Masterson

by Lisa Lang Blakeney

  Roman reaches inside the compartment area between the two front seats and pulls out a bag of plain M&M's. He rips the bag open, shakes a few in his palm, then tosses a few of the hard-shelled candies one by one in his mouth as he exits the car.

  "Be right back," he says confidently.

  He doesn't use the knocker, but uses one of his massive fists to pound on the door three times. My old apartment manager Owen answers the door with irritation across his face. His normal look.

  "Can I help you?"

  "I'm here to collect Elizabeth Hill's security deposit and the rest of her things. She has a couple of boxes in the basement."

  "And you are?"

  "The person who is here to collect Elizabeth Hill's security deposit and the rest of her things."

  "Funny, but she needs to do it. I can't turn anything over to you legally. I don't know who the hell you are."

  "Are you a lawyer?" Roman snidely asks.

  "Are you?" Owen stiffens but Roman's body language remains the same. Relaxed.

  "Are you a cop?"

  "ARE YOU? Listen I don't have time for this." Owen scans the area and spots me sitting in the car biting my nails.

  "Oh, Miss Hill." He drawls my last name out. "I highly suggest you forget about getting that security deposit back after the state you left my unit in."

  "No, I highly suggest you shut the fuck up and go get what I asked for. I don't want to ask again,” Roman responds.

  I motion to get out of the car to try and talk some sense into Owen, but I stop when Roman speaks to me again. He doesn't even turn around when he says it. He doesn't need to.

  "Stay in the car, Elizabeth."

  So I stay put.

  He pops another few candies in his mouth and speaks with a deadly calm to Owen as if he's holding on to his last bit of restraint.

  "My cousin is in that car. You see her right? She is here for her security deposit of ... what is it again, Elizabeth?" he calls out.

  "Nine hundred and fifty dollars,” I answer meekly.

  "Damn! Now that's a high ass security deposit. What is this the Trump Towers? Okay, so I'll need you to get nine hundred and fifty dollars cash and her remaining boxes. She doesn't need to get out of the car to sign anything, or talk to you, or whatever the fuck. That's why I'm here. Hand everything over to me in the next five minutes and we'll be square. You don't want to cooperate then we're going to have a major problem, because I didn't drive all the way the hell over here to leave empty handed."

  Roman cracks his neck.

  "You feel me, dickhead?"

  15

  Elizabeth

  TODAY IS TURNING INTO A full blown crash course in Roman 101. I've learned that five minutes in Roman's world, really means exactly that. It was five minutes on the dot when Owen handed over my security deposit in cash and the key to the storage garage. I was shocked that he even had that much money on hand. Who does that? Oh wait ... I used to (baha!). Anyway, after he handed over the cash and the key, he went inside his apartment without another word and locked the door.

  After Roman and I loaded my four plastic containers of treasures (photos, journals, sweaters and other trinkets) in the back of his Rover, we decide to stop for lunch. I suggest that we eat at Brown's Diner. One of Philadelphia's legendary last remaining family-owned diners and one of my favorite places on earth.

  "You've eaten here before I take it?" he asks noticing my excitement.

  "All the time. Best five dollar lunch in the area."

  "What the hell can you get for five dollars?"

  "Don't be such a snob, rich boy. You're about to have the best turkey burger and fries EVER." I smile. "My treat. Since I'm rich now too."

  I fan a little of my money in his face when I notice an incoming text on my phone.

  Roman chuckles and pauses before he asks his next question. "Who's that moneybags?"

  "It's Owen."

  Roman's face turns icy.

  "What the fuck does he want?"

  "For me and my crazy ass cousin to never come around there again or he'll call the police."

  "Is that right."

  I laugh. "Well you've got to admit. You were kind of over the top with him."

  "I was fixing a very fucked up situation. He was trying to keep your money and you were allowing him to speak to you like a piece of shit."

  I gasp in mock shock. "Tell me how you really feel."

  "I really feel like you have horrible taste in landlords and definitely in men."

  "I guess so. My last boyfriend was apparently a druggie, and I think I came pretty damn close to making out with my cousin in front of our entire family." I chortle a little at my attempt at a joke.

  Roman is stock still.

  I'm guessing he doesn't think my joke was that funny.

  "So what else is on the agenda for today?" I ask hoping to steer the conversation in another direction.

  "I need to make a stop, then we're going home to change, and then out to The Lotus."

  "The Lotus? Why would we go there?"

  "I'm running it now."

  "You're running it! I thought you were a business consultant."

  "I am. I consult employees on how to run their clubs among other things."

  I shake my head no. "I don't want to go back to that nightmare on Elm Street."

  "Nothing will happen to you as long as I'm there." He says confidently.

  "And who pays you to run this club? No offense, but it doesn't look like your type of crowd."

  "No offense taken, but it's not your crowd either, and the owner pays me."

  I roll my eyes at his inferred insult.

  "And who's the owner?"

  "A silent investor. Any more questions about my business, Inspector Clouseau?"

  "Nope." I cut my sloppy turkey burger into quarters and then pop a french fry into my mouth and chew. "Pass the ketchup."

  "I don't know how you keep your girlish figure."

  "Not used to eating with girls who eat real food I take it?"

  "Are you used to it? Your girlfriend doesn't look like she eats much."

  "Sloan?" Of course he paid attention to Sloan's body. Every man does. Pervert.

  "Yeah her. I noticed her scrawny little ass on the floor of the club that night."

  "So it was Sloan you were looking at when you found us?" I try to ask nonchalantly as I dip a fry in my small pool of ketchup.

  Roman takes a large bite of his burger. Chewing it while silently observing me. He licks a bit of juice from the corner of his mouth, swallows, then smiles.

  "I noticed only you the moment you entered the club, Duchess."

  Our eyes lock.

  "What do you mean? You saw me before the pepper spray?"

  "Yep,” he says simply.

  I'm not sure what to say in response to this bit of new information. I don't know if I should say anything. We're supposed to be having friendly conversations. Distant cousins getting to know each other. I'm pretty sure that's what Juliette and Joseph had in mind by forcing Roman to babysit me, but I feel like almost every exchange between us is laced in subtle sexual subtext. I don't know. Maybe it's all in my head.

  "So tell me about the stop you need to make today. Is it for your job?"

  "Pretty much."

  "About the club?"

  "No this is a different job. I have a client that's being blackballed by MTV. She wants to present at the awards show, but they're freezing her out."

  "Wow, that sounds so interesting. So what can you do about it?"

  "Well, it's my job to convince the powers that be to change their minds about her."

  "Who is it, Roman? Tell me!"

  "Absolutely not." He smiles and tweaks my nose. "You wouldn't want me to lose my job now would you?"

  "I thought MTV was in New York?"

  "The person I need to speak with is here for a few days."

  "And you're going to let me tag along?" I ask excitedly.

  "Not inside, Duchess. You'l
l sit in the car like a good girl and wait for me." He gives me one of those signature panty-dropping smirks of his, and honestly I think my crotch is on fire ... in a good way.

  In the best way possible.

  IT DOESN'T TAKE LONG FOR US to leave the diner and arrive to our next destination. We're in front of a mammoth but beautifully designed slate concrete building with lots of glass and stainless steel on the lobby floor. There's no name on the building, just an address in large, polished stainless letters, which rests above the set of double glass doors.

  1907.

  There's an older man with a paunch belly standing in front of the building dressed in a maroon short coat with brass buttons who seems to stand at his post as the doorman with pride. I notice that he recognizes Roman and am surprised that he addresses my tatted up cousin with nothing but respect instead of revulsion or fear.

  "Going in Mr. Masterson?"

  "What's up, Tyson. I need to run upstairs for a minute. Floor 15. Also I have a young lady in the car, who I need you to keep an eye on."

  He lowers his head to look inside the car and gives me a thousand watt smile.

  "Pleasure."

  "Hello,” I respond brightly.

  "You'll stay in the car?" Roman grins.

  "What's with you and making me stay in cars? Just hurry up, Masterson."

  It's the first time I've called him something other than his name. Not quite a nickname like the one he's given me, but something other than Roman. I think he likes it, because he smirks as he exits the car. As the man Tyson opens the door for him, he runs back to the car and signals for me to roll down the window.

  "I forgot something." He reaches into the middle compartment and grabs a couple of M&M's. Tosses them down his throat. "Give me fifteen minutes."

  "No worries,” I assure him.

  I'm kind of enjoying hanging out with Roman today, although a part of me is itching to go home and get some work done. I really need to get back to researching more scholarships and adding them to my database. It's important that I create the most complete list that I can, so that I'm ready for my pitch when the opportunity strikes, and the only person who I can depend on to get it done is me.

  For the last four months I've been looking for an angel investor, so that I can finally hire a full time coder who works specifically for me and can get my application to where it needs to be. The freelancers I've been able to hire here and there are definitely knowledgeable, but I can only hire them when a few dollars clear up on one of my credit cards, so I don't have someone working consistently on the coding. I feel pretty confident that once I have that last piece in place, and my beta product is excellent, I'll have a better chance of succeeding in the highly competitive app marketplace. Maybe even get some good press. Luckily I have my smartphone and a pad and pen in my bag right now. That's all I need to continue my research in the car, while I wait for Roman to finish his business.

  I'm busy for about all of ten minutes when there's a rap on the window. It's a woman. A very beautiful, slender woman dressed in a rather conservative blush colored pencil skirt and blouse with nude pumps. I notice Tyson looking over at us, but he doesn't say anything, he just pulls out an old flip phone and busies himself making a call or sending a text.

  I roll the window down.

  "Can I help you?" I ask the woman.

  It literally takes her one second before she tosses an open bottle of spring water into my face. Now I'm soaking wet, and I don't know what the hell just happened or why it happened. That's when Tyson approaches the car and escorts the woman over to the sidewalk firmly by her upper arm.

  "You are trespassing on private property miss. You need to leave before I have you arrested."

  She doesn't say a word in response, but she refuses to move any further. Crossing her arms in front of her and clenching her jaw. It's clear that she's waiting for something ... or someone.

  "Are you crazy?" Is all I manage to yell out through the window at her, while I grab a couple of napkins out of the glove compartment and wipe myself down. That's when I see Roman walking furiously through the lobby towards the doors, and it all begins to click together for me. She's waiting for him.

  He immediately notices my sopping wet face and shirt and then starts walking towards the woman with malice all across his face. It's none of my business. She obviously is one of his lovers, but I can't help but eavesdrop. I'm so ridiculously nosy when it comes to this man. Plus she threw frackin' water at me like some trollop on a reality show.

  "What are you doing here, Louise? We discussed this."

  "I never agreed to anything. I'm not some whore you met off the street, Roman. I deserve better than this."

  "You deserve exactly what you got. Total honesty. I don't do seconds. What don't you understand about that?"

  "Who is she then?"

  She points directly at me.

  "Someone you shouldn't have fucked with."

  Tears start to swell in the woman's eyes, and I'm starting to feel a bit embarrassed for her. What's worse is she looks over at me and catches me seeing her tear up, which is probably making everything a hundred times worse for her.

  "YOU ARE A FUCKING WASTE OF MY BREATH, ROMAN MASTERSON!"

  I was right.

  The woman begins crying hysterically and literally foaming at the mouth. She's totally irate and out of control. Not like her heart has been broken, but more like she's had it up to here with men doing her dirty. Of course if she hadn't tossed a bottle of water in my face, I might have more sympathy for her.

  If Roman has this effect on a woman after one night, I think I should be relieved that I totally dodged a bullet. I most certainly would rather be his cousin. Okay, maybe not, but you know what I mean.

  He walks away and doesn't say anything else to the woman, which is a relief, because in another minute I think she would have pulled a gun on him or something. After jumping back in the car and nodding a good bye to Tyson, he turns to me as we pull off, his body shaking with laughter.

  "You're wet."

  "You think this is funny?!" I screech.

  Then I break into laughter too, and now we are both in hysterics. I couldn't help it. My shirt was sopping wet, because he wouldn't give that poor woman seconds. This day was turning out to be a super funny adventure.

  "I'm sorry about that. Her bank is literally two blocks away."

  "Her bank?"

  "She manages the federal credit union down the block."

  "That crazy woman is a bank manager?"

  "I only deal with classy women, baby,” he jokes.

  "Obviously."

  He laughs again, and I have to admit that I'm starting to love watching Roman laugh. He doesn't do it a lot, but when he does it's completely addicting. His eyes crinkle at the corners, his mouth turns up on one side, and I get to see that amazing dimple again.

  "So you don't do seconds?" I ask with curiosity.

  "Not really."

  "What does that mean exactly?"

  "It means that I don't like to sleep with a woman more than once. They get too attached. You just saw it with your own eyes."

  "You slept with her once? Really?" I ask incredulously.

  "Yep. Imagine how'd she stalk my ass if I gave it to her again."

  I roll my eyes.

  "You're such a pig, Masterson."

  He laughs heartily.

  WE HAD A LITTLE TIME TO KILL BEFORE we needed to change clothes for the club, so Roman made the decision to drive me around parts of the city that I'd never seen. During college I'd spent most of my time in my one little corner of the world. On campus and very close by. I hadn't ventured out to other parts of the city. There was no need to in my opinion.

  We drove by what he explained was his former elementary school in a run down part of town that looked like it was probably a nice neighborhood once upon a time. You could tell there were a few families on various blocks still trying to maintain their homes but with limited funds. Roof shingles were askew, p
aint was peeling, and the concrete steps needed a redo, but the grass was also freshly cut and fresh red geraniums were planted in pots in the front of many of the houses.

  When Roman points to the building where he learned the alphabet and his times tables, I'm shocked. There isn't enough landscaping in the world to make his elementary school look inviting. It looks like a massive stone and brick prison. I can't imagine any child entering that building everyday and feeling optimistic about life. I feel like seeing it explains his rough edges and quick temper.

  "That's big." I comment not wanting to say what I really feel.

  "Too big. There were a lot of kids that didn't get along, because this wasn't really their neighborhood. They were being bused in from other parts of the city. I only lived two blocks from here."

  "What was wrong with that?"

  "Big class sizes. No individual attention. Lots of fighting."

  "So where'd your mom meet Joseph?" I ask curiously.

  "Joseph's from the neighborhood too. In fact he went to this same school when he was a kid."

  Really? I'm surprised, and now I'm wondering where on earth my uncles met Joseph.

  "Oh."

  "My parents knew each other from the neighborhood when they hooked up. It wasn't a romance. It was him getting his shit off a couple of times, and for my mom it was about having a baby before her biological clock blew up. She knew him, she trusted him, and for the most part she was right to trust him. He did more than most of the babies' daddies from the neighborhood. He always sent money every month and a gift at Christmas."

  Roman says the last part with some bite to his voice. I guess that must have been all Joseph managed to do for most of his life. Send money.

  "You didn't see him much growing up I take it?" I ask already knowing the answer.

  "He would come around once in a while, but my mother has a lot of issues. Ones that Joseph didn't have a lot of patience for. That's why I eventually ended up living with him."

  "Do you talk to your mother much now?"

  "No." I think I see a flash of pain in his eyes.

  "Oh."

  "I suppose your parents were very hands on out in the 'burbs."