Page 85 of Cougar Chronicles

Stacy widened her eyes. On her computer screen was a grainy black-and-white photo of a much younger Michael Moretti, nine years younger to be exact. He had just started shooting covers, had just started making a name for himself in the business. The article was from a local newspaper and had obviously been scanned onto the computer by the owner of this particular fan page. Stacy squinted to read the small blurry print.

Ten

“You not eating enough.” Michael’s mother heaped spaghetti and meatballs onto his plate. “You going to waste away, Michele.”

Michele.Mee-kay-lay. Only his mother used his given Italian first name. He’d changed it in elementary school when the boys had realized it spelled a girl’s name in English. After a bloodied nose and black eye, he’d had enough.

Francesca Moretti prepared the best spaghetti and meatballs in all of Chicago, in all the world, probably, but today, they tasted like sawdust to Michael.

“I’ve only lost a few pounds, Ma.”

“That’s not like you. Now eat.” She shoved the plate closer to him.

He twirled spaghetti on his fork and brought it to his lips. Yep, still sawdust.

“Now, you tell me what’s wrong,” his mother said, sitting next to him.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“When my son lose weight and no eat my spaghetti, something’s wrong.”

Michael regarded his mother, a little plump now, but still a beautiful woman at sixty years old. He’d never understood why his father had left. Once grown, Michael had helped her out as much as he could. His whole sugar mama idea had been as much for his mother as it was for him. Once he was too old to dance and model, how would he make a living? How would he help take care of her?

“You spend two days at home and no eat.”

He took another bite of spaghetti. “I’m eating.”

“Why you not on the road?”

“I took some time off. They’re training a few new guys and they didn’t need me right now.”

Truth was, the new blood was younger, buffer, and hotter. Michael had overheard one of the managers commenting on his love handles. So losing a few pounds was a good thing. Hell, he hadn’t even been trying.

“You meet a girl, Michele?”

A girl. Was this really all about a girl? Stacy still haunted his mind. All he’d wanted was a woman who would take care of him in exchange for his companionship. Should it have been that difficult to find? It wasn’t like he was broke. He had some savings. He even had a small house. He’d had relationships here and there, but never anything permanent, never anything real.

Not like what he’d had with Beth.

No, he wasn’t looking for that. Love meant heartache. First, his father abandoned him, and then Beth.

Nope, never again.

“You know how I feel about women, Ma.”

“Yes, I know you like women, just don’t want to marry one.”

“Is there anything wrong with that?”

“You getting old, Michele. Where my grandbabies?”

“Getting old! Damn it, Ma, I hear that every day in the industry I’m in. I don’t need to hear it from you.”

“Don’t you use that language with me, Michele.”

“I’m sorry, Ma. I truly am.” There went the Catholic guilt again. No one got to Michael like his mother did. “But you asked me where your grandbabies are. You know the answer to that. Your grandbaby is in the ground. With Beth.”

“I know you love Beth.” His mother smiled, and the tiny wrinkles around her dark eyes softened. “I love Beth too. And that baby she carry. But that long time ago, Michele. Time to heal.”

---