Indiscretions of a God

by Sunniva Dee

  Thankfully, I’ve yet to meet a person who can’t be bribed, so at the vet’s, I have a private chat with the technician and give her a nicer version of the sleeping pill incident. Then, I push a few hundred bucks into her hand and ask her to tell Tatiana they need the kitten for observation for a couple of hours. If all’s good, it should be ready for pickup at that point.

  Tonight, Tatiana isn’t in a mood to be messed with, so I ask her quietly if she’d like to kill time over Italian food at Mintrer’s. It’s a good sign when she smiles a little at that. “It’s not a date,” I murmur. “We’re just killing time.”

  She nods and looks down as I open the car door for her.

  We don’t say much while I drive us back in the direction we came from. I’m used to being the one keeping the conversation up between us, so I’m surprised when she speaks up.

  “I don’t know why that threw me so much. It’s not my cat. I’ve never even seen it before.” She tries to chuckle, but the sound is wet. I have a box of Kleenex under the seat. I grab it, let her pull a few sheets. Grateful, she uses them to cover her nose and eyes.

  “It’s not so strange. I think most have that instinct, to protect little animals and people who need us. It tugs at our heart strings, you know.”

  “Yeah.” She huffs another laugh. “It’s sort of like when I was ten and lost a kitten. Dad had put out rat poison in the garage, and she must have ingested it. I was the one who found her.”

  “Well, that’ll do it. You do know what threw you.” I say it in a soft voice. “I lost a puppy once.”

  “Do I want to know how? I don’t think I can handle any more sad stories.”

  “My cousin stole it and sold it to her friend. Easter was coming up, and Gabriela was hell bent on finally getting a yellow chick.”

  “She didn’t swap your puppy out for a chick, right?”

  “No, for three chicks. She kept two for herself and gave me one.” She laughs. “Wow, your parents must have been so mad. You got it back, though, right?”

  I snort. “No. We’d never had a dog before, and my mother hadn’t considered the amount of extra work that came with him. She hated all the accidents in the house, and he chewed up her shoes. So yeah, she thought a little chick was a great trade. We ended up having Gabriela’s chickens for Sunday dinner once they were grown, while I was not having that happen with mine. My chick actually lived for seven years. She had a hen coupe of her own in the backyard.”

  “Wow, that’s so silly,” Tatiana says. She could take down the skies with that smile. I grin back.

  “And one hundred percent true. I’ll have my cousin confirm it in person once you meet her.”

  Tatiana’s genuine smile fades at that.

  The young hostess, Carmen, flicks her hair and gets us seated at Mintrer’s. The owner, Il signore, as his employees call him, bustles out of the kitchen and straight for our table. “Oh, mamma mia, it’s been long since I’ve seen you, little Isaias. How long? How’s your mamma? I see your dad the other day. Came by for... business.” He clears his throat, side-eyeing Tatiana.

  “But I speak much. Who is la bella, bellissima you bring with you tonight? So very bella she is. You need a job, bella? I can use an extra hand with the tables. We just lost a waitress. She’s having a baby and go to school, now, instead.” He shakes his head, what-has-this-world-come-to style. “We need pretty face around here. It’s good for business.”

  I finally get a word in to introduce them. Il signore uses the opportunity to smack juicy kisses over her hand, and Tatiana waits patiently until he’s done.

  “So the feast, yes?”

  I shrug, looking at Tatiana. “You interested in trying some specialties from Sicily?”

  “Sure, why not?” There’s that smile again. She’s making Il signore beam.

  “Frieda!” he bellows. An Asian-American stunner of a girl rushes over to the table. I remember being served by her before. “Get them la festa delle otto sorelle, and tell Antonio no skimp on the meat, eh? No skimp! We need lots of salsa, lots of tutto. Okay? Oh and the garlic. Isaias ama the garlic.”

  “Not true,” I whisper to Tatiana, who giggles openly now. “I don’t know why he thinks I love garlic.”

  “Sparkling new vino rosso? Yes?”

  “Absolutely,” I say.

  It’s a quiet night at Mintrer’s, and Il Signore treats me like the mafia son I am. He has Frieda stationed within ten feet of the table at all times, responding to every gesture I make.

  The wine is exquisite, and we’re thirsty. I’m cataloging the tidbits Tatiana tells me from her childhood and matching her version with my intel. It’s how I am; if something catches my attention, I give it my all until I’m to the bottom of it. Tatiana just happens to be the most enticing little mystery I’ve run into in a long time.

  When I pour the last drops into Tatiana’s glass, Frieda disappears behind the bar and comes back with a second bottle without my asking. “The same?”

  “Please,” I say and let her pour it for us.

  Two hours pass quickly, and I notice that Tatiana’s keeping an eye on her watch. I’m best off being the one to remind her, so ten minutes before it’s time to check in with the vet, I ask, “Shall we give the little one a call?”

  “Oh, checking on the babysitter?” Frieda smiles. I make a mental note of giving her a generous tip. She’s a feast to look at, for sure, if I didn’t already have my eyes set on the unearthly Sister Tatiana.

  “You can say that,” I murmur, winking.

  “My friend and I”—Frieda points over her shoulder to another waitress by the bar—“we couldn’t help noticing something... You’ve probably heard it a thousand times before though.” She bites her lip, looking a little starstruck.

  Maybe she’s seen the only film I’ve personally starred in. I did it right after taking over Lucid to teach Belen a few things about obedience. I’ve dabbled in sex clubs before, and even some S&M stuff back when. That film actually had some bite to it and has been selling well. “What did you notice?”

  “This is going to sound stupid, but... you look like Belle. You know, Disney-Belle?”

  I frown. Shoot a glance at my dinner partner and watch Tatiana’s eyes widen.

  “You know, Belle from Beauty and the Beast?” She laughs awkwardly.

  “You think she looks like a Disney princess?” I ask. “A cartoon.”

  Frieda shakes her head. It’s slow at first, but then it speeds up, and it’s like she sees her entire tip for the night blow away in one big gust of air. “No. No, no. Not at all. It’s more like Belle looks like your girlfriend. Sorry, like your wife? Fiancée. Your partner, I mean.” She swallows. “I’m going to get you your complimentary desserts now. They’re my treat.”

  With two sentences, Tatiana saves the girl. “That’s so sweet of you. Belle is my favorite Disney princess.”

  We’re in the car, and a tipsy Disney princess has a bundle of sleepy kitten in her hands. She’s nuzzling it with her perfect little Disney nose. “What am I supposed to do now?”

  “We can take her to the shelter?” I suggest but shake my head when her lip wobbles at the thought. “Bad idea. Okay. The St. Catherine sisters don’t allow pets, I assume?”

  She bites her lip, tearing up. Oh, hell no, I can’t have that. “Don’t, okay? I’ll find it a good home.”

  There’s got to be someone I can bribe to do this. Bruno. That jackass needs to raise the kitten. Although, what would he do, drug it and ask it rhetorical questions all day? Shit. It’s got to be one of the girls at work. Belen? Yeah, right.

  Bruno has me in so much trouble. Fucker.

  “Until I find the perfect foster family for it, I’ll be keeping it at my house.”

  She breathes out, relieved as she pets its chest with one finger. That’s how small that chest is. I groan inwardly. I’ll have to walk
around on eggshells in my own home until I find a solution now. I sure as hell don’t want to end up squishing it under my foot.

  “On one condition,” I murmur.

  Tatiana looks up. “What’s that?”

  “It’ll need your visits. I can’t give it all the love you’re giving,” I say, smearing it on thickly.

  “Oh, for the love of God.” She shakes her head slowly. “Another worst pickup line ever. You’re so full of it.”

  “You, woman, destroy me.” I clutch my heart, half faking it to see her eye-roll, and half meaning it. “I don’t think you’d notice the real deal if it hit you in the face.”

  “The real deal, as in love?” Tatiana sort of bats her lashes at me. She exaggerates the move, but it doesn’t stop my balls from drawing up, getting ready for times I’m not getting with her tonight—maybe never if I can’t up my game more than this.

  “Hell, how about real desire first? Love comes later,” I say.

  “Does it, now?”

  “Yes, it does. Goddamn lust, so real it burns you up, comes first. Then, it mellows out and becomes love.”

  “So, the two can’t happen at the same time?”

  “Nah. Maybe a slight overlap, right around the honeymoon.” I grin.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay what?”

  “I’ll visit our child at your house until you find a good home for her.”

  “Geez, you make me work hard.”

  As I park outside the Sisters, she holds up the smallest bundle of grey tiger stripes and deposits it in my palm. The damn thing stretches a little, a willing pawn in this woman’s web.

  “Dinner at my place. Tomorrow. Eight sharp. I’m sending a car for you.”

  She twists her mouth like she’s not sure yet.

  “It’s a custody thing. You have to keep your end of the agreement.”

  “Okay.”

  “‘Okay,’ she says. It’s the word of the hour.”

  Tatiana smiles, and when she lifts her alabaster hand and presses two fingers to her lips, I’m done for all over again.

  I’m on the phone with Il Lince the whole way from Lucid to Gearhead Studios. Shit’s going down. My father needs me involved again, and I’m telling him what I’ve said for ages now— “No.”

  “What’s the deal, son? Don’t you love your family?”

  “I do. And I really love not having to run anyone’s errands anymore. That time at the St. Tatiana was a one-off.”

  “Figlio, enough already. Your attitude has to change. I need you more hands-on than you’ve been over the last years, capisci? I’m getting older, and you gotta be ready like an oiled machine by the time I retire.”

  “No, I don’t. I’ll never change my mind on this. I’m not stepping up after you.”

  My father doesn’t take being dismissed lightly. I’m not sure why he’s causing himself grief right now, after years of knowing.

  “Isaias. We need to talk. Meet me tonight at Cafe Chrome.”

  I feel my jaws tighten at that. “Please. The less I know, the better.”

  “No, you need to know this. Be there at eight sharp. I have business to take care of later, so we need to wrap it up fast.”

  Leave it to Il Lince to rush people on a meeting he’s demanded.

  “Fine. I gotta go.”

  “Ciao, Isaias. Ti amo.”

  “I love you too,” I grit out.

  A low stone wall separates the canyon road from the Gearhead compounds. I drive up to the gate and get buzzed through. “Past the first building, you’ll find a one-story hall. Park on the left side, and we’ll open for you,” a staff member says, voice crackling over the speaker. I can’t help thinking that’s funny considering the business and its name. Shouldn’t they have state-of-the-art, all the latest equipment?

  Inside, Clown Irruption’s tour manager leads me down the hallway, past platinum records of different bands. Dark carpet and faded black walls swallow us until we’re spit out in a small studio holding the four band members, some crew, and a few women. Surreptitiously, I study the dark-haired beauty, Bo’s wife, Nadia. Next, it’s Zoe, who’s blonde, shorthaired, and with a body she knows how to use. No doubt the two of them will be instrumental in the band’s decision.

  “Isaias.” Bo is the first to shake my hand. “Good to see you, man. How are things at Lucid?”

  “Good, man. Good. I was in the neighborhood and figured I’d say hi. Getting some songs down?”

  “Yeah, it’s going really well. Gearhead has it all. Besides the guitars and mics, Troy’s the only one bringing his own shit here.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and grins.

  “Hey.” Troy appears behind him, bobbing his head at me. “Sorry, I meant to call you back.” From his voice, I might not like what he has to say, so I break in.

  “No worries. It’s been a hectic week for me too. You had lunch yet?” According to my guys, they haven’t been out of the studio since this morning.

  “Actually, no. You want to join us?”

  “Sure. Got somewhere in mind? If you don’t, I’ll show you one of my favorite hangouts. It’s got a killer view of the Pacific, off the beaten path if you know what I mean, but close enough to Gearhead Studios to be a quick trip.”

  Emil floats Zoe a glance. She seems to be the most receptive of the two wives. “Sounds good, man. My girl’s starving.”

  I have connections at the Cliff House, so we get the third-story balcony to ourselves. Troy and the bassist, Elias, order beers, while the two others have cokes. It’s easier to convince drunk people of good ideas, but then again, I do love a challenge.

  We chitchat. I stick to jokes and short stories from the past, growing up Italian. No mention of the mafia, of course. I especially gage what makes the girls interested. I need them to like me, believe that I’m a good guy and someone who can lift their husbands’ status even more. It’s not deception. What I offer is simply a tad further on the grey side than this band is used to.

  Once people have eaten and their guard is down, I steer us onto my subject. “I have to say I loved the lyrics for ‘Deep in You.’ Emil showed them to me at Lucid, and it’s quite the love song, isn’t it?”

  I fake a pensive stare between Nadia and Zoe. The latter giggles and flicks a coy glance at her husband. She doesn’t strike me as the shy type, so that was unexpected. Emil laughs and squeezes her tightly.

  “Yeah, I love this chick so much. She fucking saved me.”

  “Well, if it wasn’t for you totally destroying yourself, you wouldn’t have needed saving, cookie.”

  Cookie! Wow.

  “Isn’t that beautiful,” I murmur. “Unorthodox love stories kick ass. And no songs written for you?” I ask Nadia, knowing full well that Bo’s anguished praise to her shot them to fame with lyrics that made people gasp and crave censorship.

  For a Hispanic girl, her responses are less than fiery. Now, her attention moves from Bo to me, a small smile pursing her lips. “Well, there was this little song a few years back.”

  “Not just one song,” Zoe exclaims. “You know the song ‘Fuck You?’ That was about Nadia. She was driving Bo crazy.” Zoe shoves her shoulder into Nadia’s, and Nadia leans back, embarrassed.

  “He’s a silly man” is all she says. Bo leans in, a smile as small as his wife’s lighting his features. He studies her embarrassment and runs his nose along her cheek until she accepts a chaste kiss. “He shouldn’t have shouted it out all over America. It was private.”

  “If it were up to Nadia, it wouldn’t be on our playlists anymore,” Bo admits, smile growing. “The fans would riot, though.”

  “I bet,” I say. “I remember that song. ‘Fuck You’ was a goddamn plague. But that’s what real love is, right, a goddamn plague?” I bob my head sagely, like I’ve been there.

  With the exception of Troy,
the entire table murmurs their agreement. Troy’s features darken. Something I said? Interesting. I’ll ponder that one later, because for now, I have my in.

  “Love is it, man,” I say, “and that’s what triggered my script writer’s creative juices the other day. I had your last album blasting in the studio, and she came up to me with a new idea that’s simply fucking groundbreaking.

  “It requires collaboration with the music industry. I have a few bands in mind that have a strong focus on love, Night Shifts Black, Limelight, Viper Rising, to name a few, but her idea was spurred by Clown Irruption, and to be frank, you’d be perfect for it, so I wanted to give you the option first. Troy, did you mention our little chat to the guys yet?”

  “I did, and we’re not sure it’s right for us.”

  “Nothing wrong in hearing him out, though,” Zoe sets her eyes on Troy.

  He leans back, folding his arms.

  “Okay.” I rub my hands together. “So tell me—not the story—but the emotions of ‘Deep in You’ again. I want to hear your take on it before I show you my script girl’s storyboard.”

  Emil exhales happily. He leans back in his chair, folding his hands behind his neck, readying himself for a show. It must be true what they say: lead singers have a certain personality. Everything I’ve seen of Emil so far, onstage and off, is extroverted, passionate, and sunny.

  “First, there’s missing her,” he murmurs, voice rich and silky. “Then there’s the passion for music, for performing and loving your audience and the high they give you while you’re onstage.

  “Then there’s loving her even more than that, and in a different way. The chorus and how it builds toward the end is all about finding Zoe—and I know Bo feels the same way about Nadia. You want to hold her in your arms and squeeze her, and fucking... rip her clothes off and fuck her until you can’t see straight and she’s screaming. You know what I mean.”