Page 11 of Falling for the Bosshole

They drove down a busy district and came to a stop before an edifice that looked like it was taken from Architectural Digest. It was modern but had an old-world charm about it. The whole structure appeared seamless, although one could tell by the windows that took up entire walls that it was partitioned into smaller spaces inside. Just before the entrance was a memorial bust of a man. The inscription read, “In Memory of Dominic Mancini.”

“Who’s that,” Ana asked.

‘My dad,” Lash said.

They entered the premises, and the centerpiece in the lobby immediately struck Ana. A covered wagon was in full display. Thinking it was a replica, she inched closer and realized it was the real thing.

“That’s a Gypsy wagon called “vardos.” It’s similar to a car that gypsies use for traveling. With the top off, it becomes a working vehicle, but when you put the top back on, it transforms into sleeping accommodations. Some of these wagons are lavishly furnished with velvet, satin, and silk furnishings; they look like mini houses,” Ana gushed.

Lash looked at her in surprise.

Ana moved on to the next thing that caught her attention. On the wall were mounted various horse harnesses, painted with intricate designs. She was so fascinated she hardly noticed Lash was trailing after her. The various artifacts that greeted her enthralled Ana. The walls were filled with old photographs depicting the Gypsy way of life. There were life-size figurines of a family in traditional costumes around a campfire. She looked at Lash in bewilderment.

“This whole place is about the Roma people and their culture?” she asked.

Lash nodded.

“Why?” Ana persisted.

“Because I am half-Gypsy. My father was a Gypsy.

Ana gaped. She never knew that. She looked at him excitedly and blurted, “So am I on my mom’s side.”

Lash smiled. “It’s nice to know we have something in common, Ana.”

Ana was ecstatic. Knowing they shared a common heritage was a welcome surprise, and this Foundation with all its artifacts was unexpected. Whatever barriers she had put up against him suddenly melted away. Then she noticed something that made her gasp. She approached it hesitantly, almost afraid to go near it yet was unable to resist.

It was a crystal ball. She ran a finger across its smooth glass surface.

“My mom used to own one of these,” she said softly, gazing at the multicolored quartz floating inside. “She gazed at it for hours. One time I asked if I could hold it. I thought I had asked something bad because she looked terrified. Then she made me promise never to touch it. One night while she was asleep, I crept into her bedroom and took it. She woke up, and I got frightened and dropped it. It broke. I was just a child, but I’ll never forget the look on her face. It was like she hated me. She wouldn’t speak to me for days. I cried and promised to find her another one so she’d love me again. But she brushed it aside and said it was not important.”

Ana didn’t realize there was a pained look on her face as she continued, “Things were never the same. There was this wall between us, and I couldn’t get through. It stayed that way until she died.”

“Oh, Ana, I’m sorry…” Lash said softly.

Ana blinked away the tears that threatened to fall. “My relationship with my mom had always been odd. She was ashamed about being a gypsy as if it were a curse or something. Funny thing, it was always I who felt I was missing something.”

Ana was so engrossed in reminiscing, she almost forgot about Lash. She breathed deeply and said, “Enough about me. But what about you? There must be a reason you have all these,” she waved an arm about her.

“I never really understood my dad. I always thought he was eccentric, preferring to stay home while my mom worked her ass off. When you’re young, you have this belief of what a father should be. He was unlike all the other dads I knew. It was my mom’s dying wish that I learn more about the Gypsy culture in the hope that I would see him differently. He had peculiarities that I didn’t understand. Dad had a separate bathroom that only he could use. And every month for as long as I could remember, there were days he didn’t sleep in the same bedroom. It was only when I started studying the Gypsy culture that I understood. Men and women never use the same bathrooms. And every month when my mom had her period, she was considered unclean. My mom was an astounding woman. She tried to explain the reason dad stayed home. It wasn’t because he was lazy. It was because he was protecting us from people who had this bias, people who would not take him seriously because of who he was. We would lose everything she worked for. Growing up, I hated that she gave in to his every whim. When I asked her why she would say that she loved him.”

“Do you think that after all these years, you now understand the person he was?” Ana asked.

Lash shrugged his shoulder. “I don’t know. After pouring millions of dollars into this Foundation, I’m still not certain whether I am doing this to honor my mom’s dying wish or to ease my conscience for spending years hating him.”

“Oh, Lash, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“What about you, Ana? Have you come to terms with who you are?” Lash asked back.

Ana sighed before she replied. “I’m not entirely sure. There are pieces of my mom’s past that have always been a mystery. I know that when she was young, she was kidnapped. But she never told us what happened. She refused to talk about it.”

“Gypsy history is so steeped in persecution and bias. What makes the work of the Foundation so challenging is the lack of historical facts we can authenticate. We have gathered plenty of oral testimonies that we cannot verify. I have documents in the archives that may help, if you are interested,” Lash offered.

“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” Ana replied.

Lash excused himself to answer a call. He returned with a frown on his face. “That was Jonathan. He’s moving rehearsals to this afternoon. He says there are some things he needs to fix.”

“Oh…I can leave now if you need to work. I’ll get to rehearsals later,” Ana volunteered.