“Bobby?” I yell again. He’s in the bathroom filling up the tub. “Did you hear me?”
“I heard you. What is it?”
“Come see for yourself.”
“I can’t come see for myself. Tell me what it is.”
“It’s Laura Dixon,” I say to him, and suddenly he can come see for himself. He turns off the tub faucet and hurries his naked ass into the bedroom.
Laura Cox-Dixon is holding another press conference, and she’s admitting she lied. The story hasn’t even come out yet about her lying about the miscarriage, and she’s already fessing up? I look at Bobby. But he’s staring at her on that television.
And when I say she’s confessing; I mean she’s not holding back. Not only was she lying about Bobby being the father of her unborn baby, she says, but she admits lying about that rape allegation too. She wanted attention, she claims, and that’s why she did it. She apologizes to Bobby and his family, and to the citizens of Jericho, not ever mentioning that Capecchi had anything to do with it, or that she had a miscarriage before her first press conference where she announced she was pregnant with Bobby’s baby. And then she leaves the stage.
I’m shocked, but Bobby’s not surprised at all. “Good,” he says, and is going back into the bathroom.
“Good? That’s all you got to say?”
“The water’s ready,” he says, smiling and glancing back at me. “How’s that? Now bring your ass on.”
I smile, too, because I’m relieved about this turn of events, but I’m also surprised by it. I get off of his bed and head into the bathroom. He’s getting in the tub as I’m taking off my clothes, which are nothing more than a pair of shorts and a t-shirt I threw on for the elevator ride. But what happened, I’m wondering? Why this sudden change of heart? Did that “uncle” Bobby’s father spoke about have something to do with it? If he did, he didn’t even wait to find out if his help was needed. He just went to her, apparently, threatened her or whatever, and she changed her tune. Just like that.
I even ask Bobby about it as I get in the tub, and he admits he has what he calls some “odd” characters in his family, and his Uncle Mick is one of them.
I sit down, and like most mornings where we’re supposed to be bathing together, we mostly just sit there with his back against the tub and my back against his chest, talking. And then, later, we’ll bathe. “What do you mean by odd?” I ask him.
Then I realize what he might mean and look back at him. “You mean like drug dealers?”
But he quickly shakes his head. “No. None of them are drug dealers.”
“Then what do you mean by odd?”
He exhales, like it’s not easy telling me this. “There’s a rumor, I’m not saying that it’s true, but there’s a rumor that some members of my family, such as my uncle and some of my cousins, may have some kind of mob affiliations.”
He says this and stares at me, like what he just said is supposed to shock me.
“Oh, that,” I say and turn back around. But I can tell he’s surprised by my reaction.
“Oh, that?” he asks me, and turns me back around to face him. “What do you mean oh, that?”
“It was wrong of me to do it, but--”
“It was wrong of you to do what?”
“To judge. To stereotype.”
“What are you talking about, Rain?”
“When I first saw your father, I kind of figured the mob was a part of your family’s business.”
He laughs. “My father?”
“Yeah.”
“My father’s not in the mob. His brother may have some ties in that direction, my Uncle Mick, and they try to claim he’s the mob boss of all mob bosses. But my old man? No way. Why would you think Pop, of all people, is in the mob?”
“Because of the way he looks, and the way he dresses. And--”
“And what?” He’s still smiling.
“I hate to admit it, but because he has that Italian, Godfather thing going.”
He laughs even louder.
“You have it, too,” I say to him, “so I don’t know why you’re laughing.”
But he wraps his arms around me and don’t hold my stereotyping against me. “I know, I know,” I say. “I’m always talking about people prejudging other people, but I’ve just showed my true self. I’m as bad as everybody else.”
“No, you aren’t,” he says to me. I realize he’s no longer laughing, but is serious, when I feel his fingers inside of me. Then I feel his penis enter me. And now he’s fucking me and holding me even tighter against him and grunting his ass off. He’s not laughing now.
With the water soothing me, and his dick giving me one of the best morning fucks I’ve ever had, I’m leaning against him with my eyes close. He’s squeezing one of my breasts with one of his hands. He’s flicking my clitoris with his other hand. And he’s filling me up with his massiveness so completely that my entire body feels as if it’s under his total control.
I lean my head back over his shoulder, and place one of my hands on the side of his face, and he starts kissing me too. And now it’s too much control because I’m having an orgasm to end all orgasms. I’m cumming and I’m cumming in a big motherfucking way. I’m bucking against Bobby like I wanna jump out of my own skin I’m cumming so hard.
And then Bobby’s cumming too, and the water’s splashing out of the tub he’s fucking me so forcefully. And pouring into me so deep. I feel his hands all over me. I feel his dick deep inside of me. I feel his sweet lips on my neck as he’s kissing it now. I feel everything and I feel nothing but pleasure. Bobby does that to me.
Until he’s out of energy, too, and can’t do anything more than just hold me.
But he’s got loads of energy a few days later when he picks me up one evening and drives me to the Lexus dealership. He’s in a great mood, despite the fact that the governor of the state, who has the power to temporarily remove a mayor from office if he engages in what’s called gross misconduct, has asked for a status report on the Laura situation. Bobby sent two of his aides: Jolien, his executive assistant, and Kathy, his senior aide, to travel to the state capitol and brief the governor. But even that isn’t bothering him.
He’s especially pleased that his poll numbers didn’t drop because of Laura’s allegations. Her allegations didn’t help his numbers, but he didn’t take the kind of bad hit bad publicity usually causes. Gerard Bakker helped too. He was all over local TV blaming Matt Capecchi, as if he was the puppet master behind Laura Dixon’s lies, and that may have helped too, although Capecchi was on TV denying everything. But that’s why, I guess, Bobby’s brought me to this car lot. He’s on a high.
But I’m still unsettled about it. Not that I’m all attached to my raggedy-ass car. I’m not. But I’m already so indebted to Bobby. I’m staying in his condo for free. I got my job thanks to him. It’s a lot.
And now this.
He knows it too because, when he parks at the dealership, he turns to me. A salesman hurries to the car, and he’s standing at Bobby’s door waiting to assist him in any way he can, but Bobby doesn’t even look the man’s way. He’s staring at me. “This isn’t easy for you,” he says. “Is it?”
“It’s easy in a way,” I say. “Because I know I need a better car. But it’s hard in another way.”
“Me buying the car for you, in other words?”
“Right. I still say I can afford a car note myself.”
“You could. But you’re be damn near broke every pay period. You want that?”
“No, but that’s how it goes in the real world, Bobby. People have car notes.”
“Okay. Let’s make a deal.”
I smile. He sounds like Mafia himself when he says that. “What kind of deal?”
“You agree to save every dime you make while you’re with me, and I agree to pay for everything while you’re with me.”
I laugh. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“You’re missing the point,” he says. �
�By saving your money, you aren’t buying a car as a symbol of your independence, you’re actually buying your independence.”
That goes completely over my head. “And how am I doing that?” I ask him.
“If our relationship doesn’t work out. It will, but if it doesn’t work out between us, then you’ll leave me. And knowing you, you’ll leave the car I bought you. There’s no way you’ll take it with you.”
“I sure won’t.” We’re very upfront about the fact that we might not make it. But we’re also pretty certain we will. But we keep it real.
“But if you leave me the car I purchase for you, then you’ll have nothing left,” he says.
“But if I buy my own car, I’ll have my own car to keep if it doesn’t work out between us.”
“But if you save like I’m telling you to save, then instead of a car, you’ll have your own money, sitting in your own bank account, to live off of. You won’t plunge your son into any kind of financial crisis again, and besides that, you can buy your own car with your own money then. If that’s not independence, I don’t know what is.”
It’s crazy, and has a lot of holes in it, but what he’s saying also makes some sense. It makes a lot of sense.
“Now,” he says, realizing I get what he’s saying, “let’s stop keeping these greedy salesmen waiting and find you a car worthy of your status as my lady.”
I laugh. “You’re such a meek bastard,” I say, and he laughs.
And we finally get out of the car and immediately get attention. Their mayor is at their dealership, and that mayor happens to be wealthy. We get a lot of attention.
The car we both decide is worthy of Bobby’s lady is a brand-new Lexus LS. And I’ve never purchased a car like this before: a car we didn’t even test drive because it’s brand new, Bobby and the salesman said, and it had better work properly. A car that Bobby purchased with a check and had no need of any drawn-out credit checks. A car that didn’t have me waiting all day as if my time wasn’t worth a damn. We finished in under an hour. I’ve never seen anything like it.
I also didn’t know the thing cost eighty thousand dollars until we’re standing in the finance manager’s office. And when I hear the price tag I almost fall out. But Bobby holds me up, laughing, and telling me, like I buy that shit, that it’s no big deal. If we break up, it’ll be his car. “And you know me,” he says. “I like what I like.”
I’m looking at him as we get the keys and are heading to this beautiful car. He likes what he likes, he said, but when he hands me those keys, I’m grateful, truly grateful, that he likes me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
I open the door for her and she plops down on the shiny seat of her brand-new automobile for the very first time, and she’s grinning from ear to ear. It’s the joy of my life seeing Rain so happy. And these last couple of months have brought a lot of happiness to both of us. She appreciates things.
“You’re gonna ride with me?” she asks me.
“And do what with my car?” I ask her.
“Leave it here,” she jokes. “My car cost more than your car anyway.”
It doesn’t. My Mercedes-Maybach S650 cost over a-hundred-and-ninety-eight-thousand bucks, but I let her have her fun. “I’ll follow you home,” I say, she says okay, and I make my way to my car. And I’m still smiling at how thrilled she is, and how she almost said no.
But as soon as I sit down in my car, crank up, and then buckle my seat belt, she’s getting out of hers, which is in front of mine, and running toward me. I press down my window. “What’s wrong?” I ask her, as soon as she makes it up to my car.
“We should have test drove it, Bobby. It won’t crank!”
“Won’t crank?” I’m unbuckling my seat belt and getting out of my car. That makes no sense whatsoever. A brand-new, eighty-thousand-dollar car and it won’t crank? I follow her back to the car.
“They forgot to put the slot in,” she says to me as I get inside of the car and sit down behind the wheel.
“What slot?” I ask her.
“The slot for the key,” she says.
The slot for the key? What slot for what key? She’s standing inside the car door, and I look at her. “What do you mean?” I ask her.
“Where you put your key in, so you can drive it. They’re so fancy, they forgot to put one in there.”
At first, I’m as lost as a stray cat. But then I realize what she’s saying. And I’m floored. I place my shoe on the brake petal. “You mean this?” I ask her, as I press the Start Stop Engine button, and the car cranks like a charm.
And now Rain’s floored. “How did you do that?” she’s asking me.
I look at her, and I realize a startling truth. She’s had nothing but old clunkers for cars her whole life, and probably never drove a modern car ever. “You press the button, darling,” I say to her.
“You don’t have to put the key in the slot thing? In the ignition thing?”
“No, Rain. Not anymore.”
“Since when?”
“Since Mercedes first introduced the smart key in 1998.”
“1998?”
“On their top of the line models, yes. Didn’t you see how I was cranking up my car every time your butt got in it?”
“I wasn’t paying attention to that. I thought you got behind the wheel and put in the key and it crunk up.”
We look at each other, and then I laugh. I can’t help it. And she starts laughing too. “It’s not funny,” she says, but she’s unable to stop laughing either. We have a laughing fit, right there at that car lot.
“Now get out of my car!” she says.
I get out still laughing, and kisses her on the mouth. “You’re one of a kind, Rain,” I say to her. “One of a kind!”
She pushes me playfully as I leave her car and head to mine. She gets into hers.
But that’s when I notice something odd. It’s not a big deal, but it’s still odd. I notice a green Buick driving around the car lot. What’s odd is that it’s the same Green Buick I saw driving behind us for part of our ride to the dealership. Now it’s at the same dealership, and it’s moving slow toward Rain’s new Lexus? Toward Rain? And then I see the driver side window press down. and then I see what looks like . . . what could be . . .
A GUN!
“Rain,” I say, as I begin moving back toward her. But I’m so scared I’m barely whispering.
“Rain,” I say again, but even I can’t hear myself speak. It’s like I’m almost paralyzed with fear.
Then I scream, RAIN! and run as fast as I can toward her Lexus. Run ready to jump in the line of that bullet and save her life if I have to.
She apparently heard me that last time because she’s getting out of the Lexus just as I run up to her. And just as the gun aims right at her, and fires.
I dive on top of Rain at the same time that gunman fires, and I shove her, with my big body on top of her, back into the car. And then the bullets fly. There’s a hail of bullets flying. A barrage of bullets, like that gunman is determined to empty his chambers on the two of us.
I stay on top of Rain, and we’re both on the floor. I don’t have a weapon on me, but I’ve got my body. Whoever’s firing those shots will have to go through me to get to Rain.
It seems like an eternity. The bullets are piercing the metal of that brand-new car and turning it into a salvage car right before our very eyes. An eighty-thousand-dollar hunk of junk. But I don’t give a shit about that car. I’m holding onto Rain with all I have. I’m pressing her down, with my own big body, as hard as I can.
And then, miraculously, the sound of all of those bullets stop, and then the sound of a car burning rubber can be heard. And then total silence.
When I look up, the car is gone.
Rain ask if I’m alright before I can ask her if she’s okay. She is, but that’s my baby. Always worried about somebody else. If not Ayden, then me. If not me, then whoever happens to need her help. And for some fucker to drive up on this car lot and think
he was just going to take her away from me? Just like that? I pull her to me, with my anger only matched by the love I have for this woman in my arms.
After we get out, and the employees of the dealership race out to assist us, I escort Rain inside the building. Just in case. And then I get on the horn.
I call Brent, and ask him to get to my condo to make sure Ayden’s okay.
I call Pop, and tell him all about what went down, and how close we came to losing Rain.
And then I make one last phone call. Because payback is a bitch.
I call my Uncle Mick.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
We’re in Bobby’s penthouse and everybody seem almost too upset to talk. I’m sitting beside Bobby on one side of the couch, and Ayden’s sitting beside Bobby on the other side. I don’t think you could get a razor between the three of us: that’s how close we’re sitting. It’s as if we’re relying on Bobby for strength, and he’s relying on us for strength. But no matter how you slice it, in the last few months, Ayden and me have grown very attached to Bobby.
What happened at that car lot today only reinforced our bond.
His parents are here, too, with Big Daddy walking around the living room with his hands in his pockets like he’s mad and sad, and Mrs. Sinatra sitting in one of Bobby’s living room chairs being the voice of calm she always seems to be. Bobby has a glass of liquor resting against his forehead, like he’s nursing a headache, and I have my hand on his back. As scared as I was, and as shaken as I am, I think it’s affected Bobby even worse.
It’s Big Daddy who breaks the ice. “What’s Brent said about it?” he asks Bobby. “Have his men found anything?”
“If they did, they aren’t letting me in on it,” Bobby says. “You know how Brent is.”
Bobby Sinatra: In All the Wrong Places (The Rags to Romance Series Book 1) Page 20