Salvatore

by Cecy Robson

  “What’s his name?”

  I try to sound relaxed, but I can’t seem to squelch my grin. “Salvatore.”

  “Oh,” they all sing.

  “What does Salvatore do?” Marilyn asks.

  “He’s in public relations.” Or so he tells me.

  Christy turns around in the front passenger seat to toss me a wry glance. “You don’t get passes to Silk unless you’re a celebrity or high-roller. Which one is he?”

  “He seems to be successful,” I respond, taken slightly aback by what she says. I’m being honest in my response, but I base it on his clothing, residence, and vehicle, and not on anything he’s told me directly. “I think he might have connections,” I add as an afterthought.

  “Is he cute?” Julia asks, twisting in her tiny mini-dress to take me in.

  I tug on the edge of the equally small electric purple dress they shoved me into when I showed up to Julia’s in black pants and what I thought was a cute blouse and pumps. “Some women may find him attractive,” I reply, my face burning under their scrutiny.

  “Hmmm,” Marilyn says. “I take it you’re one of those women?”

  I laugh when they do, because it’s that obvious I’m into him. Salvatore is the sexiest man I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, but that’s not something I am willing to tell them.

  Our first encounter was strained, given the circumstances, and somewhat scary, given his tough and blunt exterior. Sparks didn’t exactly fly, but I couldn’t deny the attraction I felt being around him. That attraction intensified when I realized that his brothers mean everything to him, and that he is their world.

  I look forward to the simple glimpses of him I catch and, as ridiculous as it sounds, it’s the part of my day that always manages to lift my spirits.

  I settle back into the seat and try to relax, although it does nothing to wipe the goofy smile off my face. It’s been a long time since I’ve been interested in a man and, aside from Hollywood movie stars, I’ve never actually panted over a man. With Salvatore, I definitely pant and a great deal more.

  “Do me a favor,” Marilyn says as she pulls into one of the high-rise decks. “If you decide to go home with him, let one of us know.”

  “I’m not going home with him,” I say, wishing my voice wasn’t so quaky.

  “No pressure,” Julia adds, quickly. “We just want to make sure you have a ride back.”

  “Do you need any condoms?” Christy asks, digging into her purse as Marilyn finds an empty spot.

  “No, I’m good,” I answer. I do my best to keep my tone light, but fail miserably.

  “You sure? I have plenty,” Christy says, oblivious to the heat flushing my cheeks.

  “Positive.”

  I try not to react when Julia and Marilyn take Christy up on her offer. My friends are sweet, lovely girls, with alternating shades of blonde hair. They’re not promiscuous, but they are sexually experienced.

  They don’t know that I’ve never had sex and I don’t want to tell them. They like to include me, but it’s moments like this I realize how very different we are. They weren’t raised in a strict Baptist household like I was, and they’ve probably always been beautiful.

  Growing up, my teeth and jaw were a mess and my vision horrific. When I graduated high school and my parents and grandparents asked what I wanted, I asked for Lasix and braces. Their financial troubles had finally stabilized so they could grant both requests.

  My vision repair was easy and successful, helping me toss those awful glasses I used to wear. Repairing my bucked and crooked teeth and the issues with my jaw, however, took a great deal of work. I wore braces all four years in college. During that time, young men finally began to notice me. I dated a few who touched me and who I touched in return, but most were impatient and quickly moved on when I wouldn’t have full-on intercourse with them.

  “You’re a nice girl, Aedry. But I have to get mine while I can,” one of them told me. “Understand?”

  No, I didn’t understand. I wasn’t averse to sex, or think it was necessary to be married, or even in love, to engage in sexual activity. The only thing I asked for was a commitment, but even that seemed like too much of a burden for the men I dated.

  I graduated from college, enrolled in a Master’s program made up mostly of women, and accepted a position at a school where administrators and teachers were mostly women, leaving me with few opportunities to meet many men. So, here I am, likely the only virgin over twenty still left in the area.

  As much as I’m starting to, well, panic, that the day to lay my “V” card down may never come, I still want to be in a committed relationship when it happens. Is that too much to ask? I groan. Based on the hoots and hollers we hear stepping out of Marilyn’s car, it probably is.

  “Oye, mama, want some of this?” the guy leading his group of friends asks, grabbing his groin.

  “I don’t touch shit I can’t see,” Marilyn fires back, hauling Christy away when she grins at the guy in the red hoodie who winks at her.

  I think it’s fair to say my future baby daddy doesn’t hang with this tempting bunch. If there was a doubt, the short guy who drops his pants and smacks his hairy butt confirms my suspicions.

  “Ew,” we all say, when he can’t seem to stop spanking it.

  We hit the stairwell and practically run the remaining two blocks to the club. None of us bothered with anything warmer than light sweaters, and the cold October wind is positively brutal.

  I can barely keep up in the silver platform pumps Marilyn shoved me into and Julia is all but dragging me behind her. We must look comical to all the cars passing. Here we are, this group of girls trying to run in footwear capable of killing us with no grace to our steps, and our hair flying in all directions. As it is, we’re all laughing. But the moment we round the corner, my girlfriends’ stumbles morph into struts packed with plenty of attitude.

  They sashay past the irate people waiting in line while I do my best not to fall. Oddly enough, the happy-go-lucky clubbers don’t appear happy we’re skipping ahead of them.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Skanks,” someone else yells.

  My, Toto, there really is no place like the northeast.

  Christy waves her hands as we pass. “Sorry, bitches,” she fires back.

  I try to mirror their prancing. But the shoes I’m wearing have already destroyed my toes and all I did was walk from the car. How in the world am I going to dance if Salvatore asks me?

  We stop in front of the bouncer. He smiles when he sees us, but then his smile fades when he collects our passes. He motions to the other bouncer who leads us through the velvet ropes. My friends squeal before resuming the flouncing and twitching I’m clearly incapable of. I should have practiced before we left Marilyn’s apartment. At best, I resemble someone walking for the first time, following surgery.

  Thank God, Julia holds tight to my hand, because the moment we step into the club, I can’t hear anything over the blare of loud music or see past the light show smacking against the wall to wall people dancing.

  It’s as if we’ve stepped into a world where big hair reigns, short skirts rule, and lots of unprotected sex is sought and expected. My steps slow and I almost freeze. What am I doing in a place like this? Christy, Marilyn, and Julia frequently club hop, which is why I typically meet them for brunch on weekends or Happy Hour on Friday nights. Silk is a figurative smack-upside-the-head reminder why I prefer to stay home alone rather than join them on their Saturday night adventures.

  “Come on, Aedry,” Julia yells over her shoulder when she senses my hesitation, yanking me with her.

  I clutch my tiny purse against me, gathering my courage and reminding myself that Salvatore invited me. If I can hang in another thirty minutes, I’ll see him and perhaps talk him into going someplace quieter. A lot quieter. Good Lord, it’s loud.

  The techno beat leads into another song with bass heavy enough to vibrate the floor. A group of men nudge each other when t
hey spot Christy and Marilyn. Christy smiles their way, assuring them she’s noticed and that she likes what she sees, too.

  “Omigod.” Julia whips around and shakes my arm, pointing ahead. “We’re in the VIP section. Holy shit, Aedry, you totally hooked us up!”

  We’re led up onto a raised platform and to a large table overlooking the dance floor. The moment we’re seated, a waitress appears, placing an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne at the center of the table.

  “Compliments of the house,” she says, hurrying to hand each of us a glass.

  “Who is this guy?” Marilyn asks, leaning into me.

  The waitress pops the champagne, careful to avoid eye contact, even as we thank her. “He’s in public relations,” I say again, well aware of the doubt plaguing my voice.

  My girlfriends don’t seem to notice. What they do notice is all the attention we’re attracting sitting in the VIP section. One song morphs into the next as the group of men we saw on our way in make their way to the bar below us. The one in a silky black dress shirt catches Christy’s attention again. She returns his smile, but then turns back to speak to us.

  This goes on for another song until the guy holds Christy’s attention long enough to mouth, “How about a drink?”

  “How about four?” she yells back, holding up her fingers. “Your pick.”

  The guy grins and holds out a few bills, snagging the bartender’s attention. He and his five other friends follow him, their drinks and ours tight in their hands.

  “I don’t know about this, Christy,” I say, taking a nervous sip of my champagne. I’m not much of a drinker and I’m not here to meet a stranger.

  “It’s okay, Aedry. Nothing has to happen unless you want it to,” she says. “Just try to relax and have a little fun.”

  The men join us, pulling their chairs in close as they introduce themselves. Instead of regular drinks, they brought us shots. Mine hits me hard enough to make me shudder, causing the men closest to me to laugh. “You’re cute,” one of them tells me.

  I don’t respond, doing my best to recover and failing miserably. By the time I’m halfway done with my champagne, I’m already drunk.

  “Hey, where you going, Avery?” Josh, or something like that, calls to me.

  I don’t bother correcting him, or tell him where I’m headed.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say. I don’t know these men, nor do I want to. Salvatore is who I came to see and the more time that passes, the more anxious I am to have him with me.

  I snake my way into the ladies’ room, seeking some quiet and peace only to find two women dipping their nails into vials filled with white powder. They glare when they catch me gawking, so I quickly run into the stall.

  They’re still there when I step out, apparently not in a rush to leave or to hide what they’re doing. I don’t bother checking my makeup, opting to quickly wash my hands and avoid conflict.

  They glare at me with dilated pupils, seemingly ready to lash out. In my haste to leave, I bump into a stunning woman with long legs, a tiny waist, and breasts the size of Miami.

  I’ve never met a supermodel, yet I’m certain this woman has to be one. “I’m so sorry,” I say, worried she’ll take a swing at me despite her glamourous appearance.

  She tosses her long blond hair and grins, giving me a glimpse of her perfect white teeth. “No worries, sweetie,” she says, adding a wink.

  I hurry out, grinding to a halt when I see Salvatore leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed.

  Oh, and there’s that smile I’d lost.

  Beneath the flashing club lights, his crisp white shirt glows against what must be a very expensive suit. I’m not sure what color it is, black, perhaps? All I know is that the dark color does little to shrink his muscular form.

  Salvatore is a sculpture of muscle, his body a masterpiece. Meanwhile, I’m in shoes I can’t lean forward in without face-planting, and wearing a dress that barely hides my important parts. I’m out of my element, my comfortable clothes, and completely intimidated. Yet I can’t help my widening smile as I approach him.

  “Hi,” I say, beaming that he’s finally here.

  He turns his head slowly, his eyebrows knitting when he sees me. “Hey,” he says.

  I run my fingers through my hair and glance down, well aware of his eyes travelling the length of my body. Maybe I should have taken a moment to check my hair and makeup. Regardless, my happiness at finding him is as apparent as his dominating presence.

  “I didn’t expect this place to be so popular,” I say, motioning in the direction of the packed dance floor.

  He tilts his chin, his stare cutting away from me. Before I can turn in the direction he’s looking, he clasps my elbow, carefully edging me close to the wall.

  Two men, who’ve had way too much to drink or too much of something else, stumble past us. If Sal hadn’t moved me, they would have crashed into me, their inebriated state making them careless.

  “First time here?” he asks, well aware I’m not used to seeing grown men so wrecked.

  “Clubs aren’t really my thing,” I admit. I hold out a hand. “Not that I don’t appreciate it.” His frown deepens, as if he doesn’t understand. “We’re having fun,” I add. At least my friends are. “And we’re receiving a lot of attention.”

  “I’ll bet,” he says, taking me in again, but sounding annoyed.

  When he says nothing more, I take a moment to build my courage, reminding myself that if he didn’t want to see me, he wouldn’t have invited me. “Um. Would you like to go someplace quieter?”

  He straightens, regarding me as if I asked him an outrageous question. “You want to go someplace quiet. With me?” he repeats.

  I’m obviously saying all the wrong things. “We can have a drink first,” I offer, even though I’ve already had enough. “Unless you’d rather dance.”

  “I don’t dance,” he says. “And I rarely drink.”

  I angle my head. “Then what are we doing here?” I ask. I should be relieved he doesn’t appear to want to be here anymore than I do, but mostly I’m confused and my tone reflects it.

  “What do you mean, we?”

  “What?” Although I heard him, it’s all I can think to say. Salvatore is livid, but I don’t understand why.

  He closes in, his immense form practically swallowing me whole. “You said ‘we.’ We’re not together, Aedry. And I didn’t come here for you.”

  My heart sinks, and I swear it’s all I can do not to find the nearest hole to crawl into. “I’m sorry. When you gave me the passes―”

  “What are you talking about?” he snaps.

  “The VIP passes you gave me with your note,” I say, so quietly I’m not sure he hears me over the music and escalating clamor surrounding us.

  When his jaw tightens, I realize he heard every word. “I didn’t write you a note―and those passes didn’t come from me.”

  The door to the ladies’ room opens and the supermodel blonde glides out. Her steps slow when she finds me with Salvatore, but she keeps her smile as she wraps two arms around one of his. “Ready, Sal?” she purrs at him.

  The humiliation heating my face spreads to encompass my entire body.

  “I didn’t invite you,” he bites out. “You shouldn’t be here, Aedry.”

  Chapter Seven

  Salvatore

  I lead Donnie to her usual table in the VIP section. “Are you going to tell me who she is?” she

  asks.

  “No one,” I hiss.

  The moment she slides in the booth, I edge to the side and make a call. “Did you give Aedry passes, telling her they were from me?” I bark when Apollo answers the phone.

  There’s a pause followed by, “It was Gianno’s idea.”

  “You wrote the note and forged his signature, asshole,” Gianno hollers from the background.

  “And you got the passes from Lucca,” Apollo fires back.

  “God damn it,” I grumble, swiping my fa
ce. Gianno and Apollo’s stupid idea didn’t simply embarrass Aedry, it humiliated her. Even in the dim lighting leading to the bathrooms, I didn’t miss the tears forming in her large blue eyes.

  Could I have handled it better? Yeah―a thousand times better now that I think back. But I was shocked to hell and back to find her here―that little dress she’s in is hugging her curves and giving me an eyeful of the sweet body she tries to hide.

  Do I like her wearing what she’s wearing? In truth, no. Not here and not for anyone else.

  I pass my hand along my face again. Christ Almighty, what the fuck is wrong with me? All I can think about is all these assholes here, looking at her the same way I’m looking at her―thinking like me about pulling her close and wanting to make them bleed for it.

  Aedry doesn’t belong among the scum that crawls in here. I’m pissed my brothers pulled this shit on her―when all she’s done is help them! If they were here, I’d knock their thick skulls together. “Why the fuck did you do that to her―and why would you send her to Silk?” I demand. “She doesn’t belong in a sleazy place like this.”

  “Give me the phone,” Gianno tells Apollo. For all he seems to want to talk, he takes his time, letting out a breath before finally speaking. “It’s like this, Sal. Miss Aedry’s a nice lady.”

  “No shit,” I say. “Tell me why you set her up.”

  “I’m trying,” Gianno answers, sounding pissed. “I think . . . I think she likes you.”

  “You think what?” I snap, mostly because I think he’s messing with me. “You have to be fucking kidding me. That’s your excuse?”

  “Come on, Sal. I’m not stupid. I’ve seen the way you look at her every time you pick us up, rolling down the window, even in the rain, trying to play it cool.”

  “You’re really pushing me,” I say, even though he has a point.

  “Am I? Why you always dressed when you show?” He huffs when I don’t answer. “She’s not some whore you shoot a look at, then wait for her to come to you. You look at her to look at her. And when Mr. Tavers was talking to her yesterday, I thought you were going to fly out of our ride and knock the shit out of him―not that he didn’t deserve it.”