The Russos 2

by D. J. Manly

  And after, he held her and smoothed back her hair.

  He looked into her eyes and said, "Thank you, Sophia."

  He stood up, dressed and sat back down in his chair.

  She lay there on the sofa as if waking from a dream and thought that she could die now. It would be okay, because she had known the ultimate pleasure in his arms. There was nothing more to know now. The taste of him was still on her lips and she wanted him again, right now, but he was in the chair, far away from her. Is that what love felt like? God, it was beautiful... he was beautiful.

  Then he looked at her and said, "Sophia, promise me something."

  "Anything," she replied, sitting up, pulling her clothing modestly in front of her. She would have given him anything, too.

  But he wasn't looking at her. He was looking at the photograph of Julia on the wall in front of him.

  "Take care of Drake. Be a mother to him. He needs you."

  She flowed with happiness. "Yes, Drake, yes," she said, believing he meant for the three of them to be together. It was going to be all right. She would help him fill the space that Julia left. She would give him everything, if only he would touch her again like that.

  She would write to Joseph, explain why she couldn't possibly marry him. He would be hurt, but she was doing him a favour.

  Drake left the house after that. He looked at her, told her goodbye and left the house. When he didn't return that night or the next morning, she went looking for him. Then she notified the police.

  She was frantic. No one had seen him. He was gone.

  A week later, his body washed up by the river.

  Sophia walked down by that river for several nights after that, trying to think of reasons why she shouldn't join him there. Only that little baby stood between her and that water. Drake had saved her life. He was the reason she had gone on living.

  She knew that Drake's father had never loved her, but she had desperately loved him. If only he had given her a chance. She could have made him happy.

  Unsure of what she was to do, she had contacted Drake's cousin down at the factory where Rosa worked and asked him his advice. He was a very nice man, and explained to her that Drake's parents had died young, and Julia's family had disowned her when she had married a musician. He had five children of his own and really didn't want to take on another, so she was welcome to raise the boy as her own. He told her he would contact Drake's lawyer to find out if he had made a will.

  Within three days, the lawyer called to tell her that Drake had a will, which stated that everything naturally went to Julia in the event of his death. Since Julia was gone, blood relatives were next in line. This, of course, would include his son.

  The whole affair became very complicated. As it turned out, Drake and Julia spent every cent Drake made. There was very little money in the bank, and the taxes were due on the house at the end of the year.

  Sophia couldn't pay. She stayed at the house for another month and then made arrangements to go home and stay with her mother until Joseph came back.

  Drake and Julia's house was repossessed for back taxes. Sophia went home. Her mother was not thrilled that her daughter came home with a baby. She lied to her mother and told her that she and Joseph had secretly married before he left. She didn't think her mother believed her, but she pretended to.

  Sophia wrote to Joseph and told him about the baby.

  She also told him that she lied to her mother about them being married before he left.

  What she should have done was tell Joseph the truth, tell him that she had fallen in love with someone else and was now raising his child, whom she also loved.

  But she let him believe that Drake was his and he never knew the difference. He had adored Drake.

  She had some happy times with Joseph in their lives together. They did have two sons, two sons she dearly loved, but Drake...he was special. He was a constant reminder of his father, of the only man she would ever love. He looked so much like his father that sometimes she would catch her breath when she looked at him.

  She could swear it was her Drake; the way he walked, the way he laughed. It broke her heart to look at him.

  Sophia sat up. She couldn't sleep. She went into the bedroom and lifted her suitcase onto the bed. She reached into the inside flap and pulled out an envelope.

  Inside was a picture of Drake and Julia. She had taken it with her when she had left the house with little Drake.

  Drake's parents.

  She pressed her lips to Drake's picture and closed her eyes. "My love, I will make sure he knows you...and you too, Julia...both of you...before I go. Maybe you can forgive me for the hell I've made of your son's life. If it's any consolation, I've ruined my son's life as well. He's in the hospital now, he might die. But I never knew...I didn't understand...couldn't really believe that... sometimes I even forgot that they weren't really brothers. I should have understood feelings that powerful. I've seen a love like that before...the love you had for Julia, and the love I had for you. It's not an everyday kind of love. Your son, his love is tearing him apart, and it's my fault for not taking the shame away. It's all my fault, Drake darling."

  She was crying when the phone rang. She picked it up.

  "Mama?" the voice said. "Is that you? Are you all right?"

  She clutched the phone. "Drake? Drake!" she cried, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. She recognized his voice immediately. "Oh, God, Drake, my baby, is that really you? How are you? Are you all right?"

  "Mama," Drake laughed slightly. "Calm down. I'm all right. You?"

  "Me? I'm fine."

  "Mama, how is Johnny, really?"

  "I don't want you to worry about that now," she sighed. How could she tell him that Johnny lay in the hospital like a corpse? "What is happening with you?"

  "I was with my lawyer just now. I think they're going to let me out of here soon," Drake announced.

  His voice was without expression.

  Sophia started crying again. "Thank you, God...God, thank you," she said, looking up at the ceiling.

  "There will be a hearing, but it will probably be just a formality. I didn't mean to shoot Johnny, it was an accident. You do believe me, don't you?"

  "Of course I believe you," Sophia snapped back.

  "Any fool who knows you would know that you'd never hurt your brother." Sophia wasn't quite sure what he meant by a hearing, but it sounded positive.

  "I can't wait to see him," Drake was saying now.

  "Mama...please, tell me the truth. How is he really? What do the doctors say?"

  "Not much. It's too early to tell. Are you okay? Pepi... well...he didn't say this to me, but I heard him talking to Mac. He says you were depressed."

  "A doctor gave me something for my nerves. I'll be fine. I've been doing a lot of thinking, that's all. Now, tell me about Johnny."

  "Did you know his son is coming?" Sophia asked.

  "Ya, Angelo told me. That's great. Has Johnny regained consciousness yet?"

  "No," she said.

  There was silence on the other end of the line. For a moment, she thought he was crying, but when he began speaking again, his voice sounded quite calm.

  "I've got to go. You can tell everybody the news if you see them before tomorrow. When I get out of here and the police finally stop destroying my house, you can stay with me while Johnny recovers, okay? I'm not far from the hospital. Actually, everyone can come and stay with me until Johnny comes home, Pepi and Angelo and Janet, if she wants to."

  "Okay, darling. You take care, and I'll see you soon. Are you sure you don't want me to come and...?"

  "No, Mama. This is no place for you. Take care," he said and hung up.

  * * * * * *

  Mac was laughing as Janet went to warm up her piece of pizza in the microwave oven, that was fastened to the wall next to the vending machine in the corner. Shit, if he had known that it was going to be all this trouble to get a pizza up here, he would have jumped on his bike and went
to pick it up. When the guy arrived downstairs with the pizza, security had detained him twenty-five minutes. They finally went downstairs and got the pizza themselves.

  "That poor delivery guy, he looked like he was about to piss his pants," Mac took a bite of his cold pizza.

  It felt good to laugh. He hadn't had a hell of a lot to laugh about in the last couple of days.

  Janet tried to take her pizza out of the oven, but it was too hot and she burnt her fingers. "Shit. It's hot and limp."

  This made Mac laugh again. "Hot and limp, don't think I've ever heard those two words put together in a sentence before."

  She gave him a sassy look. "Ha, ha. Very funny. Sure you don't want me to heat up your piece?"

  Mac raised an eyebrow. "Heat my piece if you want, baby, but I don't want it to be limp."

  Again, Janet gave him a look, and then grinned.

  "What a dirty mind."

  She brought the pizza over and sat down beside him.

  She took a bite and then began to laugh.

  "What? What?" Mac asked her.

  Janet looked at him. "Just can't help thinking about the look on that kid's face when that burly security guy announced he was going to frisk him."

  Mac nodded with a smile. "Poor kid."

  She ate in silence for a while. "It was nice of you to give him your autograph." Janet finished her pizza and wiped her hands.

  "The least I could do. I should have known they'd give the guy a hard time. I know it's important to have security, but shit...sometimes, I get so fed up with it. It's annoying."

  "The price of fame. There have been some scary times. Remember that guy with the Mohawk who climbed up on the stage at that concert in Ohio?"

  "Ya, you got a good memory, woman, that was years ago when I was still in my prime," he teased.

  She grinned. "I remember your prime. It was nice."

  Mac sobered. He looked into those beautiful blue eyes and wondered how he ever let her walk away.

  She looked back for a minute, and then it got to be too much. She tore her gaze away.

  "It wouldn't have worked," she said softly, keeping her hands busy by unnecessarily moving around this and that.

  Mac reached over and placed his hand over one of hers.

  She looked at him again.

  "Why wouldn't it have?" he asked.

  "You know why." She cleared her throat.

  He removed his hand. "Drake," he said.

  She didn't reply. She stood up and folded the pizza box in half.

  "How long are you going to love someone who doesn't love you in the same way?" Mac asked her.

  "I can't help the way I feel. I'll always love Drake."

  She walked over to the garbage and tried to force the pizza box inside.

  It wasn't going to fit. Mac walked over and took the box out of her hand. "I'll take it downstairs to the garbage bins."

  She nodded.

  "You know," he said, turning halfway to the elevator, "I was prepared to accept the fact that the real love of your life was Drake. I could have lived with that, Janet. If you would have given us a chance, I think I could have made you happy. In time, you might have even come to love me."

  Tears stung her eyes, but she said nothing. She had been afraid to love him, afraid to relive the pain she had felt when her marriage to Drake had fallen apart.

  "It never works when you love someone else, I guess," Mac said. "I think Kate knew down deep that my heart was elsewhere. That's why neither one of us was that destroyed when it ended."

  Janet turned to look at him. "Oh, Mac," she said softly, "I did care. I...those months that we were together were wonderful. I'm sorry."

  Tears were streaming down her face. He wanted to comfort her, but he was afraid he'd start to cry himself, so instead he mumbled something about taking the pizza box downstairs and disappeared.

  * * * * * *

  The restaurant was dimly lit. Candles shimmered on each table on top of white linen tablecloths. The waiter brought another bottle of wine and Pepi quickly refilled both their glasses.

  Angelo drank the wine and then shook his dark head as his uncle went to refill his glass again. "I've had enough, thanks, Uncle Pepi. God, I'm close to being sloshed. Where do you put it all?"

  Pepi laughed. "I'm Italian. There's a special genetic insert they put in for us that allows you to drink unlimited amounts of wine and still stand up. You wouldn't understand, you're only half Italian." He waved his hand.

  Angelo chuckled. "Really, well, it looks to me like that insert is pretty well full. Have you had enough to eat?"

  "I don't think I ever want to see another egg roll as long as I live. I would like dessert, though, how 'bout you, kid?"

  Angelo looked doubtful. He rubbed his belly and laughed. "I think it's full, but you go ahead. I'll have some coffee. My head's spinning. Want a coffee?"

  His head really wasn't spinning, but he was trying to encourage his uncle to slow down on the wine a little. It was almost eight o'clock in the evening and they were supposed to meet Johnny's son for the first time at the hospital. Pepi was not going to make a great first impression.

  Pepi threw his arm around his nephew and laid his head on his shoulder for a second. "Remember the first time you ever got drunk?"

  Angelo laughed. "Ya, I was sick as a dog. How much tequila did we go through that night, at least a twenty-ouncer? Dad was mad as hell. I threw up all over his bed."

  Pepi was laughing hard. "How old were you, sixteen?"

  "Hell no, more like fourteen. You were such a bad influence on me."

  "Ha. Bet you were no angel over in Europe this past year. Tell me about it?"

  The waitress came. Angelo ordered coffee for both of them.

  Pepi yelled out that he wanted chocolate cake with ice cream.

  Angelo wrinkled his nose. "Are you sure that after all that wine you want to eat sweet stuff?"

  "Ya. Don't change the subject. Tell me what you did and who you did it to in Europe." Pepi drained his wineglass.

  Angelo smiled and looked around him. "You're too young," he teased.

  "Bull. I'm ten years older than you are. So, young, beautiful, hard-toned bodies, lots of drugs, rock and roll...come on?"

  Angelo shook his head. "Here comes your cake and oh...thank God, coffee."

  Angelo asked for the bill. The waitress asked Pepi for his autograph when she put the bill in front of him. He laid down his gold card and then scribbled his name on the receipt when she returned.

  "And you?" the waitress turned to Angelo. "Are you anybody?"

  "No. Nobody," Angelo replied with a smirk.

  "He is too somebody. Don't you know who Drake Russo is?"

  The waitress gasped. "I didn't recognize you...my God..." she squealed..."Drake...it's Drake Russo!"

  "Sh--h--ii--t!" Angelo jumped up out of his seat and grabbed Pepi by the arm. "Come on. Jesus Christ, what did you have to do that for, Pepi?"

  Angelo made his way through the restaurant clientele, who were scrambling to get a look at them.

  "I'm not Drake Russo!" He called out, moving toward the front door.

  Pepi was laughing. "But you are...you are Drake Russo!" He laughed.

  "Not the real Drake Russo," Angelo grumbled under his breath as they stepped outside.

  It was pouring and as soon as Carter spotted them, he stepped out and opened the door.

  Angelo pushed Pepi inside and then got in himself, pushing down the lock as people crowded the limousine.

  "To the hospital, sir?" Carter asked.

  Angelo took a look at his uncle, who had passed out in the back seat, and sighed. "Stop by my grandmother's hotel first, Carter, I'm going to leave my uncle there. Then I'll go on to the hospital alone."

  "Yes, sir," Carter replied and pulled carefully away from the curb.

  Angelo lay back against the seat and closed his eyes.

  He had a hell of a time in Europe. He had spent three weeks in Amsterdam, smoking good hash
and experiencing an entire range of sexual pleasures.

  He had spent two days with a girl called Greta in Austria, who had to be one of the most uninhibited sexual partners he had ever had. She was at least six feet tall and beautiful, with voluptuous breasts and an insatiable sex drive. All they did the entire two days was fuck. He didn't think they even stopped to eat.

  God, she wore him out completely.

  Then there had been Jean-Claude and Philippe, who lived in a loft in Paris. They were two of the most beautiful men he had ever seen; almost too perfect, with luscious well-toned bodies and smooth bronze skin.

  Jean-Claude and Philippe were a couple. Jean-Claude was in his early forties but looked thirty, and was an incredible lover. He was an artist. Philippe was his model. He was nineteen and totally devoted to Jean-Claude, which Angelo could well understand. Jean-Claude was drop-dead gorgeous and extremely generous in his lovemaking.

  In the bar, Jean-Claude did most of the talking while his companion moved up close to him and ran his hands over his arm. Jean-Claude told him that he looked just like Drake Russo. Philippe thought Drake Russo was the sexiest man alive, and Jean-Claude would have liked to give Philippe the real thing, but he wasn't available. "But you," he said, "you look more that Drake Russo than anyone we've ever seen."

  Angelo didn't mention he was Drake Russo's son.

  Jean-Claude asked him to come home with them that night, saying that he wouldn't regret it.

  It didn't take him long to agree. Jean-Claude and his model were the best-looking guys in the bar and he knew that if he didn't go for it, someone else surely would.

  He went back to their loft, and didn't leave for three days.

  He stayed in Paris another week and went back to visit them just before he left. Philippe wasn't home.

  Jean-Claude told him he was beautiful and he wanted to paint him, but it would have taken too long.

  He wanted to move on to England and maybe visit Scotland and Wales. So he took off his clothes, smoked a reefer and let Jean-Claude sketch him. Jean-Claude said that he wanted to make love to him, but felt guilty because Philippe wasn't there.

  Angelo said it was okay, stubbed out the joint and got up to dress. Jean-Claude wiped his hands on a rag and came over to where he was putting on his shirt. He began to take it off again, explaining to Angelo that he was sure Philippe wouldn't mind, and he really didn't have to know about it. They spent two hours making love.