by Nic Saint
The topic she had selected was one on which he held equally strong views, only his were diametrically opposed to hers. The topic was his son, Richard Dawson, or Rickie as she called him, and the way she spoke made it plain to the casual observer that she was enamored with the young scoundrel.
The trouble had started when he’d asked her help in securing this infernal laptop of Rick’s, so that he could destroy it. She’d practically exploded and told him in no uncertain terms what she felt of fathers trying to sabotage their sons and sending a bunch of ill-mannered goons to hound them all across the country.
Then she’d asked him if he was right in the head, which appeared to be a rhetorical question, for she’d answered it herself (no), then had added what she thought of him (a brutal beast), Rick (a wonderful man) and the goons he’d sent out (horrible monsters) who had apparently inserted themselves into her life by pretending to be NYPD detectives, a ruse which abruptly improved his own opinion of Jerry and Johnny.
She told him he should be ashamed of himself for conducting a business which would have made Don Corleone and Al Capone wince, and for failing to see that Rick was a better man than he was. Finally, she urged him to reconcile with the boy and make the necessary changes to his business plan, modeling himself after the likes of Andrew Carnegie, John Pierpont Morgan or Henry Ford. In other words, a captain of industry who sparked admiration in his peers and employees alike, and who would go do down in history as one of the greats, rather than the crook he obviously was.
After a few more well-chosen remarks, Falcone stopped trying to arrest the attention of this formidable woman and simply sat back and let her words roll over him. To his dismay, he had to admit she was touching something he’d long since forgotten he possessed: his heart.
As it was, he’d always attempted to make hay while the sun shone, and even when it didn’t continue to build his fortune to the detriment of anyone who stood in his way.
As she spoke eloquently about his legacy and the example he should set for future generations, he found himself moved to the core by the picture she painted of a Chazz Falcone, remembered not for the wrongs he had done, but for the rights. She envisioned a Falcone Museum, a Falcone Library, a Falcone Hall, and even a Falcone Trust, which would enable impoverished children to attend university and carve out a future for themselves.
He wiped away a tear as she told him about the statues people would erect in his name, and how he could be a force for good if only he chose to be.
He had contemplated his legacy before, and he now saw that what this woman wanted was exactly what he wanted too. The convergence, when it finally came, had him sobbing freely, and the effect was overwhelming.
She handed him a handkerchief, her gaze softening and he knew he had but one wish: that this woman would become his bride.
From being seated on the couch to dropping down on one knee was but the work of a moment, and then he was muttering the immortal words that every woman likes to hear.
“Felicity Bell, will you marry me?”
Though his eyes were misty with unshed tears, he could detect that his words hadn’t provoked the right response. Instead of looking exulted, like his previous five wives had done, she looked dismayed and horrified. Feeling there was something wrong with this picture, he decided to repeat the question, figuring she hadn’t heard him the first time.
“Felicity Bell, will you be my bride?”
“Not a chance in hell!” a voice suddenly thundered from the doorway.
Looking up, he perceived their little band of two had been joined by two more. A smallish woman he didn’t recognize…and his son Rick.
Rick, walking up to him with long strides, jerked him to his feet. “If anyone is going to marry Felicity, it is me. Me, dammit!”
Falcone, having run the gamut of emotions today, wasn’t equal to this sudden twist in the narrative. The fact that he wasn’t a frequent viewer of soap operas had something to do with this. If he was, he would have been prepared. Now, he played the part of the jilted lover without conviction, like an actor fibbing his lines.
“But I’m going to marry her,” he stammered.
“No, I’m going to marry her!” Rick insisted.
“No, I—”
“Maybe we should ask the lady herself,” the smallish woman suggested.
Both men looked up, and Falcone had to admit she had a point. He directed a pleading look at Felicity. Ever since his second marriage, he hadn’t felt this strongly about the issue. After the powerful speech she’d given, he felt that fate had brought them together, and he felt certain she would feel the same way.
Great was his dismay therefore, when she shook her head. “I don’t want to marry you, Mr. Falcone.”
“Why the hell not?” he challenged.
She shrugged. “Because I’m in love with another man.”
“What’s love got to do with it!” he ejaculated, unaware he was plagiarizing Tina Turner.
“Love’s got everything to do with it,” she said softly. “Love’s the only reason two people should get married in the first place.”
There, she had lost him, Falcone admitted. Most of his marriages hadn’t been conducted out of love rather than because they had furthered his career. It was the same reason he felt so strongly about Charlene marrying Bomer. Bringing two vast fortunes together this way would herald in a new era for both the Falcone and Calypso families.
“What is my father doing here?” Rick demanded. He, too, seemed perturbed.
Perhaps wisely, Felicity changed the subject. “You didn’t show up for our date.”
“I can explain that,” said the pint-sized blonde. “I found him just now, hovering on the doorstep. Turns out he’d been assaulted, his laptop stolen, and lying unconscious for the better part of an hour!”
“Dear God!” cried Felicity, visibly dismayed. She raced over to where Rick stood and took him in her arms, pressing him to her bosom.
Falcone watched the scene with censure. How anyone could feel sorry for his son was beyond him.
“I wasn’t going to tell you,” Rick said softly, closing his arms around her. “I thought I’d lose your respect.”
“What nonsense,” Felicity murmured. “I think I’ve been in love with you ever since you hit me with that can of baked beans.”
And before Falcone’s goggle-eyed stare, she kissed that blasted son of his.
CHAPTER 49
Felicity was greatly relieved that Rick, in spite of his recent predicament, seemed unharmed. When she kissed him, he fervently returned the kiss, which told her that her initial instinct to throw herself into his arms had been right.
“Oh, Rick,” she murmured brokenly.
“I’m sorry I was late for dinner,” he said, nuzzling her cheek. “I was unconscious at the time.”
It was a good excuse in her book, and as she went under for the third time, she became vaguely aware that their tryst was being observed by a third party. Alice had discreetly removed herself from the scene and was feeding the six cats in the kitchen but as she looked up, she found Rick’s father still staring at them, goggle-eyed. It was not a pretty sight.
“What’s all this?” he cried.
“This is the man I love,” Felicity said.
“But, but, but—”
“Stop butting in, Dad,” Rick returned peevishly. “What are you doing here anyway?”
Felicity felt that this was the time to make good on the promise to herself that if she ever met Rick’s father she would try to negotiate a truce between the two men. It wouldn’t do, she felt, to marry a man at perpetual war with his own flesh and blood. What if she and Rick decided to have kids? Would it be fair to deprive them of their grandfather? Or their grandfather of them? She decided that the work she’d begun with the father must now continue with the son.
“Rick, darling,” she said, placing her hands on his chest. “I think it’s time to bury the hatchet and find it in your heart to forgive your dad.”
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nbsp; Now Rick was the one whose eyes goggled precipitously at the end of their stalks. “What?” he cried. “After everything that old buzzard has done? No way!” Then, perceiving this was the woman he intended to marry, he repeated, softer this time, “No way, honey.”
A sudden bleating noise rose up. Both Rick and Felicity turned and found it came from the old buzzard in question.
“Rick,” Falcone said in a tremulous voice. “Rickie.”
A strong shudder ran through Rick’s frame. It was the first time in years his father had called him Rickie and it affected him powerfully.
“I’ve been listening to Felicity’s views on the subject, and I must admit that even though I was doubtful at first, I now see that she was right.” He heaved a deep sigh, obviously in the throes of some powerful emotion. “I’m sorry, son.”
“Sorry for what?” Rick said, though wavering still not convinced.
Falcone wrung his hands. “I’m sorry for everything! I’m sorry for getting you fired from the New York Chronicle. I’m sorry for stealing your laptop.”
“What? You stole my laptop?”
“Well, not technically. Jerry and Johnny did.”
“Jerry Vale and Johnny Carew,” Rick said through gritted teeth. That bump on his head was still throbbing and he felt the resentment keenly.
“Felicity has made me see the light, son. I’ve been too focused on collecting money and lost track of the important things in life. Things like…” He gulped. “Family. And…love.”
Rick glared at the man. Years of resentment can’t be erased with a few simple words of contrition. What was more, he didn’t believe a word his father was saying. A man like Chazz Falcone doesn’t change in the blink of an eye. “Prove it,” he spat. “Give me back my laptop.”
Falcone seemed to waver but then nodded. “I’ll get it for you, Rickie. Just give me a minute.”
He moved away and took out his phone. While he was talking, silence reigned in the room for a few brief moments, then Felicity gave speech.
“I’m proud of you, Rick. It takes a great man to find it in his heart to forgive.”
Rick wasn’t quite there yet but he did enjoy the compliment. “Thank you, honey. I don’t know what you told him, but he does seem to have had a change of heart.”
“I’m sure he has.” She twined her hands around his neck and their lips met once again. This time the silence was broken by a deferential cough. Falcone had returned, desirous of speech.
“There’s been a slight snag. Jerry handed the laptop to Charlene and I can’t seem to get in touch with her at the moment.”
“That’s all right,” said Felicity. “It’s the gesture that counts.”
“No, it is not,” said Rick stubbornly. “I want my laptop and I want it now.”
And as if on his command, just in that moment the doorbell rang again.
“I’ll get it,” said Alice. The door swung open, and Jerry Vale and Johnny Carew strode in.
“Hiya boss,” said Johnny with a wave.
“What are you two doing here?” growled Falcone with some asperity.
“Well, we were in the neighborhood and figured we might as well drop by to thank you personally for getting us back on the team,” said Jerry.
He stared pointedly at the table, which was still fully set for dinner, a dish of beef tenderloin and one of potatoes cooling their heels. As they were heading back to New York, Jerry had suddenly realized that he was hungry, and that the moment he stepped into the apartment he shared with Mrs. Vale, all chances of a happy meal were off. And since they were passing by Felicity’s anyway, and saw the boss’s car parked in front, he figured they had a great excuse for dropping by unannounced, hoping to bask in Felicity’s well-remembered hospitality.
Felicity, who was a great judge of character, gestured to the table. “Have at it, Detective Vale—though I should probably call you Jerry, right?”
“Sorry about that, Fe,” Jerry said meekly, then plunked his spindly frame down and started ladling potatoes onto a plate.
“I really should knock that guy’s block off,” Rick grumbled, staring at Jerry. “He’s the one responsible for this goose bump on the back of my head.”
“And what a pretty goose bump it is,” Felicity said soothingly.
“Actually, I’m the one to blame for that Rick,” interjected Johnny. He was nothing if not proud of his accomplishments, though he still feared Rick’s wrath.
“That’s all right, Johnny,” said Felicity. She patted her fiancé’s shoulder. “Rick’s got a thick skull. I should know. I keep using it for target practice.”
“Thank you, Fe,” stammered Johnny gratefully, then plunked himself down next to Jerry and helped himself to a piece of meat.
“I don’t think you should encourage them,” Rick opined.
“Oh, they’re quite harmless. Besides, Jerry’s on a fast,” she added, as if that explained all.
The doorbell rang again, and Rick’s eyes sought the heavens, as if imploring the good Lord to stop sending people along.
Alice, self-appointed doorwoman, had barely opened the door before a female form came stomping in.
“Daddy!” Charlene Falcone screamed, “could you please ask those two goons of yours to go and beat up Bomer?” Then, perceiving there were other people present, she faltered for a moment, before finishing with, “I just caught him making out with no less than a dozen other women!”
Though she had accused her fiancé of doing just that thing, she hadn’t actually caught him when she’d found him at Rick’s apartment. Now, arriving at Casa di Amore and discovering Bomer practically festooned in scantily clad girls, she’d not only broken off the engagement—conveniently forgetting she’d already done so on the earlier occasion—but had also promised him she’d ‘get even.’
“Oh, there you are,” she said when she detected Jerry and Johnny. She turned to the two ‘goons’ and ordered, “Go over to Casa di Amore now and beat up Bomer Calypso. And don’t stint on the unnecessary violence. The little rat deserves everything he gets.”
Jerry and Johnny’s gazes drifted to their employer, who stood glowering at his daughter ominously.
“Charlene!” he barked. “I found your pictures.”
Charlene turned to her father. “What pictures? What are you gibbering about?”
When in a berserk state of mind, she sometimes forgot who she was talking to.
“Your nude pictures,” he said, his gaze darkening.
Charlene’s mouth opened for a flip response but at these words she closed it again with a click.
“What in heaven’s name got into you to pose in the nude, young lady!” he thundered.
“I—I—I—”
“Those were my idea, actually,” spoke yet another voice from the door.
CHAPTER 50
Seeing as tonight her home had turned into an open house, Alice hadn’t even bothered to close the front door anymore and a young man with butter-colored hair wandered in.
“Bomer!” cried Charlene, suddenly finding her tongue again. She hurled herself at him, fists raised and claws extended, but Falcone stopped her with a thunderous, “Charlene!” Then, turning to Bomer, he asked, “You are responsible for those pictures?”
“That’s right, sir. They were my idea. Of course when I took them I never meant for them to be seen by anyone other than myself and my fiancée. You see, both Charlene and I are avid nudists. In fact, when in the home, we never put on any clothes. We cook in the nude, eat in the nude, watch Modern Family in the nude—”
“Yes, yes, yes.” Never a patient man, Falcone had the distinct impression that if left unchecked Bomer would recite his daily itinerary and add ‘in the nude’ as he ticked off each item on the list. “So what?”
“Well, as a testament to our great love I enjoy taking pictures of your daughter, sir.” He shrugged. “And as it so happens that we’re always in the nude, that’s the way those pictures tend to come out. In the nude, as it were.�
� He looked up at the startled cry that had emanated from Charlene and turned to address her. “Yes, it is true, darling. You are my great love. Tonight, as I was festooned in blondes, as you so aptly described it, I came to the realization.
“Belatedly, perhaps, but nevertheless I felt I needed to share this revelation with you. If there was even the tiniest hope that you would still feel about me the way I feel about you, I needed to tell you this in person. I love you, Charlene, and I promise you that my lips never touched those of any other woman and they never shall, for as long as I live, if you can only find it in your heart to forgive me.”
All eyes turned to Charlene. That strong young woman seemed to waver for a moment, a shiver galvanizing her frame. The heroic rescue attempt of her former mate had touched her heart, such as it was. There wasn’t much she feared in life, but she did fear her father’s wrath. If that stalwart man discovered that the pictures she’d allowed Bomer to take had been meant for her big break, and had been a mere preamble to the sex tape she’d been planning, he’d be furious for sure.
She now realized how silly the whole scheme was and how valiant a knight Bomer was for saving her from the embarrassment. Love surged in her bosom, or at least an emotion closely resembling it, and she threw herself into her savior’s arms, muttering broken words of endearment.
Bomer, expertly catching her, kissed her sixty-seven times in quick succession, relieved at the happy ending.
Though the part about being a nudist had been a blatant lie for the sake of Charlene’s father, he hadn’t lied about one thing: that he loved this girl above all others. Though her supercilious and bossy manner sometimes made him feel like a piece of dross, it was also that which appealed so much to him. Like most spineless men, a strong desire to be dominated by a forceful female ran through him, and in Charlene Falcone he had found just such a female.
Felicity heaved a deep sigh. Her dinner date with Rick had turned out differently than she’d anticipated, but she didn’t mind. She’d grown up in a full house, and even though not everyone present was a relative—yet—she enjoyed the company.