On the walk to the lounge, I place my hand on the small of her back and notice the tremor that travels up her spine, setting gooseflesh to her arms. I love that I have the same effect on her that she has on me, and I can't wait to get her alone.
Marcella turns and kisses my neck, nuzzling her face into my shoulder. I love how familiar we already are. There isn't any awkwardness or dead air between us. Nothing but connectivity, and I wonder if this is the way it's supposed to be between a man and a woman.
I've never had a real relationship, but I've seen one. I've seen the very best, and I'm not going to settle for anything less than what my parents had.
Once we reach Heaven, the hostess ushers us to a prime table in the front row. Marcella claps her hands together and looks around the posh nightclub. There's a VIP bottle area behind a velvet rope where celebrities usually hang out. Since it's mid-week, there isn't anyone that important there, but this weekend, Chain Reaction is doing a meet and greet before their show in the main theater. They're one of my favorite bands. I turn to ask Marcella if she likes them, too, when the cocktail waitress interrupts.
"I'll have Macallan neat, and she'll have the 2015 Paul Hobbs Chardonnay." The cocktail waitress doesn't bat an eyelash at the request for ten-thousand-dollar scotch. I know they have a bottle on hand just for me when I stop in. Recently, my routine visits have only been because of business and not pleasure. A certain amount of ass kissing is required when your casino becomes known for live shows. If I want the big names to continue gracing my stage, I have to pucker up.
Just as our server delivers the drinks, the house lights dim, and I take that opportunity to snuggle Marcella in closer to me as I wrap an arm around her bare shoulders. I stroke her silky soft skin with my fingertips and she trembles. Since there's no host tonight, a deep male voice that's been pre-recorded blasts out from the speakers.
"Please help me welcome to the Heaven stage at the Armónico Hotel and Casino, Vegas's favorite Elvis Presley impersonator, Mr. Robert Goulet!"
Marcella stiffens beside me, and I look over just in time to see a look of horror spread across her face. I'm surprised because she'd seemed genuinely excited to catch this show when I'd mentioned it at the steakhouse. She even told me that Elvis was one of her mom's favorites and she knew all his songs by heart. She even listened to Elvis radio on Sirius XM because it made her feel closer to her mom.
Bob enters stage left in his sequined jumpsuit, complete with cape, and does some hand rolls along with the typical hip gyrations. As he approaches the mic stand, Marcella sinks down in her seat.
"Good evening. I'm Robert Goulet. But not that Robert Goulet," he says with a chuckle and a flourish of his bell bottom pants. "That Robert Goulet gave Liberace's eulogy and Wayne Newton was the best man at his third wedding. The best man at my wedding was Carrot Top. Now, that might make you want to put a bullet through your TV, wouldn't it?"
A round of laughter follows, but my woman looks like she is slowly sinking beneath the table. What the hell? I lean down and whisper, "What's wrong?"
She looks up at me with embarrassed eyes. "I know him. He's my former boss at the Heartbreak Hotel. He owns it."
I'm about to get her the hell out of Heaven before her face turns an even darker shade of red. I know a great female singer/songwriter at the casino next door where we can slow dance, and I can wrap my arms around her. I never want to see that look on Marcella's face again, but before I can pull her up, Bob's voice rings out.
"Hey, Marcella. I thought that was you." Before I can shield her with my body, the spotlight falls on her, and Bob falls down on one knee in the famous karate pose. "Did you know that my pet mouse, Elvis died last night?"
Marcella doesn't speak. She's officially a deer in the headlights.
It doesn't stop good ole Bob, cause he yells out, "Yeah, he was caught in a trap."
The drummer gives a ba-da-boom-boom, and the audience gives a lukewarm chuckle along with a pity round of applause.
What the hell had my entertainment director been thinking?
Just as Elvis stalks our way, I wrap Marcella in a protective embrace and head for the exit.
Nixon Caldwell has left the building.
And Bob Goulet is so fucking fired.
Chapter Seventeen – Marcella
"Wee!"
I look up just in time to see Lincoln standing alongside the split rail fence, the go cart track on the other side. He points and jumps up, his metal braces not slowing him down for one second.
"I want to race, Nixon. Can I race? Please, please, pretty please!"
His small face is like a painting of euphoria. I don't think he's old enough or strong enough to race by himself, but I saw some other parents with their younger kids riding along with them. I lean on my golf club. I'm ahead of Nixon by two strokes, and I'm delighting in the fact that I can beat him at something. I can't keep from rubbing it in.
"Hey, Bob Barker, it's your shot."
He laughs and waggles his eyebrows. I'd never thought I could love hanging out with someone so much. For all his hard ass business persona, he's got a softer side. A funny, caring, and fun side. I'm glad I'm the one who gets to see it. Me and Linc.
As Nixon lines up his putt — a tough bank shot with a water hazard filled with plastic ducks — he glances over at Linc. "We can race if you race with me. That's my best and final offer."
Linc's little brow furrows. "Just like on "Million Dollar Listing Los Angeles," right Nix?"
I can't believe a six-year-old kid watches a real estate show, but he told me one day during our sessions that he wants to be the top real estate agent in Vegas and sell mansions to Celine Dion and ranches to Wayne Newton. Who am I to tell the kid no? With his charm, good looks, and determination, he can do it. Besides, he's probably the most connected kid in the city with four older brothers who all excel in their chosen field.
Since the Bob Goulet debacle, Nixon and I have been seeing each other pretty much every day. Our relationship, if you can call it that, is going well. Neither one of us seems to want to define it, but I know between work and me, he isn't seeing anyone else. He'd have to do that during the four hours he sleeps. No bueno.
The time will come when I have enough saved up to finish college, but I'll cross that rickety bridge when I come to it. For now, I'm just going to live in the moment, something I've never been very good at. But I'm learning. Nixon is leading, and I'm following. And Manny's been behaving, which makes for a pretty darn good life right now. It's like a sliver of hope has opened up, and all I have to do is let it blossom.
The only thing that bothers me is Nixon's past. It seems almost everywhere we go, beautiful, sophisticated women know him and want him. I wonder how many of them he's slept with, but he doesn't want to revisit the past. It's hard being a curvy girl. Even though I know I have pretty skin and hair, I'm not a stick figure. Sometimes I wonder when he'll tire of me or if I'm just a novelty to him. The poor virgin he plucked out of her double wide in a special ops rescue mission.
For a brief moment, I wonder why he ever wanted me, but then I shake my head and chase it away. That's not me. My mom and dad taught me to be confident in myself and my abilities. I may be poor, but I'm smart and talented. I'm going places, and Nixon must see my potential.
He takes his shot, and it ends up in the water. After pounding his club a few times and stomping his foot on the astroturf, he looks up to catch me gloating. "What's the problem with my golf game today?" As if it's just today that's his problem.
I snort. "Because you're standing too close to the ball. After you've hit it."
"Very funny, Joan Rivers," he says and gives an obnoxious fake laugh so loud Linc stops to look at us from where his ball landed, close to the hole.
"Are you saying that I look like a corpse, Caldwell?" He gives me a strange look. Guy doesn't get out much. "Joan's no longer with us."
"Yeah, that's right." He scratched his chin. "Remember hearing about that a few months ago."
>
I roll my eyes. I can't believe it. "Like a few months ago in 2014?" I tease. I just can't help myself. He needs to stop working so hard. He's like a man possessed when it comes to his casino.
"I guess I'm lucky this is the second to the last hole then."
After tapping in for my par, I line up my shot for the ninth. It's that damn hole where you have to time everything perfectly to get your ball into the clown's mouth. If you miss, the scary thing cackles and spits your ball back at you, continuing with the maniacal laughing like Vincent Price did in "Thriller." I'm chomping at the bit to rub Nixon's nose in my victory on the mini links, so I take my time and execute the perfect putt straight into Bozo's yap.
"Yahoo." Linc's right there with me. Even though he's on braces, he raises his arms in the air, and we twirl in a little victory dance that puts a grimace on Nixon's face.
Bozo laughs in delight as he spits Nixon's first three attempts back at his feet. On the fourth attempt, he doesn't even make it anywhere near the hole. Sighing in exasperation, Nixon picks up his ball and throws his hands up in the air.
"I forfeit."
Linc frowns. "Didn't you tell me never to quit, Nix? You can't quit now. Caldwell's aren't quitters!"
Nixon and I share a special look only between us, and I give him a go get 'em fist pump. After about five more attempts, it finally squirts through, and we're done. On to the go carts.
Linc has so much fun racing that I don't even give it a second thought. I totally let them win by a mile. It's worth it to me just to see the look of pure joy light up his little face. I'm already falling in love with Lincoln. I might be falling in love with both of them, even if I can't admit it. Even to myself.
Once we finally settle down for hot dogs, French fries, and sodas at the snack bar, Nixon brings out his phone to check his messages. Before he's even scrolled through, he's wearing a frown so deep it would rival his upset over his dismal mini golf score. I think it might have drifted into the triple digits.
"What's wrong?" I ask, leaning forward to rest my hand on his arm. Work rarely upsets him anymore. He's the calmest, most competent, and expedient man I've ever seen. No wonder his casino runs like a well-oiled machine.
"It's Beverly Carr, the casino host over at the Mona Lisa," he explains. "I've never had a personal phone call from her, but she doesn't tell me what it's regarding in her message."
"You should call her back," I suggest. "I'll keep Linc busy while you chat. It will drive you nuts if you don't find out what it's about." I already know that he has a beef with Dante and why, so I know anything involving the Mona Lisa sets him on edge. Linc and I try to decide between twist ice cream cones and bomb pops for dessert when Nixon returns.
"I want a bomb pop. Red, white, and blue. Yummy!"
"Okay, Champ," Nixon says, handing him a twenty. "Can you get it yourself? Marcella and I have some big people conversation we need to have for just a couple minutes."
Linc holds the bill tightly in his hand as he maneuvers himself to the snack bar. I spear Nixon with a look. He's holding something back, and I don't like it.
"What is it?"
He sighs and takes my hand in his. I snatch it back, holding it to my neck as if doing so can calm my racing heartbeat. "It's Manuel."
I shut my eyes. I don't even want to look at Nixon because I already know what he's going to say. "No."
"I'm sorry, Marcella. Bev says he's drunk, belligerent and into them for four figures. She said he started chanting my name when they asked him to leave. Instead of causing a scene, she just quietly called me and asked if I could come and get him. I think we should leave now before it gets any worse."
How could Manny do this to me when he'd been doing so great? Going to his meetings and staying away from the tables. Working his shifts. His tendency to fall off the wagon always seems to happen at the worst time. When my life is together, and I'm finally happy and close to thriving, he flies off the rails, taking me with him.
"Okay." I can't really say much else.
Once we reach the Mona Lisa, Linc and Nixon stay in the car while I go inside to fetch my brother. Nixon insists on coming along, but since kids aren't allowed on the casino floor, I wave him off. This is something I need to do by myself anyway. It seems I'll be dealing with Manny's bullshit for the rest of my life, so I might as well get used to doing it without Nixon's help. He can't protect me forever.
I step through the revolving doors and glance around for the concierge counter. Once I spot it, I inquire after Ms. Carr. I don't have to wait long until a sophisticated brunette with a tailored suit and a messy bun approaches, my inebriated brother in tow.
"Cella, s'goods ta see yous," he slurs, every word an effort.
"Come on, Manny. Ms. Carr, thank you so much for taking the time to call. I really appreciate you not involving the authorities." As I speak, I rummage through my purse for my checkbook. This is really going to set me back. Once she sees my blank check, Ms. Carr waves me off.
"There's no need for that, Ms. Castillo. Mr. Caldwell already took care of the debt."
Shame floods my entire system, and I can feel the redness creep up my neck to light my cheeks in vibrant color. I don't want Nixon's money. I can take care of myself and any other dipshit in my life. I want to grab Manny by the back of the collar and yank him so hard his teeth will rattle. Instead, I just nod at the pretty woman and take Manny's hand to drag him out to the car so Nixon can drop us off at home. So much for my perfect date night.
Chapter Eighteen – Nixon
"It's ten million dollars."
I stand in the middle of a marble foyer with a spiral staircase that seems to be reaching toward the heavens. This house is stunning, but then so is the woman I want to see living in it. Seven bedrooms, ten bathrooms. We could fill it with kids and still get lost in it.
I nod at Jeff Riley, the top luxury real estate agent in Vegas. This house sits on a five-acre parcel in a gated community with top-notch security. It's opulent but perfect. It's about time Marcella understands that she's worth it. All of it.
She can even have a horse if she wants one. Hell, she can even have a peacock or a pink flamingo if that floats her boat.
"I'll have to think about it and run it by my brother, Reagan."
Jeff nods. He knows my brother's a hot shot NYC contract attorney, running his own firm. He's got Yankees and Islanders as clients. "Just let me know if you want to write an offer. The listing agent told me we're not the only interested party walking through."
I laugh and shake my head. "You should know me well enough by now, Jeff. I always get what I want. I don't give a fuck if Donny and Marie are looking at this house. If I want it, I'll buy it. Period."
On the way out to my limo, I stop to admire the circular drive, fountain, and koi pond. I know that Marcella would get a kick out of all the brightly colored fish swimming around in the clear water. They're so free. Just like I would be if I could get rid of Dante Giovanetti for good. Bastard's been a thorn in my side for so damn long, I've forgotten what life looked like before my thirst for revenge.
I can't imagine living this perfect suburban life with the woman I see in my future when he's still hovering between us.
Once I slide into the back seat of my limo, I punch my iPhone for Reagan. He answers on the third ring.
"Hey, bro. Didn't expect to hear from you today. What's up?"
"I need your advice. Your legal advice."
There's a long pause, and I realize I've hurt his feelings. My brother's more sensitive than me in spite of his bad-ass reputation, and I completely dispensed with the polite conversation and drove straight to the point.
"Is it Dante?"
I sigh and realize I can't go back and make nice because I've already blown it. In my haste to please Marcella, I've alienated my brother. While she inspires me to be a better man, a leopard can't change its spots on a dime.
"Nah, he's the same douche, different day. This is something else. I want to buy a house
in the burbs. Acreage, gated community. All that jazz."
Reagan whistles low and long. "Wow, I never thought I'd see the day when you'd leave the Armónico, even in the middle of the night when most other people are sleeping. What changed your mind?"
"Linc needs a home and grass to run around in. A metal jungle is no place for a kid. Especially not one as curious and precocious as our youngest brother. He's doing so great in his therapy, a new house would only seal the deal."
I decide to hedge because my relationship with Marcella feels like a baby bird that's not ready to leave the nest yet. If I tell Reagan what's going on, he'll lawyer me until he pulls out my feelings under intense cross examination when I haven't even admitted them to myself.
"You're right," he agrees. "I thought Linc would be better off in a house for years, but I also know arguing with you serves to be an exercise in futility. Thought I'd wait it out and just let you come to your own conclusion. You're the most stubborn man I know, Nix. As stubborn as a jackass."
"Send a jackass to law school, and he turns into a smartass."
Reagan chuckles and I break down and laugh, too. It feels good to be talking to him. I long for the time when all my brothers will be in the same room together again. Right now, only Reagan and Ford are out of the fold. Ford took off after our dad's death and landed in San Francisco where he's a billionaire techy. He creates apps for phones or some shit.
"I can't believe that Nixon Caldwell made a funny," Reagan says. "If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you took a vacation or something."
Or something.
But I'm not going to tell him that the something he's innocently referring to has the mind of a steel trap, the body of a goddess, and the pussy of a porn star. He'd never believe me anyway. We both have the same attitude about women. They're for fucking and not much else. He's probably a bigger player than I am because at least I'm up front about it. No woman could ever accuse me of being a liar.
Until now.
Because I'm lying to Marcella by pretending to keep it cool. My archaic belief system belongs in the past. I'd love nothing more than to tie her down. I've even had dreams at night about riding her bareback so I can put my son in her belly. Then maybe she'd never leave me. I know she's chomping at the bit to get the hell out of Vegas, so this house is my selfish way of keeping her here. There's no reason she can't attend college in-state and let me pay for it.
Buyer Beware Page 12
