"You'd better make sure nobody says nothin' bout none of the other
skirts he's been hangin' out with-'cause if his wife finds out she'll
blow his shriveled ass to Cuba an' back. She's a wild woman.
"You worry too much," Nick said calmly. "I'll take care of Mr. Rose
myself."
And why not? Carmello Rose was known for leaving hundred-dollar
tips.
When he got near the table and took a closer look he had a feeling he'd
seen this woman somewhere before. She was wearing a dangerously
low-cut black cocktail dress, and he couldn't keep his eyes from
straying down her generous cleavage.
Carmello caught him catching a peek and fixed him with a frogeyed stare
that said all right to look, but no touching.
"What can I get you, Mr. Rose?" Nick asked.
Carmello ordered a bottle of champagne.
"I just found out it's his wife's birthday," Q.J. said agitatedly,
stalking Nick behind the bar. "Get Len to arrange a cake."
"What does his wife do?" Nick asked.
"What does she do? What the fuck you think she does-looks after
him."
"Then how come he's always hangin' out with other women?"
Q.J. looked testy. "We don't know nothin' bout that, do we? Take him
a bottle of the best-my compliments."
"How come you're not going over?"
Cause Carmello frightens the crap outta me. Is that a good enough
reason? Ya just gotta look sideways at his old lady an' he has a
freakin' fit."
"Y'know, I got a feeling I've seen her somewhere before."
"Jesus, Nick, ain'tcha got enough broads of your own? This one's too
old for you anyway.
"Who's interested? I just wanna recall where I seen her."
Q.J. shook his head. "Forget it."
He took the champagne to the table, informing them it was from Q.J. "On
account of it bein' Mrs. Rose's birthday an' all," he said with a
smile.
Carmello grunted.
"Thanks, sweetie," Mrs. Rose said.
Was it his imagination or did she throw him a wink? He took another
peek at her impressive breasts and it suddenly came to him. She was
the woman whose car he'd gassed up in Bosewell a few years ago.
The one in the sweater with the attitude. Who could ever forget those
tits!
"How's your sister?" he asked, pouring her a glass of champagne.
She ran her tongue across her front teeth and darted a nervous glance
at Carmello. "Huh?" she said blankly.
Carmello snapped to attention. "Whadda you know about her sister?"
"She lives in Bosewell, right? I used to live there too."
Obviously he'd made no impression on her. She had no idea what he was
talking about.
"Hey-I gassed your car a coupla times. You were visiting your sister,
remember?"
Carmello threw her a suspicious look. "You know this guy?"
"No, I certainly don't," she snapped, three large diamond rings
flashing on her fingers.
"He sure seems to remember you.
"Everyone remembers me," she said defiantly.
"Hey, listen, no big deal," Nick said quickly, sensing trouble. "I
musta made a mistake," he added, pouring more champagne into Carmello's
glass before walking away.
Five minutes later he was in the stockroom when Carmello entered,
kicking the door shut behind him. Before he could say a word Carmello
took out a gun and shoved it in his stomach.
He lost his legs, it was like they weren't even there. "!esus! What
the hell you doin'?" he mumbled, panic-stricken as his life rushed
before his eyes.
"Ya wanna know what I'm doin'," Carmello snarled, jabbing him with the
gun. "What the fuck was you doin' with my wife?"
His throat was so dry he could barely speak. "I gassed her car,
nothin' else."
"You gassed her car, huh? That it?"
He was breaking out in a cold sweat. "That's all. I was only a kidI
swear to you." Jesus! He needed to pee in the worst way.
Carmello shoved the gun into his stomach even harder. "Swear a little
louder, ya dumb punk. Get down on your knees and fuckin' swear.
"It's the truth-God help me, it's the truth."
"Turn around an' get down on your knees, fuckhead."
Maybe Carmello was going to shoot him, maybe he wasn't. He'd never
know, because at that moment Q.J. opened the door and walked in on
them. "Everything all right?" he asked calmly, like he didn't know
anything was going on, although of course he did.
Reluctantly Carmello put his gun away. "Sure, sure. The kid an' me-we
was talkin'."
And that was that. Crisis over. But Nick knew the time had come to
get out.
in his office.
Two days later he visited Q.J.
"I quit," he said.
"You what?"
"You heard me."
"Sure I heard you, but I don't believe what I'm hearin'" "I've been in
Chicago long enough."
Q.J. glared at him. "Yeah. Long enough to learn everythin' I know, is
that the deal? You're gonna open your own place. I shoulda known
it."
He got up, marching angrily around the room. "I took you in, treated
you good, now you're gonna stab me in the heart."
"That's not it," Nick said. "I'm plannin' on takin' a trip to
California.
Q.J. rubbed together nicotine-stained fingers. "What for?"
"For a chance."
"I gave you a chance. Ain't that enough?"
"I always had this thing bout getting' into acting. If I don't try it
now I never will."
Q.J. snorted his disgust. "Act, shmact. You're in the bar business,
that's where you belong."
"When I get settled I'll call, let you know how I'm doin'."
"Who gives a shit? All I care about is you stayin' here. You're my
manager, you take care of things. How about showin' some
appreciation?"
"When I came to work here I never said it was a lifetime thing," he
explained, hoping Q.J. would understand.
"Jesus!" Q.J. rolled his eyes. "You can't trust nobody no more."
"Il stay till you find a replacement."
Q.J. was steaming. "I don't need nobody else. Don't worry bout a
thing-you ungrateful little prick. Shift your ass outta here, see if I
give a shit."
He knew Q.J. didn't mean it. "How about I stay around for two
weeks?"
he suggested.
"Do what you want," snapped Q.J.
Later Erna grabbed hold of him. "There's a rumor you're going to
Hollywood," she said, thrilled at the thought.
"Yeah, I'm gonna give it a shot."
She nudged him slyly. "Like me to come with you?"
"Uh-I don't think Len would appreciate it."
S+1e giggled. "Perhaps you're right," she said, tugging at an escaping
bra strap. "I had a chance to go there once. I coulda been a famous
starlet." She winked knowingly." Course, it meant sleeping with a fat
old producer, so I stayed here, married Len, and now look at me."
"You're happy, aren't you?"
"I'm married to Len, that doesn't make me "He seems like a nice guy."
"He's no Erna had confirmed his suspicions-she definitely had a crush
on her brother.
fury because he hadn't told her himself. Usually she left the club
before him, but this particular night she stayed, joining a customer's
table-something she never did.
Nick realized this meant trouble. If he was smart he'd have taken off
without telling anybody.
At closing time, DeVille dumped the customer and left with him, hanging
on to his arm. She was drunk and angry-not a happy combination.
"Y'know something, Nicky," she slurred in his ear, well aware that he
hated being called Nicky.
"What?" he said, steering her unsteady body into a cab.
"You're a son of a bitch, that's what you are. She nodded, confirming
the assessment. "Yeah, a son of a bitch."
"Hey, listen, I was gonna tell you," he said. "But I had to tell
Q.J.
first, I owed him that."
"You owed him that," she mimicked. "And what do you owe me?"
He raised an eyebrow. "You think I owe you something'?"
"Bastard," she spat out.
The cab driver-a weary veteran-glanced warily in his rearview mirror.
"Goddamn bastard," DeVille said, hauling back in an attempt to slap
him. "We live together-doesn't that mean anything to you?"
The cab swerved over to the side of the street and the driver turned
around. "I don't want no trouble," he said. "Out. Both of you."
"It's all right, man," Nick said, gripping DeVille firmly by the
wrist.
"There ain't gonna be no trouble. Keep driving."
"The last couple had a fight in my cab wrecked it," the driver muttered
sourly.
"I said keep driving," Nick repeated. "I'll take care of you good."
Still muttering under his breath the driver set off.
DeVille began to cry. Her anger he could take, but crying always got
to him. "Hey," he said, trying to comfort her. "I'm only going for a
month or two."
"You're lying," she cried, leaning all over him, getting mascara on his
one and only jacket.
"Maybe I send for you."
"Now you're really lying," she sobbed.
DeVille was no fool, she knew it was over.
As soon as they reached his apartment she began to pack, hurling her
things into a suitcase, well recovered from her crying jag. "I thought
you were different," she yelled. "But no way. You're just like every
other guy-selfish, self-centered, all you care about is your precious
dick."
She looked good when she was angry and somehow or other they ended up
in bed. DeVille thought if she was the best she'd ever been he might
take her with him. It was quite an experience. At four o'clock in the
morning their neighbors couldn't take the moaning and groaning any
longer and called the police. They ended up hysterical with
laughter.
In the morning they parted company. DeVille was sober and tense and in
a funny sort of way dignified.
When she left he almost missed her-only almost.
"You're a scumbag, you know that? No loyalty." Q.J. was on a kick and
he didn't intend to stop.
"Leave the kid alone," Erna said, coming to Nick's defense.
Q.J. glared angrily at his sister. "Did I ask for your input?"
"No, but-" "I treat him like a son," Q.J. interrupted. "Groomin' him,
y'know what I mean?"
"Grooming him for what?" Erna asked sharply. "To be in the bar
business all his life like us? Who wants that?"
They were at it again, talking about him as if he wasn't there.
Len entered into the conversation. "He'll be back," he said, nodding
wisely. "It's too hot in California."
Q.J. didn't seem so sure. "Ya think?" he said.
"No," said Erna spitefully. "He won't be back. Why would he?"
On his last night Q.J. relented and threw him a big farewell party
after the bar closed. For the first time he wondered if he was making
the right move. Everybody was so warm and friendly. The waitresses,
strippers, Erna, Len-even Q.J. In a way this was his family nowthe
family he'd never had.
DeVille put on a show-and what a show it was! Enough bumping and
grinding to turn on a priest! Maybe she wanted him to know exactly
what he was leaving behind. He knew all right, but he still couldn't
help himself.
Q.J. clapped him around the shoulders. "Ya know something', Nick, if
y'ever wanna come back, y'got your job waitin'. I ain't never said
that to nobody who worked for me before. Consider yourself honored."
"I consider myself honored," he said, grinning.
"In the meantime," Q.J. continued, "when ya get to L.A. I want ya took
up my ex-partner.
"Who's your ex-partner?"
"Some guy used to be known as Manny the Menace, now he's strictly
legit. Call him Mr. Manfred and don't go mentioning his nickname-it
drives him beserko."
"What does he do?"
"Runs a car service. Respectable. Just like me."
Nick burst out laughing. "Whoever said you were respectable?"
"Very funny." Q.J. smoothed an imaginary crease in his pinstripe pants
which did not go with his bright red jacket and green polka-dot tie.
"You're sure this guy is straight?" Nick asked, thinking that tonight
Q.J. looked like a waiter in a whorehouse.
"Would I lie to you?"
"Yes."
"Go see him, Nick. He'll give you a job. All ya gotta say is I'm
callin' in the favor he owes me. Q.J."s collectin'-that's what ya tell
him.
He'll know what you mean.
"Shouldn't you contact him first?"
"We don't speak."
"So why would he want to-" "Trust me." Q.J. scribbled on a piece of
paper and handed it over.
"Here's his number. Do like I say and phone him soon as y'get
there."
"Thanks," he said, shoving the paper in his pocket. It was certainly
better than arriving in L.A. cold.
Erna hugged him, covering him in her cloying scent. "Don't forget
about us now, you hear me?"
"How," he said, grinning, "could I ever forget you?"
She giggled coyly. "Not much chance of that."
Len was his usual stoic self. They shook hands. "You'll be back," Len
said knowingly.
"Maybe-one of these days."
Now he was really beginning to regret his decision to leave. He had no
idea what Los Angeles was like. He had no friends there, no job, just
Cyndra, and he hadn't even warned her he was coming, figuring a
surprise would be good.
In the morning Q.J. was on the missing list. "He don't like goodbyes,"
Erna explained, as she and Len drove him to the airport.
"Gotta see you off in style," she added with a saucy wink.
They couldn't park, so they dropped him off curbside. He grabbed his
carry-on bag from the trunk and stood on the sidewalk waving to them as
they drove away in Len's two-toned gold Chevrolet with the dented front
fender.
As soon as they were gone he felt alone, but only for a moment.
Then he picked up his bag, turned and strode purposefully toward the
airline desk.
The Greyhound bus delivered Lauren into New York at noon. She waved
goodbye t
o the driver, collected her suitcase and stood alone in the
middle of the busy bus station.
Before she could take two steps a scruffy-looking man stinking of cheap
aftershave approached her. His long greasy hair hung in strands around
his face, and a cigarette dangled from the corner of his chapped
lips.
"Hiya, lovely. Looking' for a place t'stay?"
She was no naive little country bumpkin getting off the bus in New York
ready to be picked off by some lurking pimp.
"I have somewhere, thank you," she said, giving him a withering look.
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