“Hello, Jazz,” Trina said.
“Hey, Tree, how you doing?” Jazz asked with a grand smile.
“May I speak with you for a moment?” It wasn’t exactly debatable since Trina was already moving away.
“Yeah, sure,” Jazz said, gave her male companion one of those we’ll talk later looks, and hurried to Trina’s side. “What’s up?” she asked.
“You’re skating on thin ice, Jazz.”
Jazz frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Reno didn’t want to bring you back here. He said it was a bad idea all around. Lee Jones said the same thing. But they let you back because I wanted it. But I am telling you, Jazz, you had better get your shit together or there won’t be a third time.”
“I got it together, what you mean by that? Just because you happened to catch me talking to somebody? What I can’t have an innocent conversation with a dude anymore?”
“Coming late to work, back talking Lee the way you’re right now back talking me, treating some of our customers with disrespect. If Reno was here he would have fired you already.” Then Trina closed her eyes and opened them again. “Just don’t push your luck,” she said. “You’ve been given a golden opportunity. Tighten your shit and handle your business, Jazz, or you’re be out in the cold again.” Then Trina walked away.
Jazz stared at her as she left, as she sashayed her way along the corridor like some major big deal. Sometimes she felt like she hated that sister. It wasn’t her fault that her old man left her, why was she taking it out on her? Now she walks around here like she’s the mighty Trina, like she’s the head nigger in charge. And just because her bed ain’t warm, she’s taking it all out on her. When she had nothing to do with it.
Then Jazz looked over at the male hotel guest who still waited for her by the elevators. And she smiled, forgot about Trina, and hurried back to him.
Trina entered the massive PaLargio casino, the biggest money engine of the entire hotel, and headed toward Stan’s back office. She had yet another meeting with yet another investor and her head was killing her. But when she saw Jeffrey Graham walking the floor, doing his job as gaming supervisor, aka pit boss, with the high efficiency he was becoming known for, she smiled.
“Hey, Jeff, how’s it going?”
“Going great,” Jeffrey said, smiling too. “You look tired.”
“I am tired,” Trina said as she kept going. Jeffrey had amazed her. Instead of wanting favors or trying to worm his way into her bed after Reno left, he just did his job and got it done. Stan, his boss, had nothing but great things to say about him.
After meeting with Stan and Wasserman, it was well after ten. And she’d been on her feet, going and coming, since before six a.m. that morning. By the time she made it to the penthouse, and had jumped in the shower, she could barely drag herself to bed. And as soon as her head hit the pillow, Reno, as he had done every night since the last night she saw him, dominated her thoughts.
He left after his son’s death, left blaming himself. Trina begged him not to go, she grabbed him and tried to hold him back, but he slung her off of him. He was bad news, he kept saying. He wasn’t going to ruin her life or anybody else’s life ever again. And he left. Just walked right out.
Six months ago.
Tears appeared in Trina’s eyes just thinking about Reno. She missed him so much. At first she tried to search for him, but Tommy Gabrini told her not to, that he would make sure he didn’t harm himself. “But you can’t hold him back,” Tommy also said. “He’ll die if he stays. He has to go, he has to come to terms with himself, with what he’s done, he has to forgive himself before he can accept anybody else’s forgiveness. Let him go, Trina,” Tommy had begged her. “If you love him, let him go.”
She loved him dearly, so she let him go. Carmine had been great, as he continued to close down Reno’s father’s illegal businesses and run his legal ones. He’d been her biggest supporter. He and Tommy.
She used to call Tommy almost every week, just to hear him tell her that Reno was okay, but then she stopped doing even that. Reno was still her husband, and she was still his wife, and she would give him time to heal, to make up his mind. It had already been six months, too long to her parents and to even Carmine. But they didn’t understand. She’d wait six years for Reno if she had to. He was worth it.
She turned over, just thinking about how much he was worth it, how badly she missed him. Lee Jones had said that if Reno was coming back, he would have been back by now. And Lee was a friend of Reno’s. He wasn’t trying to be harsh. He was just trying to get her to face facts. Your husband has left you, his words seemed to say. Move on with your life.
But how could she move on with her life, she wondered, the tears flowing more freely now, the ache deep within her no less painful after all these months, when her life was with Reno?
***
It was raining in Seattle as Reno locked up the restaurant for the night and jogged over to his Mercedes. It was the lone car still in the parking lot and one of the few still on the road. He drove ploddingly, not superfast the way he used to be known for driving, because he no longer saw the virtue in rushing. What was there to rush about? Who was he rushing to?
In fact, the highlight of his day was usually his drive home from work. It was usually well after midnight when he clocked off, and the streets were ghostly compared to how they had been earlier. The sounds of silence helped him too. He found that he liked the silence, the peacefulness, the comfort in knowing that he could exist without living, that when he drove in the quietness of the early morning, he could just drive and concentrate on driving, and not have to feel a darn thing.
The silence in his home, however, was different. Tommy wanted him to stay in one of those fancy condos he owned, but he had refused. Condos meant living on top of people, and he didn’t want that. This house, across from a lumberyard that kept regular, 9 to 5 type hours, was isolated, dark, dreary, unattractive as hell, but perfect for him.
It was a different silence in his home. Because as soon as he shut the door, this silence was devoid of life. On his drive home he could smell the smog, hear the rustling trees, feel the rain on his arm as he always drove, unless there was some kind of monsoon, with his window down. Here, in his home, was silence filled with nothingness. And nothingness always reminded him of himself.
He fell across the bed still fully clothed. He should fix himself something to eat, he knew, or at least shower first to get the stench of the day off of him, but he didn’t have the energy to even make the attempt. Because this kind of silence also made him think. There was no road to concentrate on, or even no restaurant activity to be distracted by. Just nothingness. This kind of silence always put Katrina on his mind.
He closed his eyes tightly. Would he ever get over her? Would it ever get any easier? They always said how time healed every wound. But they lied. Time hadn’t healed a damn thing for him. It just caused him to separate from the wound, to keep his cursed, wretched self far away from her wonderfulness.
And he opened his eyes. He could see her big, bright eyes. He could feel her smooth dark skin, the way he used to caress it, the way he could never keep his hands off of her. He could still smell her sweet, fresh scent. On his drive home tonight, Trina was the rain beating down on him, prickling his own skin, forcing him to feel alive. He wasn’t living, he gave up life when he gave up Trina. But somehow she kept him alive.
The doorbell rang and then knocking was heard. Which, Reno knew as he made his way to open it, that it was nobody but Tommy. He always rang then knocked. And he also was the only human being to not only know where Reno lived, but to come by and see him.
“It’s one o’ clock in the morning,” he said to his cousin as he let him in and headed for the kitchen.
“Nice to see you, too, Dominic,” Tommy said with a smile as he followed him. Reno glanced back, at the long white coat Tommy wore, at the fancy bowler hat, at the expensive suit.
“Where you
going this time of morning?”
“Phoenix.”
“Arizona?”
“Wire-tapping case. One of my people found out some very damaging information on a very highly placed politician. It requires delicacy.”
“Tommy Gabrini to the rescue,” Reno said as Tommy sat at the small kitchen table. Reno pulled out a couple of bottles of beer and gave him one. When Reno sat down, in his stained, rumpled suit, his five o clock shadow, Tommy exhaled.
“You look like shit,” he said.
“Fuck you,” Reno said with no emotion, and drained some beer.
“How’s it going? For real this time.”
Reno ran his hand through his already rumpled hair, giving it an even wilder look. “It’s going. That little joint of yours taking in serious business.”
“I know,” Tommy said, sipping beer too. Reno smiled. Tommy was not a beer man and it showed. “People thought I was crazy when I bought it, they said it was a dead location. But what do they know, right?”
“Damn right,” Reno said, folding his arms.
Tommy leaned forward, his brow furrowed, and Reno knew the purpose of this late night visit of his was about to be revealed. “I’ve got to get going,” Tommy said, “but I wanted to ask you something. I wanted to ask if you wanted me to stop in at the PaLargio.”
Reno was shaking his head before Tommy could finish saying his last word. “No.”
“She’s still worried about you.”
“That’s why you can’t go. No. The sooner she gets me out of her system, the better off she’ll be.”
“That’s bullshit, Reno, and you know it.”
“Whatta you a mind reader now? You gonna tell me what I know and don’t know now?”
“Okay,” Tommy said, leaning back. “Divorce her then.”
Reno stared at his cousin. “What?”
“You want her out of your system. You want her to go on with her life. Fine. Serve her divorce papers. She’ll have no choice but to go on with her life then. She’ll know you mean business, and that it’s over.”
Reno’s heart began to pound. “Over?” he said. “What the fuck are you talking about? It’ll never be over. That’s Trina. That’s my wife!” he yelled, more in pain than anger. “It’ll never be over. She’ll always be my wife.”
“Then how is she going to move on, Ree, if you won’t be with her, but you won’t let her go? How does your decision not to divorce her helps her?”
Reno looked out through the always opened blinds of his kitchen window, saw the rain still slicing and dicing up Seattle. Then he looked at his elegant, dapper cousin, and he felt so inadequate. “It doesn’t help her,” he admitted. “But it keeps me alive.”
Tommy’s heart dropped. And he suddenly realized a startling truth. Reno was no better, not an ounce better, than he was that night six months ago when he carted him away from Vegas. And if he didn’t come to his senses and go back to his wife, he was never going to get better.
Tommy stood up. “My plane is waiting,” he said. Then stared at Reno. “You take care of yourself.”
Reno nodded, sipped more beer, stared at more rain, didn’t bother to see him out.
Tommy left the suffocating little house and got into his waiting limousine. Also waiting for him was a beautiful black woman with short, freestyle hair and big, almond eyes. Tommy’s latest lady friend.
“Hope I didn’t take too long, sweetheart,” he said to her.
“You didn’t,” she said with a smile.
Then they kissed, and she tasted so good that Tommy was certain they would be fucking before they even made it to the airstrip. Then he leaned his head back and closed his eyes as she unzipped his pants, pulled out his manhood, and began to relieve him.
As she did her work, he picked up the car phone.
“Max, it’s me,” he said into the phone, her hand moving up and down his long rod, her tongue licking with light expertness. “There’s a change in the flight plan. Yes. Yes, I’m aware that it’s a nuisance, but it’s a fact. I need to stop through Vegas first. Right. I know, Max, I know. But do it.” He said his last few words with a grunt, and then he dropped the phone as his woman sucked on him so exactly that he was lifting from his seat.
“Aaah,” he said like a loud exhale, no longer caring that he was driving through Seattle, or would soon be at the airstrip, or that he was pulling down his pants, lifting this woman on top of him, and ripping the seat of her panties to enter her. Even that oddball cousin of his wasn’t on his radar screen. Not now. Not as he slid into her black beautifulness and found exactly what he was looking for.
“Aaah,” he said again.
FIFTEEN
“I said well done,” the customer insisted. “Not rare, not medium done. Well done.”
“It is well done,” the waitress insisted back.
“Are you blind? It’s burnt on the outside and bloody as hell on the inside. See,” he took his fork and proved his point. “That’s not well done, lady, are you kidding me?”
“Does it look like I’m kidding you?” the waitress said, her blue eyes blazing now, ready to mix it up with the best of them. But then she glanced at the back booth, remembered who was sitting there, and caught herself. “I apologize if your sparerib isn’t to your liking, sir.” She scooped up the plate. “I’ll correct the problem and be right back.”
Reno, seated in that back booth, took a sip of his Guinness and watched her head for the kitchen of the small, but prosperous restaurant. Taste of Southern it was called, although why Italian Tommy would buy an eatery in Seattle that specialized in southern cuisine when he’d only been to the south a few times in his entire life, was a mystery to Reno. But here it was, fried chicken, ribs, and smoked pork chops highlighting the menu. In Seattle of all places. Reno thought Tommy had lost his mind.
But when he left Vegas, it was Tommy who took him away. Took him first to his beach home in Malibu, where Reno at least found the peace and quiet he needed. But good ol’ Tommy felt Reno had too much quietness and believed what he needed most was to get busy again; that a workaholic like Reno couldn’t sit still for long. He therefore kept asking Reno to come and manage the place, that he needed a man he could trust at the helm, that it would help him to stop moping around and reliving all of those horrors.
After much thought, and even more moping around, Reno finally agreed. And he took that drive from California to Seattle, agreeing to help out on a temporary basis only. Besides, Tommy was right. Reno was dying a little more every day in Malibu.
But when Reno arrived and first saw the place, his response was exactly what Tommy had hoped it would be.
“Restaurant,” Reno had said. “What restaurant? You call this hole in a wall a restaurant?”
And Tommy had laughed and hugged his favorite cousin. Reno was finally showing some signs. It wasn’t much, it was just a comment and a smile, a drive out to Seattle, but it was a far sight better than he’d seen his cousin in a long, long time.
Reno buried his face back in the Seattle Times crossword puzzle he was working on. It was late at night, nearing closing time, and he was beginning to feel the uneasiness that always came over him when he thought about going to his drab little house. But he dismissed the thought out of his mind.
He’d been manager for nearly three months now and was doing damned good business. He never dreamed a hole in a wall like this could run this much business. Tommy said it was because of all of the displaced southerners that were finding their way to the west coast, all of those people who grew up on fried everything, and he wanted to tap into, and ultimately corner that market. Displaced people, Reno thought. He could relate to them.
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