In Pieces

by Alexa Land

  To the driver I said, “Sorry about keeping you waiting, I didn’t realize you were down here.”

  “It’s all good,” he said with a grin. “I get paid regardless, whether I’m driving or reading.”

  When we were settled comfortably in the big back seat, I asked Kieran, “Do you know what Dante used to do for a living?”

  “Of course. Every cop in the city knows his name. Not that anyone ever pinned anything on him, but still, he’s pretty infamous in this town. Why do you ask?”

  “I was just wondering how something like that sat with you, knowing that a friend of yours married a former mobster. And your cousin Jamie did, too, for that matter.”

  “From what I hear, both Dmitri and Dante have completely turned their lives around. I’m really not going to condemn them for their past.”

  “That’s a pretty open-minded attitude,” I said.

  He added with a grin, “For a cop.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “It was implied.”

  I rolled my eyes at him, then idly twisted one of the buttons on my black dress shirt. After a moment I ventured, “Did your cousin Jamie ever tell you about the conversation he and I had when he came over to my apartment?”

  “He only told me a little. He said that he acted like an asshole and went over there to make sure you weren’t, like, taking advantage of me or some shit. I threatened to punch him if he ever did anything like that again.”

  “I told him some things about my family when we were talking. And I just never got around to telling you, I guess,” I said. “My father is retired mob, too, kind of like Dante. Well, except that I like Dante, and my father is an asshole. My real last name’s Longotti. I’m going to have it legally changed to Andrews, my mother’s maiden name. That’s actually the present I’m giving myself for my twenty-first birthday at the end of this month.”

  All he said to that was, “That’s a good present.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “Really? You’re not shocked to find out I’m the son of Reggie the Roach Longotti?”

  “That’s kind of a gross nickname.”

  “It’s because he can’t be killed, like a cockroach. He’s been shot, stabbed, and blown up, but he was perfectly fine after each of those incidents.” I stared at Kieran for a moment, and he smiled at me placidly. And then I exclaimed, “Jamie told you! That’s why you’re not shocked about this!”

  “Of course he did, but he made me promise not to tell you. He knew he was speaking out of turn, but he just couldn’t help himself.”

  “So, you’ve known about this for a couple weeks, and never said anything.”

  “Yup. I knew you’d get around to telling me eventually.”

  “I guess ever since my case got reopened, I’ve been pretty distracted. I always had every intention of telling you.”

  “I know, baby.” Then he added, “Just FYI, I don’t think you should mention any of that to Charlie.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he’ll tell Dante, and Dante might tell one of his relatives. And…well, that could be bad.”

  “Because there’s some kind of feud between their family and mine? That really doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

  “You and I know that, but I’m not sure his family would see it that way. There’s a lot of bad blood there.”

  I frowned and said, “Well, now I feel like I’m keeping a secret from my best friend.”

  He tried to distract me from my impending guilt by smiling at me and saying, “You know, you’re very blonde for an Italian boy.”

  “I take after my mother. Although my father’s family is northern Italian, and they tend to be fair. And you are so bad at subtly changing the subject.”

  “Yeah, I really am.”

  I happened to glance out the window, and realized where we were. “Oh God,” I said. “Please tell me we aren’t crashing the new artists show at the Tremont Gallery.”

  “Hell no.”

  “Then where are we going?” The driver turned onto the street where the gallery was located. It was total pandemonium, cars circling and looking for parking, a news van double-parked and adding to the congestion, people running through traffic, big searchlights giving the whole thing the feel of a movie premier. “Wow,” I murmured. “I knew the show at the Tremont Gallery was big, but I didn’t know it was this big.”

  “It’s not,” Kieran said. He had a huge smile on his face.

  “Ok. I’m lost,” I told him.

  “I know.” Kieran leaned forward and called, “We can just hop out here, Ed, there’s no way you’re making it down that street. I’ll call you when we’re ready to be picked up, and you can meet us a couple blocks over.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Nolan,” the driver said.

  Kieran hopped out of the car and held his hand out to me, and I took hold of it as I stepped out into the street. We wove our way through stopped traffic over to the crowded sidewalk, and Kieran put his arm around my shoulders. The Tremont Gallery was a half-block ahead, we were headed right for it. “I’m serious, Kieran, I don’t want to see Ian. There’s no point in confronting him. I just want to put that whole ugly incident behind me.”

  “You will, baby. You’re about to get so much closure.” We stopped on the sidewalk right in front of Ian’s place. I was about to dig my heels in and refuse to go inside. But then he took hold of my shoulders and spun me away from the gallery.

  The big brick building directly across the street was ablaze in color and light, the spotlights actually picking out the front of that building and not the gallery, techno music pumping from the open doors. That was where the crowd was headed, an endless stream of people pouring inside. The front of the dark red building had been painted in a huge white signature, the letters six feet high. It read C.R. Andrews. “Welcome to your opening night, Christopher.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Dante was really upset about what happened between you and Tremont, since he’d been the one to introduce the two of you. To make amends, he decided to host a pop-up art show in your honor.”

  I grinned a little. “Directly across the street from Ian’s place?” I glanced over my shoulder. There were a few people inside the gallery, but it was sedate compared to the gala going on across the street. “I feel bad for the other new artists in Ian’s show.”

  “So did Dante. That’s why he’s offered each of them a show of their own. Just not tonight, because this is your night.”

  “When did he do all of this? He just got back from his honeymoon a day ago.”

  “Apparently former gangsters really know how to get stuff done. He mobilized the whole Dombruso clan. I guess that old building belongs to a friend of one of his cousins. They’ve all been scrambling for the last twenty-four hours. Charlie and I helped, too.”

  My grin got a little wider. “It looks more like a rave than an art opening.”

  “Which is perfect for art’s new bad boy,” Kieran said with a big smile.

  “Oh God.”

  “The media seems to have caught wind of all of this,” he said, tilting his head toward the news van.

  “Probably because Dante called them.”

  “Probably. Do you want to sneak in the back? I know the way. This all seems to have gotten a little…huge.”

  I considered that and said, “Nah. All of this…it’s kind of great. I think I’m just going to go right in the front door and drink it all in.”

  “That’s my baby,” Kieran said with a proud smile. “And we are so having victory sex tonight when we get home.” He gave me a playful wink and grabbed my hand, and we stepped out into the street.

  I very nearly made it unnoticed into the front door of the brick building. But suddenly someone yelled, “There he is!”

  The throng erupted in cheers and applause as the color rose in my cheeks. I recognized some familiar faces in the crowd, a few Dombrusos mixed in with some of my fellow students from Sutherlin. It was all a
bsolutely surreal. A girl from my life painting class yelled, “Way to go, C.R.!” Kieran hugged my shoulders securely as we moved forward, and the crowd parted for us, just a little.

  Inside the door were huge stacks of Stylemaker Weekly, the one with my picture on the cover. Ok, that was embarrassing. We stepped through the little foyer and into a huge main room. The space was wall-to-wall people. And it was punctuated every few yards by tall cylindrical columns about eight feet high and three feet across. At first, I thought the columns were holding go-go boys. Each handsome young guy at the top of each column was dressed in black and picked out by a spotlight. But when the guy closest to us turned in our direction, I saw that he was holding one of my paintings in gloved hands, displaying it to the crowd. So were each of the other boys on each of the columns. Man, was that over the top. I smiled at Dante’s flair for the dramatic.

  And speaking of Dante, he and Charlie suddenly appeared beside me. Dante looked concerned as he leaned in and yelled over the music, “Is it too much? It is, isn’t it? Did I completely freak you out?”

  I stretched up and kissed his cheek. “It’s amazing. Thank you.”

  He looked relieved. Charlie grabbed me in a hug, then yelled, “We have a private balcony. Come on, let’s go up there before you get trampled.”

  We went through a doorway guarded by a huge bouncer and climbed a staircase, and emerged in a loft with a big seating area overlooking the main floor. The music was slightly muffled from here, so we could talk without yelling. A little buffet had been set up. In addition to all kinds of snacks and appetizers, a silver serving tray was artfully arranged with several packets of the crackers I ate. I grinned at that, then went to the railing at the edge of the loft and looked down at the crowd.

  “Dozens of people have been asking whether your paintings are for sale,” Dante said as he came up and leaned on the railing beside me. “I wanted to talk to you about that. I know you were planning to sell the eight pieces that were going to be in Tremont’s show, and they’re all here. We also went to your school and talked to some of your classmates and teachers, and they helped us pick out another ten paintings of yours that were in your studio on campus. Do you want to sell them? It’s your call.”

  I thought about it for a few moments, and then I said, “Sell them all.” I took out my cellphone and pulled up a picture of my favorite painting, the one of the five-year-old boy at the side of the road. “Except this one. I regretted putting it in Ian’s show. I think I want to hold on to it.”

  “Ok, I’ll be sure that one doesn’t get sold. Do you want to discuss pricing for the others?”

  “Nah. Just ask whatever you think is fair. I owe Kieran some money, maybe I’ll earn enough to make a few payments.” I glanced at him over my shoulder. He and Charlie were chatting happily at the buffet, each holding a beer in one hand and a snack in the other. He caught my eye and winked at me, then flashed me a huge smile before saying something to Charlie. I turned back to my companion and said, “Thank you again for doing this, Dante.”

  “I am so fucking sorry that I introduced you to Tremont. I thought he was a decent guy, that’s how he acts in public. I had no idea that he would treat you like that.”

  “It’s ok, you didn’t know. Anyway, it’s not like he’s the first guy ever to treat a whore like a whore,” I said, lowering my gaze.

  Dante gently took my chin and tilted my face up so I was looking him in the eye. “You’re not a whore. You’ve done what you had to in order to survive, and that has nothing to do with who you are as a person. You deserve respect. And any man that doesn’t give you that deserves to be dropped nuts first into a tank of piranhas.”

  I grinned at him and said, “That’s the most mafia-like thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

  He grinned too and let go of my chin. “I have about a hundred and fifty threats on standby involving testicles. It probably won’t surprise you that I learned each and every one of them from my Nana.”

  I laughed at that and said, “Definitely not surprising. Is she here, by the way?”

  “Of course. She wouldn’t miss something like this. Last I saw her, she was out on the dance floor at the back of the building with her date, Seymour.” Dante rolled his eyes. “This one is wearing about forty pounds of gold chains and keeps taking out his dentures and pretending to do ventriloquism with them.”

  I laughed again and said, “Awesome.” My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out to read a text. I said to Dante, “Hey, my friend Hunter, who you met at Christmas, is downstairs. Can you tell that big bouncer to let him up here?”

  “Absolutely.” Dante pulled an earpiece on a wire out from under the lapel of his black suit jacket and spoke into it.

  A minute later, Hunter swept into the loft, gorgeous as ever and towing a big blonde guy in a Stetson behind him by the hand. “Oh my God, Christopher!” he squealed, and grabbed me in a hug. “This is incredible! Best art show ever! I think half of San Francisco is downstairs.”

  When he let go of me, he greeted Dante, then waved at Charlie and Kieran and yelled, “Thanks for the invite, Kier! You’re a saint among men!” He turned back to me and said, “Oh, by the way, this if Olaf. Olaf, go have some snacks while the grownups talk,” Hunter said, and the big cowboy grinned happily and went off to the buffet. My friend watched him go, then turned to me and said, “He’s dumber than a rabbit trying to impregnate a squirrel, but you should see his shlong. Lord almighty!”

  I grinned at that and Dante asked, “Is he from Texas?”

  “No, he’s from Oakland. I just stuck the hat on him for fun,” Hunter said with a wink.

  “Where’d you find this guy?”

  “I was at the Man-on-Man Productions offices to sign off on a new product line, and he wandered in off the street, looking for an audition,” Hunter said, turning and watching his date horking down a tray of appetizers. “Ned, that’s my agent, tried to kick him out, but then Olaf dropped trou right in the middle of the office. Ned signed him on the spot. You’re looking at the next big thing in gay porn. Literally,” Hunter said, turning to me with a huge grin and a wink.

  “How long have you known him?” I asked, and Hunter glanced at his wristwatch.

  “Four hours. Four long, long hours.” He looked immensely pleased.

  “What’s the product line?” Dante asked, obviously highly entertained by all of this.

  Hunter looked a little embarrassed as he said, “Flavored lubes. Specifically, flavored lubes that guys will like. You know: beer, barbeque, bacon….”

  I burst out laughing and covered my mouth with my hand. “Oh, ew. Please tell me you didn’t taste them all.”

  “You know, laugh all you want, but that bacon-flavored lube is genius. You could squirt that shit on a burger, I’m telling ya.” He was grinning too.

  “Bacon lube is either the best idea I’ve ever heard, or the worst,” Dante said. “I don’t know which.”

  “What’s the best or worst idea?” Charlie asked. He and Kieran had joined us, and Kieran came up behind me and slipped his arms around my waist.

  “Bacon-flavored lube,” Dante told him.

  “The best,” Charlie said with a smile. “What guy wouldn’t buy that?”

  “Me,” I said.

  “You haven’t even heard the best part,” Hunter said with a huge smile. “It’s organic, Kosher, and cruelty-free.”

  “Kosher, cruelty-free bacon lube,” Kieran repeated. “I’m trying to get my head around that one.”

  “No actual pigs were lubricated in the making of this product,” Hunter quipped, and we all burst out laughing.

  “Please tell me your face isn’t on the packaging,” I said.

  “Uh, no. But wouldn’t that be awesome? I could be wearing a yarmulke and riding a pig, bucking bronco-style. Come get yer kosher cruelty-free bacon lube, ya’all!” Hunter grinned, then added, “Um, I might be featured in a series of print ads, however. Without the pig and the yarmulke, although I suppose they
could always be Photoshopped in later.”

  I started laughing again, dabbing tears from my eyes. I was having the time of my life. Absolutely nothing could ruin this night for me.

  “Chris, we need to talk,” a voice behind me said.

  Nothing but that.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kieran and I both turned to face my father. Reggie Longotti had met my mother when he was in his fifties, and was now seventy-six, but he really didn’t look it. He wore a finely tailored dark suit and tie, his thick white hair impeccably styled. It had been almost three years since I’d seen him. That was the last time he’d paid his employee to fly out to San Francisco and drag me kicking and screaming back to Georgia. It had been shortly after my eighteenth birthday, and I’d threatened to have him arrested for kidnapping. That had put an end to the forced homecomings.

  “Is there someplace we could go to talk?” my father asked.

  “What part of I never want to see you again was unclear?” I said, my voice low. Kieran was right beside me and must have felt the tension in my body. He shifted subtly, fully alert, ready to defend me if necessary.

  “Yeah, you know what? You said a lot of things, Chris. Like, ‘I’m never gonna touch my trust fund.’ And then what do you do? You cash it out and send it to a fucking homeless shelter!”

  “You damn well better not have stopped that payment.”

  “If only I could! But the fucking thing was in your name, and I couldn’t stop it. I mean, who the fuck sends thirty-two million dollars to the fucking homeless? That’s insane!”

  “Holy shit,” Hunter whispered.

  “It was my money and my decision.”

  “Well it was a fucking piss poor decision! That money was your future, and now you have nothing!”

  “I have nothing?” I asked incredulously. “Look around you! What do you think is happening here? That’s my name on the front of this building, and those are my paintings downstairs! These people are my friends, and this man is my boyfriend! I have nothing? Bullshit, Reggie. I have more than you ever will.”