That’s true. Our new hotel is doing just as well as the first one did. All of our properties are doing better than they’ve ever been doing. And now the housing bubble has burst, there are a bunch of properties going real cheap. That’s what the meeting Tony covered for me today was supposed to be about—there’s a place I’m dying to get my hands on.
At the thought of that meeting, I ask Chrissy, “Tony’s coming to Cleopatra’s tonight?”
“Your table is booked for four people,” she says.
Cleopatra’s Lounge is the hottest night club in the city right now, and I own the place. It was my pet project from when I first got started—a dying club that featured tired old acts and watered down drinks. Tony said it was a lost cause—people wanted to go to bars or dance clubs. But I could see the potential in Cleopatra’s.
I hired Alex Mitchell, the owner of a successful club in Atlantic City, away from his old position. Alex and I worked together to come up with a roster of fresh new acts that would drive in crowds, including some up-and-coming sexy young singers and edgy comedians. I wasn’t sure about the drag act Alex wanted to book, but he ended up being right about that too. Business steadily increased until I arranged some good mentions in the paper and Internet buzz, and now we got lines around the block.
Tony loves Cleopatra’s now. Half the time when I meet with him, I gotta go there to do it because he won’t meet me anywhere else. It’s not the greatest location to have a quiet business discussion, but it’s easier than dragging Tony’s ass to my office. And it’s good entertainment.
“Natalie confirmed?” I ask.
Chrissy wrinkles her nose when I mention my latest girlfriend. “Yes, but I’m sure it’s not too late to cancel on her. Or break up with her.”
I smile. Part of the fun of dating Natalie is how much it pisses Chrissy off. That and some of Natalie’s other attributes.
“That’s not going to happen,” I tell Chrissy.
I have no intention of breaking up with Natalie now or any time in the near future. Natalie might offend Chrissy’s sensibilities, but I got my reasons.
Chapter 4
Jessie
I don’t know what to wear to Cleopatra’s tonight. Everything in my closet is woefully inadequate. Especially my dresses. But especially my shoes. And oh my God, does every pair of pantyhose I own have a huge rip in them?
Yes. Yes, they do.
I’m starting to question my decision to do most of my shopping at Target. But that’s what you get when you’re poor and happy. Or just poor.
I do have one silky little black dress that might work. It belonged to my mother, who claimed it would look great on me. When she gave it to me, the neck was lined with fur, but I removed the fur in an attempt to make the dress look less ridiculous. And it worked, more or less. It’s plain and not a name brand, but it looks sleek and classy.
My eternal fiancé Seth comes home just as I’m checking myself out in the little black dress. He does a double-take when he sees me. “Hey, sexy lady. We going somewhere I don’t know about?”
“I’m going out with Chrissy,” I say.
Seth raises his eyebrows. His hairline has been receding the last couple of years, which makes the wrinkles on his forehead more prominent. “Where to?”
I hesitate, scared if I tell him Chrissy got us a table at Cleopatra’s and he’s not invited, he’ll flip out. I don’t feel like starting an argument right now. But on the other hand, it’s going to be hard to hide this from him.
“Cleopatra’s Lounge,” I finally say.
Seth grins at me. “So… you want to spend your night waiting in line?”
On two separate occasions, Seth and I spent half our night waiting in line to get into Cleopatra’s. The second time, we were out there for four hours and moved roughly half a block. During the third hour, it started to rain, but we both wanted to get in so badly we refused to leave—especially Seth. He took off his jacket at one point and held it over my head to convince me to stay. He got another thirty minutes out of me by doing that.
“Chrissy thinks she can get us in.”
“She’s not that hot, Jess.”
I don’t argue with him. Better he doesn’t know how well connected Chrissy is.
Seth loosens his tie with his thumb and wanders into our tiny kitchen. We’ve moved a handful of times in the last few years, but never somewhere substantially better. We always just moved to escape a horror that eventually became unlivable.
For example, in our last apartment, there was an unidentifiable stench that clung to the place. At first, it was a smell, then it became an odor, and finally it evolved into the horrible stench that drove us out. We checked every crevice of the apartment to figure out where it was coming from with no luck. Seth was convinced there was a decomposing body buried beneath the floorboards. It’s too bad because it was otherwise a nice place.
Seth’s law practice is finally turning a small profit, but that hardly means we’re rolling in dough. After all those lean years, we have zero savings, and neither of us have made a dent in our loans. So I’m still inventing creative ways to serve ramen. And I’m hoping at Cleopatra’s some guy will buy us drinks because I can’t afford more than one margarita.
“So I guess I’m on my own for dinner?” Seth asks me.
“Yeah, sorry.”
He rifles through the kitchen cabinet, looking for food. “Christ, there’s nothing to eat here. When’s the last time you went shopping?”
“You know,” I say, “you can go shopping.”
“But you always do the shopping,” he points out as he pulls a bag of Cajun-flavored instant rice from a cabinet.
I fold my arms across my chest. “Since when?”
“Since forever?” He tosses the bag of rice in our microwave and types “90” into the cook time. “That’s one of your jobs. Like cooking. And the dishes.”
“And what’s your job?”
“Taking out the trash.”
It’s true. Seth does take out the trash. But cooking and dishes need to be done daily, while trash is once a week. I’m tempted to point that out to him when we both jump at the sound of a loud bang coming from the microwave. Seth scrambles to open the microwave.
“Fuck,” he says. “What did I do wrong?”
I snatch the package of rice from the microwave. “You were supposed to tear open the package so it could vent.”
“Why is making instant rice so goddamn complicated?” Seth mutters.
“It’s not complicated.” I hold up the bag of rice. “Look, there are three easy steps delineated right here. Step one: open package to vent. Step two: put package in microwave for ninety seconds. Step three: enjoy.” I shake the package. “Step three is ‘enjoy.’ That’s not even a real step. So basically, there are two steps. You missed fifty percent of them.”
“For fuck’s sake, Jess,” he says. “Would you lay off? I’m tired from work and I just want to eat some rice.”
I lower the bag of rice. Am I being a jerk here? Maybe I am.
“Just go out with your trashy friend,” Seth says irritably as he pulls the rice from my hands. “I think I can figure it out from here.”
I watch Seth as he makes his second attempt to heat up instant rice. It seems like every day we end up having some stupid little quarrel. If it isn’t over how to make instant rice, it’s over changing the toilet paper roll or leaving an empty carton of milk in the fridge. (Seriously, if you finish the milk, throw out the carton! How hard is that?) It’s not that I don’t love him, but… is it possible that after living together for nearly ten years, we’ve gotten sick of each other?
That said, we’re used to each other. I know everything about Seth, like the way he brushes his bottom teeth first, then the top. I know his favorite television shows (mostly cop dramas). When we eat together, it’s easy. I don’t have to stress out about impressing him and being sexy. It’s like we’re family. I feel closer to him than to anyone else—even my mother.
&
nbsp; And that’s why I stick around, even though Seth has his flaws and it’s not the most exciting relationship anymore. Nobody’s perfect.
Chrissy shows up at my building in a limo. I can’t believe it when I see the dark car pull up—I’ve got to go out with Chrissy more often.
Chrissy looks me up and down when I slide into the limo. She clucks her tongue. “Do you own makeup?”
“Excuse me?” I say. “I’m wearing makeup.”
“Is it invisible?” Chrissy digs around in her tiny Gucci purse that is almost certainly the real deal and pulls out a compact. Even though the car is moving, she touches up my makeup with a surprisingly steady hand. “There. Now you look presentable.”
“Gee, thanks.”
She glances down at my left hand. “I like the absence of the engagement ring.”
I clench my left hand into a fist. The only reason I left off the ring is because a diamond at night in the city is just asking to get mugged, even if the diamond is as tiny as mine. I only wear it for special occasions. But I know any attempts to explain this to Chrissy will be met with skepticism.
Cleopatra’s Lounge is located in a burnt red brick building with a nondescript entrance and not even a single sign announcing the club’s name. Yet nobody would have any trouble knowing that this is the hottest club in the city, based on the six-and-a-half-foot-tall bouncer guarding the entrance and the line of hopeful patrons spilling out onto the street and down the entire block as far as I can see.
“We’re never getting inside,” I murmur to Chrissy.
She winks at me as the limo pulls up in front of the entrance. She slides out of the car, adjusting the hem of her tiny leather miniskirt. Every red-blooded male in the line and quite a few females turn to stare at her, but Chrissy acts like she doesn’t notice. She cocks her finger at me and I scurry out of the limo after her, to significantly less attention.
I follow Chrissy to the front door. At this point, I’m entirely prepared to do a walk of shame to the back of the line. But she smiles at the bouncer, he nods wordlessly back at her, and then…
We’re in!
Oh my God, we’re inside Cleopatra’s! We just got waved into the hottest club in the city. Chrissy’s got magic powers. I will never, ever doubt that girl again.
On the inside, the purple lighting of Cleopatra’s illuminates dozens of crowded tables and leather booths with green seats and red tablecloths. There’s an old timey looking stage at the front, where a beautiful young woman in a slinky green dress is belting out Shakira’s “Whenever, Wherever” in front of a red curtain. A startlingly handsome young man in a dark suit links arms with Chrissy when we walk in. “Your usual table, Miss Cagliari?”
“Yes, Duke,” she coos. “Also, this is Jessica Schultz. I have a feeling you’re going to be seeing a lot more of her.”
The man takes my hand and kisses it, which is charming rather than weird. “It’s a pleasure, Miss Schultz.”
He’s going to be seeing a lot more of me? What does that mean?
I look around Cleopatra’s and decide that I don’t care if I’m only here for one night or if I get to come here once a week. I’m going to relax and enjoy myself tonight. No matter what happens.
Chapter 5
Nick
“I can’t believe I’m in Cleopatra’s!”
Tony’s new girlfriend Daphne is star struck. A little too star struck. I came here tonight for the sole purpose of discussing business with Tony, but the silicone-breasted Daphne won’t shut the hell up. (I know a pair of fakes when I see ‘em.) And when she’s not talking, she’s climbing all over Tony, licking his ear and neck, and pressing those fake tits all over him. I understand she’s excited and apparently infatuated with my brother, but I’m not in the mood for this shit.
“Tony,” I say in a low voice, “we need to talk about the meeting today.”
“Hang on, Nico.” Tony waves me away. “Just let Alice finish.”
Alice is the chick singing onstage right now. She’s one of Tony’s favorites, and I’m fairly sure he’s fucked her. Which is fine. I can’t throw stones—I’ve hooked up in one way or another with just about every waitress who works here.
I glance over at Natalie, who is sitting demurely beside me. Natalie has been my girlfriend for six months, and I’m not sure we’ve ever had a conversation in that time. She’s twenty-three years old, model beautiful, and I’m essentially paying her to be my girlfriend—I’m not even trying to fool myself on that one. I pay Natalie’s rent, I buy her clothes and jewelry, food, whatever. In exchange, she goes out with me wherever I want to go at night and does whatever I want when we go back to my place. Because I’m in the chair, having a beautiful girl on my arm balances things out. People don’t feel sorry for me if I’m with Natalie.
Does this make her a prostitute? No. Well, maybe. It’s a fine line. I don’t have time or desire for a real relationship, so what I’ve got with Natalie works. Also, when you’re in my situation, you start to wonder if the girl you’re with only wants you for your money and power. This way is better since I don’t have to wonder.
But then I look over at Daphne and Tony. Daphne isn’t with Tony because he’s loaded—she’s clearly into him. Not that he gives a shit, but still.
I struggle to think of something to say to Natalie, but come up blank. I have no idea what she likes besides the clothing and jewelry stores that come up on my credit card statement. Luckily, I’m rescued by our waitress.
“Is there anything I can get for you?” Our waitress is a cute little thing named Carrie, who’s been working here for a few weeks. I like the twang in her accent. I also like the way she addresses the table but keeps her eyes pinned on me. “Another glass of wine, Mr. Moretti?”
“No, thanks, Carrie,” I say. She blushes when I say her name. Maybe I’ll send Natalie home early tonight and see what happens with Carrie.
“I want another of those yummy mojitos!” Daphne says, even though she’s already had one too many mojitos. But I don’t care. She’s Tony’s problem.
“I’ll have another glass of red,” Tony tells her.
I shake my head at him. “Not till we discuss business.”
Tony rolls his eyes dramatically and I want to punch him. I’ve been sitting here nearly an hour, and he knows I’ve been waiting for this. All the tension that left my back after my session with Sonja is returning.
“Fine,” Tony grumbles when Carrie runs off. “Let’s talk business.”
Finally. I lean in toward him so that the girls can’t hear us, “So did they accept our bid?”
Tony taps his fingers on the table. “Not exactly.”
“Not exactly?” My right hand balls into a fist. Tony is so goddamn frustrating to talk to. “Explain to me what that means.”
He shrugs. “There was another bid.”
I massage my temples with my fingers. “And you couldn’t tell me that till now?”
“What’s there to tell?”
My brother’s an idiot. I don’t know why I bother to send him to meetings at all. It would be better to send a blow up doll. The price on this property in Jersey was dirt cheap because nobody else wanted it, but I saw a lot of potential. I weight shift in my chair, trying to keep my temper under control. “Who made the bid?”
“Lombardi.”
“John Lombardi?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit…” I didn’t see that coming. John Lombardi’s been around a while—he’s nearly as old as Pop, but he isn’t interested in properties the way we are. Lombardi mostly traffics drugs (and girls) and does gambling and loan sharking. Those are things I try to stay far away from—I figure it’s just asking for trouble. Sometimes I worry Tony might do some of that stuff on the side, but I know my own hands are clean. “I didn’t know Lombardi was getting into real estate.”
Tony nods. “I was surprised too. What do you think he wants it for?”
“Money laundering, probably.”
He frowns. “What
do you mean?”
“You know how it works,” I mutter. “Come on.”
He just looks at me. Sometimes I’m not sure what universe my brother lives in.
“Lombardi owns, say, an apartment somewhere actually valued at a million dollars,” I explain. “But banks don’t really know how much the apartment is worth. So if a guy pays him five million for the apartment, that’s a clean transaction that won’t leave a dirty paper trail the way it would if the guy handed Lombardi four million dollars.”
Tony mulls that one over. Finally, he smiles slyly. “How do you know so much about this, Nico?”
I ignore the question. “I want that property, Tony.”
“So we gotta make a higher bid,” Tony says.
“I’ve got to crunch the numbers.” I shake my head. “See how high I can go. This is a pain in the ass though. I thought it was in the bag. We had it.”
Tony claps me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it now, Nico. Just enjoy yourself. We’re at the hottest club in the city. Our club.”
Technically, Cleopatra’s belongs to me alone and not Tony. But who’s counting?
My phone buzzes with a text message. I pull it out and see a message from Chrissy: Manny just dropped us off at the door to C’s.
I smile in spite of the situation. There’s nobody I’d rather talk to right now more than Chrissy. I can run the whole Lombardi situation by her and see what she thinks—I trust her opinion over Tony’s any day of the week.
I’ll tell the waitress to bring another chair to our table, I write back to her.
Her reply comes quickly: We’d need two. I’ve got company.
I grin and write: Another one of your lovers?
She writes back: No, yours.
I frown and push my chair back, craning my neck to look at the back entrance. I can see Chrissy easily in her striking red top and black leather skirt—she’s easy to spot in any crowd. But her friend is harder to see. I can tell she’s wearing black, which makes her nearly invisible in this dark room. The only part of her that’s easy to see is her hair, which is…
The Girl I Didn't Kill For (Jessie & Nick Book 2) Page 3