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Francesca Moretti - September 28, 2007 02:23 AM (GMT)
“Okay everybody. You know what time it is.” The echoing of her voice brought the small group around her to a stop. All eyes seemed to be upon her: students, people in jogging suits slowing down as the passed the strange sight before them, a group of tourists thinking that this was some sort of public reenactment of the history of Central Park. Hmph. Goes to show how ignorant they were. No, while this spectacle was mostly for the benefit of the nineteen and twenty years old who formed a circle around Francesca and two young men dressed in outfits that looked like they would have been in fashion three hundred years ago. In there hands were replications of two old fashioned pistols, everything borrowed from the drama department back at the university.
But why were these two dressed up boys standing in a circle of students in the middle of Central Park holding what looked like guns? Simply put, history. What was supposed to be a two hour lecture on one of the most infamous events in the country’s history had been converted into quite the spectacle. But then again, everything about Francesca’s classes was a spectacle. As part of her working on her PhD, she had taken up teaching a class for one of the professors. A basic introductory history course, what should have been fascinating material Ms. Moretti saw in the format of drawn out lectures. She’d been there, done that, and she’d be damned if anybody had to go through the same torture that she’d endured. Hence the goofy costumes and the props and the stares of everyone around her. It didn’t help that she was the daughter of one of the most infamous mafia dons in the country, but Francesca didn’t like to think about that.
While the class she was supposed to be a series of lectures, Francesca couldn’t see herself standing behind a podium for almost an entire year. While it might have been tradition, tradition was one thing Frank had never held close to her heart. Age was on her side, and all it took was a few strokes on her laptop and the message was sent out. Class would be meeting at Central Park today, be there by two-ten or you don’t receive credit for the day. It was a bit strange, seeing the hoard of fifty students turning up, bags slung over their shoulders, confused looks on their faces. Then came the calls for volunteers. Laughter followed as they were tossed their costumes and props and the lesson begun.
And if she had to say, it all went swimmingly. She fit the part of the professor, her pressed black slacks and crisp blouse, hair pulled back in a loose knot. Heck, she didn’t even dress like this when she was at Columbia. Then it was going straight from her class to the stacks…or the library…or to her little closer of an office to work on making her ever-approaching deadline.
But not today. No, after months and years of working on her dissertation, it was about time for a day to herself. How she planned on spending it, she didn’t even know yet. Time was not something that Francesca found herself possessing enough of, and to have half of a day to herself was a rare occasion. She knew she should probably visit her brothers and her parents. Since she’d started working on her PhD, she’s practically isolated herself from the rest of the world, but diving head first into family problems never was appealing.
“Remember. Old Man Davis is coming to view my lecture next class, so make me look good, or I’ll be forced to endure more of his visits and will be held to his lesson plans.” She couldn’t help but smile with these words, breaking out into a chuckle with the laughter of the people around her. “And your papers are due either in class on Friday or underneath my office door before I go home for the day…if they’re there any later, then they don’t exist.” It wasn’t very likely that anybody heard these words, everyone was already packed up and heading off as she shouted them out. Shrugging her shoulders, she hitched up her own bag and followed the trail of students down the path.
It was then that she noticed two students holding a combination of wood and metal. “Alex! Jason! You don’t want to be walking around New York. If the cops see you with those, you’ll end up locked away for sure.” Her arms outstretched, she waited for them to deposit the prop dueling pistols. Things would probably be worse if she was caught with them, assumptions would be made and she would end up before a judge for sure. But other members of the Family had been in worse situations, and nobody would ever think to search Francesca’s bag where she intended on keeping the fake guns until they could be returned to the prop room tomorrow.
Fake guns.
Check.
All of her research.
Check.
Her sanity.
Well, for sanity’s sake…check.
Now just to decide what the hell to do.
Free time was definitely a luxury Francesca Moretti wasn’t used to.