AVERY (The Corbin Brothers Book 2)

by Lexie Ray

  After Mama’s announcement, there was a flurry of excitement. Girls dashed to the supply closets, putting away extra napkins and chargers. Cocoa grabbed me by the hand and ran to the laundry room. We dumped our rags into a hamper labeled “restaurant.”

  “This is where you do your laundry, too,” my roommate said before hauling me back out to the floor. “Let me look at you.”

  Cocoa turned a critical eye to my appearance and I straightened, wanting to make a good impression. Frowning, she unbuttoned one more button on my blouse, even though I’d already opened it down to where Mama had been so pleased with me when we were shopping earlier today. Satisfied with the results, Cocoa tousled my neat hair a bit and reapplied the lipstick, which she kept in her blouse pocket.

  “Let me see that smile,” she said, her eyes shining.

  I smiled.

  “That-a-girl,” Cocoa said, grinning. “You’re going to be great.”

  Nervous butterflies fluttered in my stomach.

  “Showtime!” Mama hollered.

  The bouncers opened the door and the girls lined up, taking customers and their parties to a table in their section. Mama was at the head of the line, personally greeting each person who walked in—many of them by name.

  “Every girl takes charge of a number of customers,” Cocoa explained as we queued up. “She gives them a personal experience and makes sure they have everything they need. We’re each assigned sections of the club by groups. This is also posted in the lounge.”

  Swanky lounge music played over the speakers. I looked over at the stage, but the curtains were closed.

  “Do you always have live music?” I asked. “Last night, there was a band.”

  “We have it most nights,” Cocoa answered. “Wait till you see tonight. You’re in for a real treat.”

  I thought my stomach was going to drop out of my body as we got to the front of the line.

  “Don Costa, it has been too long, honey,” Mama said, pouring on the sugar for one of the customers entering the door. A bouncer moved forward for a pat down, but Mama shook her head at him.

  “You know how it is when business gets too good,” Don Costa said, bringing Mama’s bejeweled hand up to his mouth and kissing it gallantly.

  “No time to have fun,” Mama finished, giggling and turning away coquettishly.

  Don? Was that a mob thing or his real first name? I turned to see how Cocoa was behaving, but she looked straight ahead, smiling. I swiveled my head back to the front and pasted on my smile, too.

  Don Costa was tall, perhaps in his mid-40s. His hair was black overall, but the color faded to silver at his temples. He was attractive for his age, but I bet he’d really been good looking when he was young. Three men accompanied him. Two looked to be about in their 50s, but the third was much younger. He looked so similar to Don Costa that I was sure I was looking at his son. Gorgeous.

  Mama glanced back at Cocoa and me. “What a treat!” she exclaimed. “I just got a new girl yesterday. Cocoa’s training her, so you get the company of two beauties tonight.”

  Don Costa’s eyes fell on me as I smiled for all that I was worth. “A new girl?” he asked, raising one eyebrow rakishly. “You’re gorgeous, doll. I’d love to be the one to give you an introduction to the place, if you get my meaning.”

  I felt Cocoa stiffen beside me and Mama’s smile froze on her face.

  “She’s young, Don Costa,” Mama said quickly, recovering in seconds from whatever had passed over her. “This is her very first night. She needs a little time to learn the ropes, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m sure you and I can come to an agreement about it,” Don Costa said, his megawatt smile outshining even Mama’s.

  I still didn’t understand what was going on, but Cocoa leaned forward, resting her hand lightly on the man’s arm.

  “Don Costa, let us take you to your table,” she said in a flirtatious voice. “I reserved the best one for you as soon as I knew you were coming. I hope you all brought your appetites. The chef’s special is to die for. Can I tell the bartender to fix your usual?”

  Don Costa let himself be distracted by Cocoa’s gentle prodding. We led them to a table with perhaps the best view of the stage. It was far enough removed from everything so that fellow customers couldn’t hear conversations, but everyone could still see exactly who was sitting there.

  “You weren’t lying, sweetheart,” Don Costa remarked as they sat down. “This is the best table.”

  “Why would I lie to you, darling?” Cocoa asked, fluttering her eyelashes innocently. “The worst I do is fib. Well, and bite, if we’re being honest.”

  The table tittered. “We will take those drinks,” Don Costa said. “Tell me more about the chef’s special.”

  Cocoa turned to me. “Jazz, please go tell the bartender that you need four martinis, up.”

  I nodded quickly and slipped away across the floor. I hoped the bar knew what “up” meant because I had no idea. Having to weave in between other girls working and customers milling around, I realized the place was really filling up. All of the customers were dressed to the nines—not a pair of jeans in sight. I wondered if the club enforced a dress code.

  I leaned over the bar, wiggling my fingers at one of the three bartenders bustling around in front of a glittering display of glasses and bottles of liquor. It was another one of Mama’s girls—the blonde upstairs who had told me she liked my lipstick.

  “Whaddaya need, Jazz baby?” she asked, rattling a shaker vigorously. “I’m Blues, by the way. Well, that’s my club name. It’s ’cause I got these baby blue eyes. Real name’s Sandra, but I hate it.”

  Club name? Real name? Was I supposed to remember them both?

  “Um, I need four martinis, up,” I said, looking back over my shoulder at Don Costa’s table. Cocoa was laughing uproariously at something the younger Costa had quipped. His father clapped him on the shoulder.

  “You’re serving the Don?” Blues said, her mouth agape. She tossed the shaker she’d been holding to another bartender and grabbed a bottle of vermouth from the shelf. Blues peered around me as she mixed the drinks.

  “Oh, you’re with Cocoa,” she said, sounding relieved. “Of course you’re serving the Don.” She poured the martinis into tall glasses.

  “Is he important or something?” I asked.

  “Or something,” Blues confirmed. “He’s one of our biggest customers. You should see the money he usually drops. Everyone wants to serve the Don, but Cocoa always gets him. She’s one of the most experienced girls. You have to do everything he says and she always takes care of him.”

  Blues set the four glasses on a tray. For some reason, “always takes care of him” had been a weighted statement. It made me think of more things than simply taking the man’s drink order.

  I took up the tray and my hands shook. The liquid at the top of the delicate glasses trembled forebodingly. Blues shot me a dubious look.

  “Better not spill the Don’s drinks, baby,” she advised. “Oh, thank God. Here comes Cocoa.”

  I turned and my roommate seized the tray without spilling a drop.

  “We’ll practice carrying trays tomorrow,” she promised, “but with water in the glasses, not top shelf liquor.”

  I tailed Cocoa back to the table, watching as she artfully spun the tray on her fingers while serving each cocktail. Visions of my mother and the way the ice tinkled in her highballs sprang unbidden to my mind. I shook them away. This was a different life.

  Don Costa and his companions raised their glasses in a toast.

  “To the incomparable Cocoa,” the Don proposed. “And the newest dish, young Jazz.”

  I blushed and grinned. The Don thought I was a dish.

  “We’ll go put your orders into the kitchen,” Cocoa said, tucking the empty tray under her arm.

  “Don’t dally, ladies,” Don Costa said. “Our lives are less beautiful when you’re away.”

  “We’ll be back before you know it,” Cocoa said
with a wink.

  The kitchen was in a flurry of activity. Cooks were grabbing tickets as fast as waitresses could stick them in the gap.

  “This is the busiest time for the kitchen,” Cocoa said. “Well, they’re busy the majority of the night, but this is when they’re really in the weeds. As soon as all the customers get here, they want to get their food and drink orders in as soon as possible so they can enjoy the show.”

  “And tonight’s a special show?” I asked as my roommate jotted down something on her pad of paper.

  “Very special,” Cocoa confirmed with a small smile. “It’s what everyone comes for.” She ripped the paper from her pad and popped it into the gap. “For the Don!” she hollered.

  “The Don!” one of the chefs called out. Cocoa’s ticket was seized ahead of several others and space was cleared on the grill. The way some of the line cooks moved, I could tell they were expediting the order.

  “So, who’s Don Costa?” I asked Cocoa. “Blues said he was one of the club’s biggest customers.”

  “She’s right,” Cocoa said. “And the Don gets whatever he wants, so stay close to me and keep looking pretty.” My roommate eyed the grill. “Rush that order, please!” she called needlessly. The chefs were already doing all they could for it, bright flames spiraling up from the pans.

  Cocoa grabbed a tray of olive oil and slices of bread. “Can you carry this on your shoulder?” she asked.

  I was determined to prove myself. “I can do it.”

  She hefted the tray and placed it on my shoulder, not letting go until it was balanced.

  “Let’s go,” she said, holding the swinging door open for me.

  The Don and his party were already done with their first round of drinks, I noticed as we got back to the table. Cocoa lifted down plates, the basket of bread, and the olive oil from the tray. I tucked it under my arm as I’d watched my roommate do.

  “You gentlemen were thirsty,” Cocoa exclaimed, doling out the plates expertly. They might as well have been cards for how lightly she handled them. “Let me send Jazz over to the bar for another round.”

  “No,” Don Costa said, freezing me in my tracks. “You go, Cocoa. I like to watch you shake those hips all the way over here. I want to get to know Mama’s newest girl.”

  Cocoa hesitated for half a beat before smiling and taking the tray from me.

  “You better behave yourself while I’m gone, darling,” she said, shaking her finger in the Don’s face. Her eyes flickered to mine before leaving.

  I was nervous as hell but turned my smile up as high as it would go. The table’s occupants dug into the basket of bread, dipping the slices in the fragrant oil. It smelled like it must be infused with rosemary or another herb.

  “Can I get you gentlemen glasses of water or something?” I asked, glancing over at the bar. Cocoa and Blues were watching like hawks even as Blues mixed the martinis.

  “Water?” one of the Don’s friends spluttered. “What would we do with it?”

  They laughed and I blushed.

  “C’mon, Georgie, she’s new,” Don Costa said. “She doesn’t know what’s what with us yet.” He wiped breadcrumbs from the corners of his mouth with the cloth napkin and patted his knee. “Have a seat and make yourself comfortable.”

  I sat down quickly, lightly, without question. I didn’t want to disappoint or embarrass Cocoa or Mama even if I was acutely uncomfortable. The Don always got what he wanted, didn’t he?

  “Tell me about yourself, Jazz,” Don Costa coaxed. “What were you doing before Mama discovered you?”

  Somehow, eating a McDonald’s hamburger out of a dumpster didn’t seem like an appropriate response.

  “I was a student,” I said, thinking quickly.

  “How wonderful!” the Don said. “I always say education’s the most important thing, don’t I, fellas?”

  Everyone voiced their agreement.

  “What college were you at, doll?” he asked.

  “I just graduated high school,” I lied. When my mother died, I’d been about halfway through my senior year. Graduating hadn’t been at the top of my priorities at that point—survival had been.

  The Don suddenly became infinitely more interested in me. His hand tightened reflexively on my hip. It felt possessive and I tried not to squirm.

  “Mama wasn’t lying,” he remarked lightly, even as his voice shook with an emotion I couldn’t identify. “You are young.”

  I shivered at his tone and felt myself thinking again about the “everything” my roommate had failed to tell me. There had to be something I was missing.

  “Don Costa, I hope you’re keeping your hands to yourself,” Cocoa said in mock admonishment. She distributed the martinis like lightning and held out her hand to me.

  I took it with no small degree of relief and she pulled me up from the Don’s lap.

  “I need Miss Jazz here to help me with your suppers,” my roommate said, looping her arm around my waist and pulling me close. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  “Starving,” the Don said.

  “Then we’ll be back in a jiffy,” Cocoa said.

  She steered us around, but it wasn’t the kitchen we headed for—it was Mama’s office. Cocoa opened the door without knocking. Mama was reapplying some of her heavy makeup, singing softly to herself.

  “We have a situation,” Cocoa said grimly, not letting me go even as the door shut behind us.

  Mama glanced up. “I know we do, sugar.”

  “What should we do?”

  I assumed they were talking about Don Costa.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I know the Don’s just flirting with me. I’m okay with it. I can flirt back, if you want.”

  Mama and Cocoa exchanged a long stare.

  “You don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with,” Cocoa said, giving me a hard look.

  “I thought you said the Don always gets what he wants,” I said, confused again.

  “He does,” Mama said, closing her compact with a sharp snap. “We’ll deal with it when the time comes.”

  Cocoa hadn’t stopped looking at me. She suddenly grabbed my blouse, buttoning two buttons and hiding the cleavage I’d been rocking. She unbuttoned another button on her own shirt and adjusted her bra. Her breasts looked to be under considerable risk of spilling out.

  “That’s a start,” Mama remarked. “Now, if you girls will excuse me, I’ve gotta get on stage.”

  We all left the office together, Mama locking the door behind her. I remembered all the cash inside the safe.

  Cocoa and I dashed into the kitchen. “That better be the Don’s order,” she threatened as one of the cooks put the final touches on a set of plates already arranged on a tray.

  “Of course it is,” he answered. “I don’t want to get my throat slit.”

  Cocoa snorted before grabbing the tray and positioning it on my shoulder, not giving me a chance to think about what the cook had said. It was a lot heavier than the first.

  “Walk as slowly as you need to,” Cocoa said. “It’s a lot of food.”

  We picked our way across the floor, the smell of the food wafting into my nose and reminding me that I’d skipped dinner. The nightclub was almost completely full and there was still a line outside.

  Reaching the Don’s table, I realized their martini glasses were empty again. These guys were drinking like fish.

  Cocoa unloaded the tray again and I tried to stay still, shifting my grip as the weight changed with each plate removed.

  “Let me go take care of those empty glasses for you,” I said with a wink, trying to take the initiative. Cocoa nodded and bent forward to arrange things on the table, giving everyone seated there an up close and personal view of the precarious state of her breasts.

  I made my escape with the tray, handing it to Blues to conceal behind the bar.

  “How’re you making out with the Don?” she asked. “I can see his boner for you from here.”

  I blinked, barely
managing not to turn around and see for myself.

  “Four more martinis for the Don and his companions,” I said.

  As Blues mixed the cocktails, the curtains parted. The entire room erupted in applause as Mama took the stage.

  “How is everyone doing tonight?” Mama asked, taking the microphone from the stand. Customers and girls alike responded with whoops and hollers.

  She looked beautiful with a spotlight, the beads on her strapless top shining. Mama looked like she belonged there.

  “I hope everyone enjoys their night with us,” she continued after the whistles from the crowd died down a little. “Let my girls know if there’s anything they can do to make it more pleasurable.”

  The word “anything” dripped with innuendo. I wondered what Don Costa might ask of me and experienced a pervasive wave of dread.

  “Now, for your musical entertainment,” Mama said, smiling.

  She replaced the microphone in the stand but didn’t leave the stage. It suddenly dawned on me why Cocoa had said tonight was special. Mama was going to sing.

  A single pianist started playing, a saucy but intricate flurry of keys. Tears sprang to my eyes before I knew what was happening. It was a cover of Etta James’ “At Last.” It was one of my mother’s favorites.

  I stood, transfixed by her incredible voice. Mama had soul. The conversations throughout the club were hushed, almost in awe of her performance.

  I snapped out of the spell Mama had drawn over me like a heavy veil. Blues put the last glass on the tray and lightly smacked my hand when I tried to take it.

  “Here comes Cocoa,” she explained. “Don’t spill the Don’s drinks.”

  My roommate swept the tray up again and smiled at me.

  “Mama’s voice is like a dream, isn’t it?” she asked. “It’s like everything’s gonna be okay while she’s up on that stage.”

  I agreed, but found myself wondering what happened when Mama came down out of the spotlight.

  We delivered the drinks to the Don’s table.

  “Sit down,” he said quietly. “I want to enjoy this performance with my girls.”