, accepted a mail carrier's job with the United States Postal Service. She needed the income, the job security, and the benefits that came with full-time employment. A single mother now, the child support that augmented her part-time salary at the hardware store was not nearly enough to support her and her, now, five-year-old daughter, Angela.

"This is my last day at Hanover Hardware," she said to Michael, her brown eyes as dark as Espresso and as invitingly warm searched his soft, blue eyes. "The Post Office sent me notification. I start work Monday at the South Station Annex." She waited watching him fidget with a broken piece of Formica on the countertop. "Ironic, isn't it? She said.

He stopped his fidgeting and looked at her, his eyes searching hers for an explanation.

"What's ironic?" He said, finally.

"Your job transferred you from South Boston to the North End and, now, my job transfers me from the North End to South Station near South Boston." She flipped back her hair and laughed. "The irony is too funny."

He loved her laugh. He loved how before she laughed, she flipped back her hair with a toss of her head and, after her laugh, always caught him enjoying her. She embarrassed him and, unable to avert his stare, he felt like the fool for reacting to her look, for not asking her out, and for not telling her how he felt about her. As always, she flipped back her hair, but she did not laugh and she did not give him the look that caught him enjoying her. Suddenly, he felt rejected.

Devastated by her news that he would not see her every day and by her sudden inattentiveness towards him after not giving him her laugh and her look, he did not know what to say. Pressured to say how he felt, he could not talk. Instead, he stared at his beautiful Gabriella the same way that, as a boy, he stared at a beautiful butterfly before it flew away, forever. He wanted to cry.

He wished he could be more like the leading man in a love story and pull her close with his arm around her waist and his other arm around her shoulders, but the counter separated them. He thought of leaping the counter to embrace her in a kiss, but he could never jump high enough to clear the cash register. He wanted so much to touch her, to hold her, and to kiss her. He wanted to brush back the hair that always fell across her right eye, caress her face, and declare his love for her.

"Don't leave, I'll take care of you and Angela," he wanted to say. "I'll make you happy. The three of us will be a family. We'll have a wonderful life together."

He wanted to tell her that he loved her and that he wanted to marry her, but he could not say it. His fear of rejection disproportionately looming over his diminutive dimensions in a dark shadow of low self-esteem and low self-confidence stopped him from revealing his true emotions. Instead, he asked for a package of picture hangers, paid for his purchase, and turned and walked towards the door.

Before Gabriella, there was Shannon Kelly, but she did not return his interest.

"You're too short," she said when he asked her to the prom. "We would look ridiculous dancing together," she said making a face. "Everyone will laugh at me."

Even though he grew 3 inches to his present height of 5'3" tall, he figured still too short for Shannon's 5'7" frame. Besides, she went out-of-state to college and never returned to the neighborhood. He never saw her again.

Crushed by her rejection, he did not go to his prom and his high school graduation, accepting his diploma by mail weeks later. For three, long and agonizing years, he sequestered himself in the seminary trying to forget Shannon Kelly, trying to give himself to God, trying to sacrifice himself for his religion, and trying to become a priest for the wrong reasons. There he stayed as long as he could, until the seminary felt more like a penitentiary.

He dropped out of the seminary a year before giving his vows and years before hearing through the neighborhood grapevine that Shannon and her tall, but alcoholic and unemployed husband lived on welfare somewhere in New Jersey with their three kids. He went on with his life.

"I'll miss you," he said with his hand on the door knob. He turned to see her reaction, to see if she would give him that look once more, that look that she gave him after tossing back her hair and before laughing, that look that he hoped she saved only for him, but she had disappeared around back. Gabriella, his beautiful butterfly had flown away forever.

Chapter 19 Gabriella His Elusive Butterfly

Gabriella stood in the aisle between the plumbing and electrical supplies waiting for Michael to leave. She did not want to cry in front of him. She did not want him to see her vulnerable and dependent upon the affection from yet, another man. She stood with her arms folded with her hand to her mouth listening for the door to open and shut and waiting for him to leave.

She had never loved anyone as much as she loved him. From that first day when he entered the hardware store more than two years ago, she could not take her eyes off of him. He, with his orange hair, bright blue eyes, and radiant smile, was handsome. He touched her deeper in their first meeting than in all the years that she had known her husband. He touched her soul and, since that day, she could not think of anyone else but him.

As soon as she heard the door close, her tears fell like rain. She walked with her head down to the far corner of the aisle in the rear of the store and hid her face in her hands in a quiet sob. She hoped that those pain-in-the-ass customers who came in just to leer at her would not come in today. She did not have the patience to ward off the advances of the army of horny, married men who were her secret admirers. She needed time alone.

How could he leave without saying anything to me? The feeling of the loss of him sickened her. The way that he looks at me melts my heart, surely he feels the same way bout me as I feel about him. She looked around to see if anyone was watching, then wiped her eyes with a tissue and blew her nose.

The times when I gave him his change, when our hands touched, surely, he must feel the electricity, too. She threw up her hands in exasperation. I wish he would take me in his arms, look me in my eyes so that I can see that he adores me, and kiss me. He must tell me that he loves me and wants to marry me, so that I know that he wants to live the rest of our lives together. She dried her tears and blew her nose, again.

Except for Angela, I wish my life was different. She hid her face in her hands and sobbed. I wish I had met him before. I wish her were not so shy. I wish I were Mrs. Michael O'Leary. Michael, why can't you tell me how you feel about me?

She never loved Vinnie like a wife should love a husband, Angela's father. They were best friends. They started their relationship rebounding from broken hearts, too needy and too dependent upon one another to understand what it was they started. The fact that they never argued should have been a clue that their sorrow, which they carried with them from their previous relationships, made it impossible for either one of them to begin a new relationship, so soon.

Engaged within a month of meeting and married by twenty-one, they should have taken more time dating, developing their interests, and seeing other people. Too careful not to reopen the wounds in themselves that their prior lovers had inflicted, they became too comfortable with each other, too soon. The flame of lust that should have warmed their love later in their marriage never ignited. Too much like an old, married couple by age twenty-four, companionship replaced sexuality making her feel that she was missing something in her life. With Angela as their only bond, they soon lost interest in one another.

"We must stay together for Angela's sake," said Vinnie. She was the only close friend that he had. "Gabriella, we must try to make our marriage work."

"Maybe, we should have another baby," she said, but they never did, did not even try, both realizing that is was a bad idea and that their marriage was over. They knew that they needed to find happiness and that they could only find happiness with someone else.

Once Angela was off at school and Gabriella was working part-time, Vinnie started having affairs. First with a woman at work, then with someone he picked up at a bar, and finally with Angela's kindergarten teacher, Gina. Gabriella received many offers from admirers who frequented the hardware store but remained faithful. Inevitably, the marriage was over. The final blow was the distance that she exhibited to Vinnie after she met Michael.

She could only think of him. She dreamt of him and was consumed with the thoughts of him. With a look, he made her feel like she was the only woman in the world. She felt so special when she was with him, even if they were talking business at the bank or talking hardware at the store. She loved being in his company and she just knew that he felt the same way about her. Michael, I love you.

Chapter 20 Love Lost

Michael saw little of her after that, an imagined glimpse of her rounding a corner, a passing car that drove her image across his mind, a scent of her perfume that exploded his senses or laughter that sounded like hers. Whenever any of those things happened, he hurt so much that he wanted to cry with the loss of her.

Everything reminded him of her. He ran to the corner hoping it was she, trying to seize the scent or the sight or the sound but, always, it was someone else. Each time, excitement raced his pulse, lifted his mood, and quickened his step like the Michael of old. Each time, disappointment dashed his hope. His mind troubled with the lonely thoughts of him without her, he wished he had it in himself to say how he felt about her but, afraid of her rejecting him, he could not.

His affection for her grew with the length of time that passed without seeing her and without talking to her. He had not had this feeling for a woman since after high school, just before he entered the seminary to forget Shannon Kelly. He could not eat, sleep, or think of anyone else but her. Unable to focus, he became depressed and irritable finding it difficult to make it through his day without his daily dosage of his Gabriella.