Tommy Gabrini: Every Which Way But Loose

by Mallory Monroe

  Frank Jansen, the former manager of Diamante’s, stood up when Tommy entered the restaurant and headed to his table. They shook hands, asked how each other had been, and sat down.

  But the waiter was astonished. Not just Frank was back in the restaurant, but the owner was there too. That was why, after taking their drink orders, the waiter hurried for the bar first, to put in the order, and then to the kitchen to give a heads up to the chef.

  “Tommy Gabrini’s here,” he whispered as he passed waiter after waiter, waitress after waitress, on his way to the kitchen. “Tommy Gabrini’s here!” And each one of them suddenly smiled, and got busy.

  When the waiter arrived in the back of the house, in the kitchen, he notified the chef.

  The chef, stunned, dropped a pot filled with pasta. “Shit!” he yelled, as the water popped out, but the pasta remained in. “He hasn’t been here in months! What did he order? Did you take his order?”

  “Not for food. Not yet. Drinks only right now.” The waiter hurried back out.

  But the chef, already exhausted, wiped his forehead with the arm of his chef coat. “Everybody man their stations,” he said to his staff. “When the order comes in, you drop everything, I mean everything, and expedite this order and this order only. You hear me? Screw this up and I’ll fire you on the spot!”

  “Yes, sir, Chef!” the sous-chefs replied in ragged unison. And suddenly the relaxed kitchen became hyper-anxious.

  In the front of the establishment, in the posh dining area, Tommy sat back and listened to his former manager beg to get his job back.

  “It wasn’t me who ran it in the ground, Tommy,” Frank Jansen made clear. “When you sold Diamante’s to that Brit, and he kept me on as General Manager, I did a good job. I swear I did. But he kept wanting that weird cuisine, that Mediterranean bullshit, and he wouldn’t listen to me, or Chef. When he was about to go bankrupt and you stepped in and bought the restaurant back from him, and became the owner again, your people let everybody go. Including me. But that wasn’t fair, Tommy. I did my job.”

  Tommy hesitated. He owned Diamante’s for years, and then decided to get out of the restaurant business. He sold both Diamante’s and Taste of Southern to a British art dealer. But that dealer was apparently better at art than at cuisine and quickly ran both restaurants in the ground. Before Tommy would allow them both to go under, he bought back both at a steal, and resurrected them. They were back on sound footing now. But the management team that allowed both restaurants to get on the critical list were all let go. Frank Jansen was a part of that team.

  But before Tommy could respond, his cell phone began to ring. He looked at the Caller ID to see who it was he would have to call back. When he saw it was his wife, however, he immediately took the call. “Hey,” he said.

  Grace Gabrini was driving through the streets of Seattle on her way to a speaking engagement. “Hey yourself. What are you doing?”

  “In a meeting.”

  “With Frank?”

  “Yep,” he said as the waiter returned with their drinks, and then left again. “You?”

  “I’m on my way to a meeting. To speak at that Sistas Lifting Sistas event. But I wanted to know if we were still on for dinner with Sal and Gemma Thursday night?”

  “Just Sal. Gem has court. Why?”

  “I need to go to Pittsburgh to handle a union dispute.”

  “I thought that was Friday.”

  “It is,” Grace said. “But my people asked if I could come in Thursday night for a prelim before the big meeting. I told them I couldn’t make it. I just wanted to confirm that I actually do have an excuse.”

  Tommy smiled. He could have told her that he could handle the dinner date with Sal alone, and that she could leave town early, but he didn’t want her to leave at all. Hers was the only relationship he ever had where he wanted to see more, not less of a woman. “Yeah, it’s still on,” he said.

  “Okay. Just confirming. I’ll let you get back to your meeting then.”

  “The kids okay?”

  “I just left them,” Grace said. “They’re fine. Of course Destiny didn’t want me to go, and wants you home. But I told Nanny to let her watch The Princess and the Frog again, so she’s okay. But I am looking forward to getting back home.”

  Tommy knew what she meant. Home was where his heart was too. “So am I,” he said. “You’re driving?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Be careful.”

  “Oh, I will, babe,” Grace responded. “I drive like a grandma. And I love you, but don’t say it back. I don’t want Frank or anybody else to think you’re soft.”

  Tommy laughed. “Girl bye,” he said playfully the way he’d heard Grace say, and they ended the call.

  But if Frank thought Tommy’s lightheartedness with his wife would transfer to him, he was mistaken.

  “You were at the helm,” Tommy said to Frank as soon as he ended the call, his smile now completely gone. “If the ship goes down, and you’re its captain, you go down with the ship.”

  “I know what you’re saying,” Frank responded. “But what I’m telling you is that I wasn’t at the helm. That British asshole wouldn’t let me run anything! He ran everything. He ran it to ground, not me. You remember how I managed your restaurants. I did a great job. Why would I change just because somebody else took over?”

  “Because somebody else allowed you to relax,” Tommy said. “And you relaxed. You think I’m a fucking idiot? You think you could request a meeting, I attend the meeting, and I was going to believe every word you said? If you would have come to me tonight and told me you blew it, then I would listen. A man who admits his failures is a wise man to me. But you came with bullshit. You came with blaming the other guy when I know what you did. I did my research. You rarely showed up for work. You allowed the wait staff to run the front of the house. You allowed the chef to dictate the back. No direction. No input. You just decided you were going to collect a paycheck and take advantage of that weak-ass owner. Well I’m not weak, Frank. And you want me to put you back in charge to destroy once again what I built back up?”

  It was only at this moment did Frank Jansen realize who he was dealing with. Dapper Tom they called him, as if he was some prim and proper gentleman. Dapper Tom my ass, Frank though. That prick was more like Dagger Tom!

  “So what are you telling me?” Frank asked him.

  Tommy thought it was obvious. “I’m telling you to get the fuck out of my face.” And Tommy responded, not with a raising of his voice, but with a cool rage.

  Frank knew Tommy was not the one to change his mind. He should have known it before he thought to ask for this ill-advised meeting. He wanted to tell him a thing or two. He wanted to give him a piece of his mind. But he knew he’d be playing with fire. He was already burning with anger, but he kept his wits about him. Instead of firing back, he stood up, and left.

  Shelby and Annie were coming in just as Frank was angrily storming out. He and Annie almost collided. But as the waiter showed the two ladies to their reserved table, which required them to walk past Tommy’s table, Shelby stopped in her tracks as she approached him. “Tommy?” she asked as if she was thrown to see him. “Is that you?”

  Tommy looked up and was surprised to see Shelby James standing there. He hadn’t seen her in years. “Shelby, hey,” he said with a polite, but hardly excited smile. He stood up.

  Shelby moved to him and gave him a hug. Even Annie noticed that the man barely touched her. Their reunion might not be the mind blowing event Shelby needed it to be.

  “How are you?” Shelby asked as they stopped embracing.

  “I’m good,” Tommy responded. “And you?”

  “I’m doing okay, Tommy. Thanks for asking.”

  Annie, knowing her cue, touched Shelby on the arm. “I’ll be at the table,” she whispered.

  “Okay, Annie, thanks,” Shelby responded.

  And Shelby, being her usual selfish self, didn’t bother to introduce her friend. Not
that Annie cared. She didn’t. Given their little scheme, she preferred not to be introduced anyway. She and the waiter kept walking.

  “May I sit down?” Shelby asked. “For just a moment.”

  “Of course,” Tommy responded, and Shelby sat across from him. Tommy sat down too.

  Shelby smiled, as there was an awkward pause. But when their eyes locked, both had flashbacks of their time together. For Shelby, it was all about those sexually charged nights. For Tommy, it was the day she gave him the ultimatum that ended their relationship. She became yet another woman who wanted more than he was willing to give.

  “It’s been a long time,” she said to him. “For some reason, I didn’t expect to see you again.”

  “It’s a small world, Shell. An even smaller state.”

  Shelby laughed. “That’s the truth,” she said.

  “So what have you been up to?”

  And that was what Shelby most loved about him. He always seemed concerned. “I’ve been in Europe most of the time, on modeling jobs. I have a hell of a time getting jobs here, but I’m always wanted in France and England. I just got back a few weeks ago.”

  “You’re back for good?”

  “More or less,” she said. Then she gave him her best seductress look. “I can always use a friend,” she said. “With no strings attached. The way you prefer it.”

  “I’m married, Shell,” Tommy said without hesitation.

  Shelby knew he had married, divorced, and remarried. But he didn’t know she knew. “But I heard you got a divorce,” she said.

  “I did,” Tommy responded. “And we remarried.”

  “You remarried her? The rest of us couldn’t get you to commit to be our boyfriend, yet she manages to get you to marry her. And not once, but twice.” Shelby grinned. “She must have some serious black gold between her thighs.”

  Tommy knew it was hardly a compliment. He smiled a smile that did not reach his eyes. “She has far more than that,” he said.

  Shelby couldn’t help herself. She took offense to his insinuation. “What’s that supposed to mean? That what’s between my thighs is all I have going for me?”

  Tommy wasn’t about to get into it with some ex-lover he didn’t give shit about. He began rising. “I’d better go,” he said.

  But Shelby, realizing her error, quickly reached out to him, touching him on the hand. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “Please, don’t leave. I didn’t mean to be some bitter woman jealous of your wife. I’m not like that, you know I’m not.” Then she exhaled. “I need to talk to you.”

  Tommy could see more than bitterness in her eyes, although it was there. He saw fear. And anguish. He sat back down. “What do you need to talk about?”

  A strained look appeared on Shelby’s beautiful face. And she was about to tell it. She was about to tell it all. But as soon as she moved her mouth to speak, the window beside their booth shattered, and a perfectly guided bullet tore through her forehead. The blood gushed out, her head lobbed back, and an instantaneous death was the only outcome.

  The restaurant went wild. Tables and chairs were turned over, glass was broken, as man, woman, and child alike ran for their own lives. Tommy ducked down, pulling out his concealed weapon, ready to fire back.

  But no more shots were fired. Three of Tommy’s men, the bodyguards that were always never far from Tommy, came running.

  “You okay, boss?” one of them asked excitedly.

  “Did you see who fired the shot?” Tommy asked.

  “No, sir. We heard it, but we didn’t see it.”

  Tommy looked at Shelby, his heart devastated for her, but his main focus had to be on tracking down her killers. Because it might have been him they were trying to kill.

  He and his men, without him needing to give them any direction, ran out of the restaurant’s front door and into the streets. Tommy and one guard ran down one end of the street, while the other two guards ran down the other end. It was a busy street. The shots could have come from a car passing by, or from somebody in one of the tall buildings across the highway.

  Even after they returned to the restaurant and questioned the valets out front, it still was a mystery. The valets heard gunfire, they told them, and ran for cover. They had no clue who, what, or where the shot came from. But one thing they all concluded was true: the person responsible left the area as fast as he or she had destroyed its peace.

  Tommy and one of his men went back into the restaurant, as two guards remained outside. A doctor who had been dining was covering Shelby’s shattered face with a table cloth. Tommy’s heart ached for her. They didn’t part amicably. She wanted a commitment from him, he said no, and that was the end of their ride. But she didn’t deserve to end up like this. She didn’t deserve to end up on some restaurant floor as if she was discarded trash.

  But he regrouped, as he always did, and looked around the restaurant. Where was her friend? That woman she called Annie? Had she run out back? Or was she a part of the plot?

  “There’s a girl named Annie,” Tommy said to his guard. “The girl that was with her. Black. Pretty. Find her.”

  The guard hurried out back, where most of the patrons had ran, in search of Annie.

  But Tommy had a different job for himself. He had to secure his family. That bullet might have been exactly for whom it aimed for, or it could have been a miss of him. He didn’t know. And when he didn’t know, he took precautions. He pulled out his cell phone and called for his front gate security to put his house on lockdown, and to put his children and their nannies in the estate’s safe room. And then he jumped into his Ferrari, with two guards following in their own car, to go get his wife.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  In the ballroom of the Marriott, the room was filled with festive partygoers. Everybody was in a happy, upbeat mood as they laughed and talked and sipped virgin drinks. But the party chair, Ellen Matanzas, seemed only interested in complaining. “Look at her,” she said to the small group of women encircling her. “It’s her first year participating, her very first year, and she’s taken over.”

  “Don’t even try that, El,” Shameika Bradshaw responded. “She hasn’t taken over anything, and you know it. She’s not like that.”

  “How should I know what she’s like?” Ellen responded. “She’s your friend, not mine. All I know is I’ve been attending this conference for six years now, and so have all the rest of us. We started SLS. We work with these girls all through the year with car washes and every kind of conceivable fundraising activity we can think of just to be able to put on this year-end event. We’re the ones who gave up our weekends to be big sisters to these young ladies. We made that sacrifice. And how are we repaid? She shows up for the first time ever, gives a speech, and suddenly we don’t matter anymore. She takes over like this is her thing when her ass wasn’t even on the planning committee! She never attended one solitary meeting! How does she get to be the star attraction?”

  “She’s not trying to be the star attraction,” Shameika pointed out. “Why are you saying that? The girls took to her, not the other way around. How is that her fault?”

  “She didn’t attend meetings,” Ellen said. “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “The only reason she didn’t attend any meetings,” Shameika responded, “was because she didn’t know this organization existed. Most people don’t, since you’re so territorial and secretive about it. Since you’re so scared somebody of true substance might become a member and try to steal your show! Since you’re practically living off of those big money donations people so willingly give to SLS. Sistas Lifting Sistas? They gladly give! And all they get in return is an invite to a party at the end of the year so that you can bilk them out of more donations for the next year!”

  Ellen folded her arms. She couldn’t stand Shameika Bradshaw. The house was loaded with various circles of people talking. Why did she always end up in Ellen’s circle?

  “Grace Gabrini is a busy lady,” Shameika continued, “but I in
vited her to speak because I thought, given that she actually runs a company, that it could help the girls for real. Not play-play like y’all doing. And she was happy to help. Instead of being pleased to have somebody of her caliber at our event, you want to turn it into something negative like you always do.” Then Shameika pointed a finger at Ellen. “You need to cut that shit out. For real.”

  “Oh, Meek, please,” Gertrude, another member of their circle, fired back. “You always have something evil to say about us. You need to be pointing that finger at yourself. Because I say Ellen is right. We did all the work. We put in all the blood, sweat and tears. How it is that she gets to be the life of the party when we’re the ones who got the party started?”

  But across the room, as more and more of the twenty or so young ladies in the SLS organization surrounded her, Grace Gabrini was as surprised by the attention as the hosts were. When she agreed to speak at the Sistas Lifting Sistas year-end soiree, she had no intention of being the life of the party. Or even its pulse. All she wanted was to speak about her experience in business and offer her support and guidance. Nothing more, nothing less.

  But as soon as those young women discovered who she was and, more specifically, the company she owned, they gravitated to her like a magnet. All of the other mentors in the room worked for major corporations around the greater Seattle area too, and that was a big deal. But Grace Gabrini owned a major corporation. That was a bigger deal.

  And with that knowledge, conversations that had been about the usual empowerment topics quickly shifted to conversations that were all about Grace’s company. “So,” more than one of the young ladies asked, “when we see those huge transport trucks driving around town, with the Trammel name all over them, they belong to you?”

  Grace smiled. She was not the kind of woman who went out of her way to attract attention, but she didn’t shy away from it when it came either. “Yes,” she said. “They belong to me.”

  “Wow,” Karma Curtis, the most talkative of the young African Americans, said.