by Mia Caldwell
“All right, all right, already, I was just trying to be polite. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your beautiful lady? Or is she a lady of the night – I mean, the kind that doesn’t use her real name?”
Antonio shouted, “How dare you speak about her like that.” He moved quickly behind the little man, then picked him up under his arms and carried him towards the bathroom.
“Sorry, dude, let me down. I didn’t mean anything. Sheesh!,” Vince said as he shook his legs and feet.
“Just shut your trap,” Antonio said, as his dropped Vince in front of the bathroom then shoved him inside.
“I’m so sorry about that,” Antonio said to Joan, who was trying not to laugh, at Antonio’s loss of temper.
They both turned to wait for Vince to come out of the bathroom. They heard the sounds of a toilet flushing, followed by running water. When the door finally came open, Vince came out, and wiped his wet hands on his pants.
Antonio shoved him to the front door.
“Nice to meet you, whoever you are,” Vince called over his shoulder. Then to Antonio, he said, “Look, man I have to talk to you.”
Antonio shoved his friend roughly into the hallway. He turned back to Joan. “I’ll talk to him downstairs. I’ll be back soon.”
“What’s taking you so long. I don’t have all night,” came Vince’s squeaky voice out in the hall. Antonio rolled his eyes, then went out, shutting the door behind him.
Joan realized that she was laughing at the absurdity of that bizarre and unexpected midnight visit and kept laughing until she felt her throat dry up. She needed more fluids.
When she got into the bathroom she took a few sips of water from the sink, then reached for her purse to find some lip balm. She paused and stared at her purse. It wasn’t where she’d remembered leaving it. It was on the center of the shelf below the counter, instead of on the right. Her breath quickened. Had that weasely friend of Antonio’s been in her purse?
She placed her purse on the counter and looked inside, letting out a breath of relief at the sight of her wallet inside. When she opened it, just to be sure, her heart sank.
Lissa had given her the family debit card with specific instructions to pick up a thousand in cash. Lissa wanted plenty of cash on hand to pay and tip all the drivers, caterers, and other helpers working on the wedding, and Joan had been making these daily maximum cash ATM withdrawal runs for the last week. She’d picked up the cash on her way to the AA meeting, and she’d intended to hand it over to her sister, so Lissa could put it into Julio’s safe.
But, then she’d found out about her mother, and had run into Antonio again, and she’d totally forgotten about the cash in her purse.
Antonio’s friend Vince must have dug through her purse while he was in the bathroom, and taken the money. There was no other explanation.
Joan’s first thought was how she could possibly explain the loss to her sister. Her second thought was that the bastard was still in the hotel talking to Antonio. He’d make him give it back.
She dug through her purse for her cell phone, then stopped when it occurred to her that she didn’t have Antonio’s number. She’d just had sex with Antonio all night, but they’d never exchanged phone numbers. How ironic was that?
Joan put on her shoes, grabbed her purse, and bolted out of the hotel room. If she was fast, she’d confront the little weasel before Antonio finished whatever business they had to discuss. Antonio wouldn’t let him get away with stealing from her. She knew he’d make the rat give back what he’d taken from her.
When the elevator door opened to the downstairs, Joan ran towards the lobby, looking high and low for her lover and his dirty rat friend. But, the lobby was quiet and empty. The two men she was seeking weren’t anywhere to be found. The only other person in sight was the night auditor standing behind the counter, doing some paperwork with his head down.
“Excuse me, Señor,” Joan said. “Did you see a large man and a little man talking in the lobby a few minutes ago? Did you see where they went?”
“Yeah, they left a while ago.”
“They left? Both of them?”
“Yep, drove off in a kick ass Maserati. I could hear the growl all the way in here.”
Joan felt her heart breaking, and her world colliding around her. Had Antonio been in on it? Had he had his way with her until she could barely see straight, taken her to places she’d forgotten existed, just so he could steal her money? No. That didn’t make sense – Antonio had to be a millionaire with all the money he earned playing soccer for AC Milan. No, there had to be another explanation. He just liked screwing people over. He was just a bastard. Damn it. She’d let him get to her again!
“Can I help you with something else?”
“Yes, can you call me a cab please?”
“Wait a minute, you wouldn’t be Señorita Joan, by any chance? No?”
“Yes, that’s me,” Joan said, her heart daring to hope that it had just been some terrible mix-up, an innocent mistake. It had felt like more than just sex, it had felt like he’d cared about her.
“Oh, good. The big guy, as you call him, he asked me to write you a note. I was just getting ready to bring it to your room.”
The desk clerk held out a sealed envelope of hotel stationary.
“I can tell you what it says, if you’d prefer,” he offered.
Joan could feel the heat of anger and humiliation rising in her cheeks, and up her neck.
“No,” She said, sharply, stopping the desk clerk who seemed overly eager to spill the contents of the Antonio’s note. She plucked the sealed envelope out of his hand and stuffed it into her purse, determined not to read it.
Whatever Antonio had come up with for an excuse this time wasn’t going to cut it.
She’d allowed it to happen again. She’d fallen for his attentions, the way he made her feel like she was not only wanted, but the only woman in the world and the only important thing in his life. Well, clearly that wasn’t the case. He’d done it to her again, tricked her into a state of complacency, made her feel safe and desired, only to dump her at the first shiny new object that came along. She’d just been robbed by his friend and Antonio had to run off with him for some reason? And he thought he could explain that behavior away in some fricken’ note?
That wasn’t going to happen.
“Don’t bother, just call me a cab.”
ANTONIO DROVE HIS CAR, following Vince’s directions, and tried not to think about what he’d just done. He’d walked out on Joan, left her alone in his hotel room after having her every way he could think of all night long, and all so he could gamble. What was wrong with him?
“Like I said, these people don’t know their asses from a hole in the ground, but they’ve got lots of money. I know with your mad skills you’ll be able to take them to the cleaners. That’s why I hunted you down, cause I heard you needed the money, buddy.”
That alarmed Antonio. Who was talking? The mob. His landlord? The owners of the clubs where he hadn’t been paying his tab? Maybe the dick that was beaten up before he could lend him money at hard, hard rates. It was hard to keep the tongues from wagging when a super-star soccer player bled through all his millions in one glorious gambling binge. The word was out. He was ruined. When the tabloids got hold of this, they’d be all over him.
But he couldn’t worry about that. He had bigger fish to fry. On Monday, he either came up with his next ten thousand dollar payment or they’d break his leg or worse. Even if they only twisted his ankle he’d be out of the next several games, and if word got back that his injuries were self-inflicted because he’d gotten messed up by the wrong people, people he’d allowed into his own damn life – they’d probably suspend him, launch an investigation, fine him up the yin yang. He’d not be able to get a job coaching soccer to the children of drug dealers in fricking Peru. He’d be blackballed from life. For sure, Joan wouldn’t want anything to do with him.
Thinking about Joan hit him hard.
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br /> “Watch it,” Vince said, “Slow down, you’re going to get us killed.”
Death in an accident that took his weasel friend out with him sounded almost tempting, but Antonio slowed down. He’d left her a note, she’d understand. He told the clerk to say there was an emergency that required him to leave right away, please wait and he would be back before morning. What was wrong with that?
Besides, if he could win the money he needed at this slam-dunk private poker game then he wouldn’t have to sell his car, or debase himself in front of Joan’s future brother in law. Winning the money now was the smartest move he could make and there was no other option but to go with Vince while the action was still hot. Besides, unlike himself, Vince had a thousand dollars in seed money. Antonio was shocked, Vince rarely held on to ten dollars without gambling it away. It was so shocking that Antonio refused to let him into his car or agree to go to this poker game until Vince handed over all the money, so Antonio could hold onto it for safe keeping.
As they drove up the last leg of the windy road that Vince claimed would have them at the house in a matter of moments, Antonio felt the familiar rush of adrenaline, hope, anticipation, and dreaming that came just before he entered a casino or walked into an establishment where some gambling was taking place. This is why he loved to gamble. His body hummed with excitement. He felt alive, and he knew he was going to win big.
JOAN TOLD THE DRIVER the address for the Torres house but changed her mind as they drove through Ciutat Vella, which was humming with activity even though it was almost one in the morning. She recognized the Grand Hotel and thought again about the famous bar downstairs, where so many movie scenes had been filmed. She had a sudden urge to see it. “Stop here. Halt,” she said. She paid the driver with her credit card since she had no cash and went into the old hotel.
The bar was dark, but there were no barriers to get into the room. She looked one way and then another, the slipped through a hallway that led to the bar. She had to watch where she stepped because it there was so little light, but she located the opening to the back of the bar. There was a half-height door blocking access.
Her heart raced as she pressed it, to see if it was locked. It was.
“Bummer,” she muttered, eyes narrowing in concentration. It was only as high as her upper thigh. She could do this. Her heart raced and she felt like a school girl, a naughty school girl, as she lifted her leg over the short door and then heaved her body onto the other side.
She was giggling, scared and excited. She ducked down, not wanting to be seen.
She’d broken into a closed bar in the middle of the night.
Now what?
“Let’s have a drink,” she suggested to herself.
She deserved a drink, after a day like today. She was already back on the road to self-destruction, so why shouldn’t she cap off the day with some serious drinking?
She’d allowed herself to be screwed by a man that had screwed her and left her before. She thought of her mother, and that motivated her even more. She’d suffered so much after learning of her mother’s demise because their last words to each other had been so harsh and she’d cut her mother out of her life. The guilt that she’d suffered for rejecting her mother’s overtures in the months before she’d been presumably killed had taken her down a dark, dark hole. All that guilt had been for naught because her mother hadn’t been dead. She’d just been playing some game again, trying to make herself famous, trying to avoid responsibility when Joan had needed her most.
Decision made, she rubbed her hands together and her mouth watered in anticipation as she stood up to reach for the bottle of Glenlevit sitting on an upper shelf. The glass was cold, the shape of the bottle familiar. Her fingers gripped the side as she slowly slid it off the shelf. It was full and heavy, and she almost dropped it. “Whoops,” she said with a nervous giggle.
The sounds of voices murmuring out in the lobby made her hurry back into a kneeling position. She was breathing hard, clutching her precious bottle to her bosom as she waited for the voices and footsteps to fade away.
When the coast was clear, she placed the bottle carefully onto the floor and, using the counter for support, heaved herself back up but kept her head and shoulder’s ducked down in a crouch. If she was going to start drinking again, she wanted to do it right.
Her eyes had adjusted to the dark so she selected a high-ball glass, found the ice and scooped out enough to fill half of her glass. The noise set her teeth on edge and she paused to make sure no one had noticed before continuing. Walking on hands and knees she moved over to the drink nozzle bank. It was too dark to read what each one was for, so she tested them, squirting a little liquid onto her fingers and tasting it. She tasted a cola beverage, a ginger ale, club soda, and finally what she was looking for. Tonic.
She added tonic to her glass, leaving plenty of room for the gin, and sat back on the floor cross-legged with the Bombay Sapphire between her legs.
“Here goes nothing,” she said as she unscrewed the cap, and tipped over the heavy bottle.
Her arms shook, and some of the gin splashed onto her legs. She didn’t care. She took a deep breath and tried again, this time filling her glass to the rim. Fumes of alcohol blossomed into the air, filling her senses. Joan breathed in the familiar, welcoming scent, the mixture of fine gin and tonic. Gin and tonic – it had always her favorite. She could drink them all night long, one after the other.
All she had to do was lift it to her lips.
A voice in the back of her head tried to tell her, that it wasn’t too late – Put it down, step away from the drink. Don’t do it – but the voice was weak and she ignored it.
Still, there was something stopping her from taking that first sip.
“Lime!” she said, as she put her glass down and scrambled to her hands and knees again to search out the final ingredient. She found the refrigerator, and a bowl full of cut limes and brought them back to her place on the floor.
This time, with her limes, easy access to the ice and the bottle in front of her, she had nothing else that would slow her down. The voice of reason came back, shrill and desperate in the back of her mind, one last plea for salvation.
Another voice was filling her head, drowning it out. Her mother’s voice. The last time she’d spoken with her mother, the big fight that had caused the rift between them.
She had already sensed her addiction issues were getting out of hand, and she wanted to leave the land of temptation – the decadent, partying world of fashion. She’d tried to tell her mother that she wanted to quit modeling, that she wanted to do something else with her life, she just wasn’t sure what. Her mother had been dead set against it.
“I hope you don’t take offense, but darling you’re not smart enough to do anything else. Your asset is your beauty. Stay in modeling for the fame and money, darling, and use it to land a rich husband. Then you won’t need another career. Trust me, it’s your best path to happiness.”
Joan lifted her glass into the air, toasting Annabelle Edwards. “You were wrong about that mother,” she said bitterly. “Modeling and marrying rich men have nothing on the pure pleasures of getting drunk.”
She took the first drink, savoring the comforting heat that spread from her stomach to her chest and through every cell in her body. She finished that and made another, and then another, and soon, each successive drink numbing the pain a little more until she’d forgotten that she was in pain.
She was home.
Chapter Seven
ANTONIO WAS IN HIS element. Vince had been right; these people were loaded but they knew nothing about how to play the game. By the end of the night, he’d not only made the ten-thousand he needed to pay off the mob come Monday, he’d also earned another thirty thousand on top of that. Enough to give Vince his cut and still have thousands to spare.
It was four in the morning and, despite his lack of sleep, Antonio was on top of the world when he drove his Maserati back to into the city towards hi
s hotel. He imagined how his luck would continue – Joan Edwards would be there, waiting for him. He’d wake her up with his cock, giving her what she craved, thick and slow until he couldn’t hold back the thunder.
After he came inside her he’d go down on her, his head nestled hungrily between her brown legs. He’d take his time, worshiping her pussy and her whole body with his lips, his tongue, his fingers. He’d pay homage to her clit, swelling it into a hot, vibrating nub, tonguing it and sucking on it, until screamed his name in her ecstasy.
After that, they’d shower together before he took her out for breakfast and got her back to the Torres house in time for her to start work. While she worked, he’d plan a fabulous night – the perfect dinner, perhaps a trip to a jewelry store. He’d drape her beautiful neck with a trinket that sparkled, that showed her how much she meant to him.
Antonio arrived at the hotel and drove into the underground parking garage, conscious that his vehicle could be on the watch list for the Barcelona police. He took the elevator to his floor and walked down the hallway towards his room, carrying the duffle bag stuffed with his winnings.
It occurred to him, only in that moment, that Joan might not be too happy with him for running off the way he did. How would she react when she learned that his big ‘emergency’ involved racing off to a private high-stakes poker game?
He let himself in as quietly as he could, hoping to hide the bag before waking her up, perhaps in the closet. Joan wasn’t in the unmade bed, but the door to the bathroom was partially closed and it sounded like there might be water running, so he decided to use the opportunity to stash the bag in a spot she was less likely to discover.
He got on his knees and quickly shoved the bag full of cash under the bed, then pushed it farther, so it couldn’t be seen with a casual glance.
He fixed the bedspread so it covered the bottom of the bed, then brushed himself off.
“Joan?” he said, in a sexy voice as he approached the bathroom.