Fairytales by Cynthia Freeman Read Free Book Online

overreacted at times and blamed Dominic for a lot of things because I wanted him to be what I wanted, and what I wanted was for Dominic to keep reassuring me I was his whole life. But I suppose for a man that’s not quite what he needs—to make a woman his whole existence. A woman is different, she needs that, because, for all her emancipation, or her so-called independence, she really just stepped out of the stone age. Bein’ pulled out of a cave by the hair wasn’t so long ago and to walk out of that into the Steinem age is kind of a hard thing to come face to face with. I’ve been readin’ a lot about this lady lib stuff lately, in search of myself. But that lady lib stuff didn’t have one little bit to do with me when I was a new wife and mother. Sure, I’d fight back to try and defend myself against Dominic. Because he could be very persuasive when he wanted to be, and had I allowed it, he could have submerged me and my personality. I had to fight him hard all the way to try and stay a woman in my own rights … not that I did a very good job of it in the beginnin’. I’m sure I never would’ve won any prizes from the lady libbers. The truth is, that here I was with money of my own to do with as I wanted, and Dominic with his male ego would fight me for spendin’ what was mine. However, I did as I damned well pleased, buyin’ some of the things I wanted anyway, but he never knew how guilty he made me feel—which is not exactly what Gloria is advocatin’ … but that’s the way I always felt … guilty, guilty, guilty. But then Gloria Steinem wasn’t in love or married to someone like Dominic Rossi … I was, and please forgive me, lady libbers of the world, I was never as happy or content as when I was pregnant. At these times I felt Dominic was mine, all mine, and lovin’ him as I did, I saw to it I was pregnant just about as often as I possibly could be. I never did get around to wearin’ my trousseau.
    Eighteen months after baby Dom, I gave Big Dom another son. Salvatore, whom we called Tory.
    Although Dominic’s practice began to gain some momentum, he still wasn’t makin’ just gobs of money and we needed a new house. When we looked, everythin’ I wanted was more than Dominic could afford. And as always, the problem of my money reared its ugly head. “Dominic, I’m just not goin’ to move into one of those ugly old houses just because you’re so damned stubborn.” “Goddamn it, Catherine, we go through this all the time. I’m giving you the best I can for the time being. For Christ’s sake, can’t you just wait?” “No, because it’s not the best I can afford and I’m not gonna raise my children like poor white trash.” Dominic answered, “I’d hardly call this living like poor white trash. Who the hell do you think you are, Catherine de Medici?” “No, I’m Catherine Antoinette Frances Posata Rossi and I’m gonna live in a style I’m accustomed to. I’ve had enough of livin’ in a place like that awful flat we’re gettin’ out of. Maybe that’s good enough for your family, but not for me.” Dominic went into a rage, “Well, goddamn it, you should’ve married a millionaire, not me … and leave my family out of this.” “Maybe I should’ve done just that,” I screamed back. For a week we didn’t talk, then finally, Dominic calmed down and by that time I was so utterly miserable, I guess I’d have moved into the city dump if it could’ve been with Dominic. So we compromised … we bought that five-bedroom Victorian on Scott Street … but I furnished it.
    In the meantime, Mama and Papa came out to see us. They hadn’t seen the children because poor Daddy couldn’t travel since he had had a severe heart attack and in the last year, he’d been doctorin’. It broke my heart that I couldn’t go back to New Orleans, but I couldn’t leave Dominic alone with little Dom and Tory and I was expectin’ … so those telephone calls flew between San Francisco and