Mister Shark Teeth – neé Felix – had taught me to always mention money when tracking someone down. The word has a magical way of opening up doors.
“The kid’s gonna be happy ’bout that,” the man behind the counter said, scratching his chin. “I think we got a card or sompin’. Yo – Mara,” he bellowed. “Get your fat ass out here.”
Mara appeared from the back, an illicit cigarette dangling from her lips. She was obviously the man’s wife, and she too looked the part. Scads of heavy make-up, ample hips and a sour expression. HBO would cast her in an instant. “What?” she snapped.
“This girl’s lookin’ for Frankie Romano – remember the deejay kid, used to be in here all the time. ’Dint he give you his card ’cause you was thinkin’ of using him for your cousin’s weddin’?”
“Too expensive,” Mara sniffed. “What did the little pissant think, that we was made of money?”
“Yeah, yeah,” the man agreed. “But ya still got his card, doncha?”
“Chucked it,” Mara said, shooting me a flinty glare – like how dare I even ask.
“Sorry, girlie,” my Mafia Don said. “The pie’s on me. Enjoy.”
I took my pie and cappuccino and retreated to a table in the corner. Two minutes later the guy in the army coat leaned over – as I said before, the place was tiny – and handed me a slip of paper.
“What’s this?” I asked, noticing that he had very appealing brown eyes fringed with long thick lashes.
“Frankie Romano’s number,” he said.
“How did you—”
“Overheard your conversation so I Googled him. Frankie Romano, deejay. Parties. Events.”
“Oh . . . wow, thanks,” I said appreciatively. “I really need to get in touch with him.”
“You’re not a New Yorker, are you?”
“How can you tell?”
“I dunno, kind of the way you’re dressed.”
“What’s the giveaway?” I asked curiously.
“Thin jacket. No boots. No scarf. No gloves. You must be freezing.”
“I am,” I confessed, noting that the brown eyes went nicely with the curly blondish hair. “In fact, the moment I saw you I wanted to rip that warm-looking cap right off your head,” I added jokingly.
Army Coat grinned. He had crooked teeth, not perfect like every guy in L.A., but just crooked enough to work.
“It’s yours,” he said, gallantly handing me his cap.
“No, I can’t accept it,” I protested.
“Sure you can. It’s not as if I’m giving you a diamond. Besides, your hair looks like it’s in dire need of rescue. Bad night?”
“Actually it was a great night,” I said, thinking of Mario. “But then I had to get on a seven a.m. flight and come straight here.”
“From?”
“L.A. Can’t you tell?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head.
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“How?”
“No fake tan amongst other things.” He grinned again, and offered his hand. “Sam – and you are?”
“Denver.”
“Interesting name. Different.”
“My parents thought so.”
“What are you really here for, Denver?” he asked, adding more sugar to his coffee and vigorously stirring.
“Business.”
“What kind of business?”
“Wow! You’re curious.”
“Yeah, I’ve been told that before,” he said, with a wry smile. “It’s ’cause I’m a writer – makes me want to know everything.”
Alarm signals went off in my head. Writer or journalist? Nosy reporter lurking around Annabelle’s building, or merely a neighbor?
“What kind of things do you write?” I inquired.
“Screenplays,” he said, taking a gulp of coffee. “And you – what’s your gig?”
“I’m an associate at an L.A. law firm,” I replied, toying with my apple-pie while thinking that the poor guy should move to L.A. where everyone and their brother is attempting to write a screenplay. He’s got no chance of getting anything off the ground in New York.
“And why are you really looking for Frankie Romano?” he asked, leaning forward.
I did not feel inclined to change my story. “He’s inherited money,” I answered vaguely. “I’m here to see he knows about it.”
“Hmm . . .” Sam said, looking skeptical.
“I need to find a bathroom,” I said, deciding to end this line of conversation.
I got up and I approached my Mafia Don at the counter. “Is there a ladies room I can use?” I asked sweetly. After all, he had given me a free slice of pie.
“For you, honey, anythin’,” the man said, having apparently taken a shine to me the minute I’d mentioned money. “Mara,” he yelled, turning his head. “Female customer comin’ back to use the john.”
He opened a partition on the counter and ushered me through. I thought for a moment he was going to pat me on the ass, but fortunately he restrained himself.
I didn’t need to pee. What I did need to do was call this Frankie Romano guy and find out if he knew where Annabelle was so I could get her back to L.A.
Mara greeted me in the back hallway with a scowl and cigarette breath.
“In there,” she muttered, directing me toward a tiny dark toilet. “An’ don’t go throwin’ nothin’ down the toilet bowl,” she warned. “I don’t want no clogged system.”
And with those sweet words she shut the door on me.
I took out my phone, and punched in Frankie Romano’s number.
Chapter Fifteen
Carolyn
Sunday morning, Carolyn got up late. Usually her alarm awoke her at six a.m. but today was different. Today was Sunday and she could luxuriate in her bed for as long as she felt like it. Too bad that Gregory couldn’t luxuriate next to her, but soon . . .
She tried to imagine what their Sundays would be like when they were together. Long and leisurely. She’d cook breakfast while he read the newspapers and checked out the political shows on TV. She knew he enjoyed doing that, because a few months ago he’d arranged for her to accompany him on a business trip to New York, and they’d spent the entire weekend together. Total bliss, although if she was honest with herself, sometimes his sexual appetite veered toward the selfish side. He loved getting oral sex from her, he claimed it was the best he’d ever had. But the sad thing was that he never reciprocated, which was a big disappointment.
She was sure that once they were living together, things would change. She’d tell him in the nicest possible way what she required in bed, and of course he would comply. Why wouldn’t he?
Now, lying under the covers, she wished she could phone him, if only to say good morning and hear his voice.
But no, he’d given her strict instructions never to call him at home on Sundays. “I spend all day with the children,” he’d told her. “No interruptions, not unless there’s a worldwide emergency.”
Respecting his request, she curbed the urge to contact him, and called Kerri instead, saying that she could indeed go to the mall. They arranged to meet at noon.
Finally she got up, took a shower, studied her stomach in the bathroom mirror from all angles to see if she was showing yet, and realized it was far too early to notice anything, not even the tiniest of bulges.
Pregnant! She was embarking on an exciting journey.
* * *
Anything to get out of the house and away from Evelyn’s cloying presence. The woman was stifling him, Gregory felt it more and more each day.
Sitting behind his sturdy mahogany desk in his study, he contemplated calling Katy, the English journalist he’d recently met at a press conference. Katy was young, full of ambition, and she’d definitely thrown out all the right signals.
Then he thought that calling her on a Sunday might seem too eager. Perhaps it was best to wait a day or two, then have Muriel set up a lunch for next week. Katy had said she
wanted to interview him. So be it.
He still had the problem of a long boring Sunday ahead of him. Both his children were staying with their maternal grandparents for the weekend, and that left Evelyn.
Within minutes his problem was solved by Ramirez Ortego calling on his private line.
How the hell had Ramirez gotten his private number?
Evelyn, of course.
“Senator,” Ramirez said. “Thought I’d follow up on last night’s conversation. If you can make it today, my people would be most happy to see you.”
Before he could think of a reason to say he couldn’t make it, Ramirez gave him the details of where to come.
He wasn’t that angry, because at least it was a legitimate excuse to get away from Evelyn and leave the house. He was sure his dear wife would have no wish to accompany him, and he was right about that. After telling him she was too busy to go anywhere, Evelyn said, “Did you call your little secretary and tell her to alert the press?”
“I do not plan on bothering my assistant on a Sunday,” he said, pointedly emphasizing the word assistant.
“Too bad,” Evelyn said, elegant in a cream pantsuit and day-time pearls. “It’s such an excellent photo opportunity.”
“Yes,” he answered dryly. “Me hanging out with a bunch of gang bangers. What a photo!”
“No, dear,” Evelyn corrected. “You helping out at a community center, making sure our fine city stays safe.”
God, his wife was so full of shit.
It occurred to him that now he had a legitimate reason for calling Katy, the English journalist. He could ask her if she’d like an exclusive on his visit to the community center, because he was in desperate need of a diversion. He couldn’t get his mind off Carolyn’s baby announcement, and how the hell was he supposed to take care of that problem? He sure as hell wasn’t allowing her to ruin everything he held dear. If Evelyn found out, she’d make absolutely certain he was punished in every possible way. She’d immediately take away his children, she’d attempt to ruin his reputation, and the ensuing scandal would no doubt put paid to his career.
He needed to get Carolyn out of his life, and that had to be done soon. But how? That was the question.
Damn Carolyn, and damn Evelyn too. Bitches of a different caliber, but bitches all the same.
* * *
Kerri was an avid shopper with a passion for shopping malls. Carolyn hated shopping and loathed large shopping malls.
Kerri raced from store to store with all the enthusiasm of a new puppy. Carolyn trailed behind.
“I sooo love this,” Kerri cried out, happily trying on a selection of high-heeled pumps in myriad colors. “What do you think?” she asked Carolyn, while tottering around the shoe store in a pair of yellow stilettos that made her legs appear even shorter than they were.
“Beige might be a more useful color,” Carolyn suggested, trying to be diplomatic. “Beige goes with everything. Or maybe black.”
“Boring!” Kerri squealed. “That’s one thing nobody’s ever accused me of being. Boring? Nooo!!”
Carolyn could believe it, since Kerri never stopped talking and always had something to say. Lately it was all about her adventures on the internet.
“There’s some unbelievable sites,” Kerri assured her with a knowing wink. “All you have to do is post your photo and a brief description of yourself. Then before you know it – just like the song – it’s raining men!”
Carolyn nodded, feigning interest, although she could imagine nothing worse than trolling for a man on the internet. Besides, she had her man now, and Gregory Stoneman was all the man she could ever want.
* * *
The street where Ramirez’s community center was located was smack in the middle of a slum. As Gregory searched for somewhere to park his expensive car he regretted that he had not called his driver. The least Evelyn could’ve done was warn him. Although knowing Evelyn, she talked a good game, but she’d probably never visited the neighborhood, so she’d had no idea where she was forcing him to go.
At least Katy was on her way. Katy with the British accent, trim figure, and small but quite appealing tits. He’d called her, told her where he would be, and she’d jumped at the opportunity to cover his visit.
“Can I bring my photographer?” she’d asked.
“Why not?” he’d said.
He had plans for Katy once Carolyn was out of the picture. A man could not live with just Evelyn for his sexual gratification, he had to have more, and Katy seemed to be a likely candidate.
Finding a parking space next to an empty lot, he reluctantly left his car, hoping it would still be there when he returned.
Walking back to the center half a block away, he passed a couple of grizzled old winos slumped against the wall of a crumbling building, swigging from a shared bottle of cheap booze. A Mexican woman scurried past pushing a battered buggy with two babies inside, while a toddler – sucking its thumb – trailed behind her. A couple of suspicious-looking Latino youths lounged on the steps of the center. They scowled at Gregory as he made his way past them and entered the building, which was actually an old abandoned warehouse.
He entered into a cavernous room filled with groups of people of all colors. Hurriedly he looked around, spotted Ramirez, and purposefully marched toward him.
Ramirez extracted himself from conversation with an obese woman in full African dress, a white preacher, and a jumpy-looking teenager, and stepped forward to greet him.
“You came,” Ramirez said.
“You didn’t think I would?” Gregory replied, noting that the place smelled of rotting garbage with faint overtones of urine.
“Politicians,” Ramirez said flatly. “They promise a lot and do nothing.”
“What is it that you expect us to do?” Gregory asked, a fake concerned expression firmly stuck on his face.
“Money,” Ramirez said, gesturing around. “This place is a shithole. We need all the funding we can get to make it better, put in heating, get some chairs for people to sit on, and a fridge that works. Make it a place that kids want to come to an’ hang out. We gotta get ’em off the street, it’s the only way to bring about change.”
“Evelyn’s the fundraiser in the family,” Gregory said smoothly. “You should talk to her.”
“You can help us,” Ramirez said, ignoring the reference to Evelyn. “A word in the right place would go a long way to getting us a grant.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Gregory promised, wondering when Katy would show up. It better be soon, because he wasn’t hanging around.
“But you’re the man who can make sure it happens,” Ramirez continued. “Come with me – you should meet some of my helpers, see how hard everyone works.”
“Fine,” Gregory said, realizing there was no immediate escape.
* * *
Carolyn was sitting in the Food Court eating Panda Express Chinese from cardboard cartons with Kerri. As usual Kerri was talking non-stop.
“I went out with this one guy,” she announced, nibbling on a greasy spare rib. “And like at first he seemed perfectly normal. I mean, he wasn’t exactly Zac Efron, but he could’ve been a contender.”
Carolyn nodded, desperately trying to appear interested in yet another of Kerri’s dating misadventures.
“We went on a couple of dates,” Kerri continued, licking barbecue sauce off her fingers, “then he informed me that since we’d been on two dates and he’d paid, it was time we had sex. Can you imagine? Just like that he comes out with it.”
“Shocking,” Carolyn murmured, taking a sip of water.
“No!” Kerri exclaimed. “I haven’t gotten to the shocking bit yet.”
“Go on,” Carolyn said, managing a surreptitious glance at her watch.
“He wanted sex with me and his former girlfriend! Apparently she was waiting at his apartment all ready to party.” Kerri rolled her expressive eyes. “Can you imagine? How gross is that!”
“I presume you said no.
”
“Like . . . duh! Do I look like an idiot?”
Carolyn glanced at her watch again. “I should be getting home,” she said, starting to fidget. “Do you mind if we leave soon?”
“Really?” Kerri said, her face registering disappointment. “We haven’t covered half the stores.”
“I’ve got some work to finish up, and I promised to look in on Nellie,” Carolyn explained. “She’s all alone – it must be hard for her with no friends or family.”
“You’re so good to do that,” Kerri sighed, stuffing a piece of sweet ’n’ sour chicken in her mouth. “I always mean to drop by an’ see how she’s doing, but I never find the time, although I do pick up her meds every month.”
“I expect your dating schedule keeps you on the go,” Carolyn said, slightly tongue-in-cheek. “How many dating sites did you say you’re on?”
“A lot,” Kerri answered with a cheery grin. “And you know what – we’ve got to sign you up too. You’ll enjoy it! It’s sooo much fun.”
No, Carolyn thought. I will not enjoy it at all. I have found the love of my life, and soon he will be all mine.
Chapter Sixteen
Bobby
There was a group of guys who met up and played softball in the park on Sunday mornings. They had a set routine, nine or ten guys would assemble, and each week – after the game – one of them would host the rest of the day at their apartment. Hosting meant getting in plenty of deli food, making sure there was an abundance of snacks, a full supply of European beer, and most important of all – every sports package on the latest wide-screen blue-ray high-def TV.
They called themselves “The Sunday in the Park” gang. Bobby and M.J. were the founders.
Bobby treasured his time with the guys – no women allowed – it was strictly a males only day. Frankie was not a member of the club, since bonding with the guys was out of his comfort zone. He preferred hanging out with Annabelle, catching the latest action movie, playing pool, and dropping into a cardgame or two.
Bobby was relieved, because although he and M.J. reluctantly accepted Frankie’s drug use, the others wouldn’t be so happy. In their book, doing coke on a permanent basis was for losers, okay for a party once in a while, but snorting it up your nose numerous times a day was a definite negative. There were times Bobby tried to talk to Frankie about his excessive use of cocaine, but Frankie was never in a listening mood, so every time their conversation ended up going nowhere.
Poor Little Bitch Girl Page 10