The Witch of Little Italy Read Online Free PDF Page A

in here much. Only to clean. So you’ll find a lot of her in here, or at least the ‘her’ she was when she was mine.” Mimi moved her hand to the doorknob. It was made of cut glass in a deep shade of purple. Mimi stopped for a moment and looked up at Eleanor. There were tears in her eyes. “When she was little she liked to pretend this was the largest amethyst in the world, you know. It was the most marvelous thing, her imagination.”
    Mimi opened the door, pushing past the squeaky complaints of its hinges.
    The room was old-fashioned but lovely, just like Eleanor’s memory of the rest of Mimi’s apartment. And so much like Carmen’s own personal style. Only Carmen called it “Classic Chic.”
    There was a four-poster bed pushed against a large window, and a beautiful Persian rug under her feet. Against one wall stood a two-door armoire with full-length oval mirrors, etched with misty vines and flowers at the borders. Kitty-corner on another wall was an inviting dressing table. Eleanor sat down on the pink cushioned chair in front of it and took stock of the shiny contents cluttering the tabletop before her. Makeup jars, perfume bottles, necklaces … all waiting for a sixteen-year-old Carmen to come home and claim them.
    Mimi stood perched at the threshold, her posture unsure. The air between them began to settle into a silence. Awkward, yet softly exciting. Like an unexpected snow day.
    “Can I get you something to eat? A cup of tea, maybe?” asked Mimi.
    “No, thank you.” Eleanor’s voice sounded strange in her own ears. Higher. A pitch she was unused to.
    Mimi took a hesitant step into the room, sniffed the air, and moved closer to Eleanor. Soon she was behind her and they looked at each other in the dressing table mirror. So many reflections of people all in one night, thought Eleanor. “I looked at my mother tonight in a mirror just like this. When we were fighting.”
    Mimi took off Eleanor’s hat and put it on the dressing table. She picked up a heavy silver brush with soft white bristles and began to brush out Eleanor’s long, straight hair.
    “Your mother has always liked to have conversations in mirrors. She gets to look at herself while she talks. I’m sure you know how vain she is,” said Mimi as she brushed down to the ends of her granddaughter’s hair.
    Eleanor looked at Mimi in the mirror. It wasn’t like looking at Carmen’s reflection at all. There wasn’t any competition, or tension. Mimi just … was . She was there, brushing her hair as if she’d done it every night for as long as they both could remember.
    A pile of small paperback books caught Eleanor’s attention and she pulled against her grandmother’s strokes. T. S. Eliot. e. e. cummings. Tennyson. Keats.
    “She liked poetry, huh?” asked Eleanor.
    “Yes. She doesn’t anymore? She used them for her monologues at school.”
    “I don’t think I’ve seen her read anything but scripts. And beauty magazines. She likes music though.” Thinking of Carmen curled up with a new script made Eleanor start to cry.
    And she likes to dance. And she smells like India. And she hates me.
    “You know how you tell a naturally beautiful woman from the rest?” asked Mimi.
    “How?” asked Eleanor, grateful for the detour.
    “If she’s still pretty when she cries, that’s how. A lot of women swell up and get all blotchy. But a naturally beautiful woman will shine. Look at you…” Mimi put down the brush and rested her chin on the top of Eleanor’s head, placing her hands on each side of Eleanor’s face, centering their reflection. “You are shining, my dearest beauty.”
    Eleanor wanted to say so many things. But nothing came out. She pulled away from her grandmother and put her hat back on.
    Mimi took the hint and went to leave. “Will you be okay? Do you need anything?”
    “I don’t know,” said Eleanor, her throat tight.
    “No, of course you don’t. Well, it might be cold comfort, but I love you, Eleanor, and