Buyer Beware

by Colleen Charles

  I look at her stricken face. Her normally olive complexion has turned a pasty shade of white that I've never seen before. Her face is expressionless, with glossy eyes brimming with unshed tears. My palms itch with the need to grab him by the lapels and shake the shit out of him. He's done something to her, I know it with every breath in my body.

  And I'm too late.

  I reach out to take her hand, but she snatches it away to Dante's gleeful chuckle. After settling them both in her lap, she begins to wring them, twining her fingers together in a tapestry of anguished flesh.

  I slam my hand down on his desk so hard a Waterford paperweight in the shape of a teardrop flies up into the air and lands on its side with a resounding thump. Dante stares at it and then back up at me.

  "What have you done?" I demand.

  He leans back in his chair and pauses, knowing his withholding of information will just set me off even more. I lean forward, about to charge across the desk and into his lap so I can beat the living shit out of him. My woman has a tragic look on her face, and he's the one who put it there. I need to know why and I need to know now. How can I fix it if I don't even know what's wrong?

  "Done?" he finally says with a sigh. "I haven't done anything but tell the truth. That's something you'd do well to remember. The truth is always best because it's easiest to remember. When one gets caught up in a web of lies, the spider comes under the cover of darkness to end their life with just a little taste of venom."

  I stand there, seething. White dots have formed in front of my eyes from my racing pulse and the struggle to contain myself. I have no fucking idea what he's blathering on about. I haven't lied to Marcella because I'm falling in love with her. I see my future in the depths of her eyes. She's the only thing good in my life outside of my family. The only bright light. I'd never put that in jeopardy.

  "Shut the fuck up!" I roar, unable to contain myself for one second longer. "I'm not a liar. You've got the market cornered on that particular vice."

  "Hmm…I'm not so sure. I was just telling Ms. Castillo here how much you love deflowering virgins. Word gets around, Caldwell. It's a vicious world we live in here in Vegas with so much money and the gluttony that follows close behind. I can understand how a young buck such as yourself could be tempted down into the dark, swirling nadir of sin. But buying virgins just to envelop your tiny dick?" Dante continues his pontification, stopping only long enough to make a tsk, tsk noise with his tongue. "Hymens won’t make it grow. Thinking they will is low even for you."

  My entire body shakes with a rage unlike any I've ever known, and I've never wanted to hit a person more in my life. Then I glance at Marcella to see that tears have escaped her glassy eyes and are now waterfalling down her gorgeous face like little droplets of anguish. Now, all I can think about is that I've unleashed the strength of my inner demons on her. I turn and try to explain.

  "Shh…don't cry, my gorgeous girl. This guy likes to talk out of both sides of his mouth. Nothing he says means anything." I want to wrap her in my arms and never let go, but her censuring gaze and her stiff body posture keep me away. My heart's shattering into a million pieces.

  She looks up and through the haze of her pain, she says, "Did you or did you not pay off Manuel's gambling debts without telling me?"

  "I…"

  And then it hits me. Dante just told Marcella that I bought her, and in a way, I'm guilty of the accusation. Even though doing it was for the good of both Marcella and her brother, I can see how a proud and independent woman like my girl would think of it as interference. And maybe even lying by omission.

  And the worst part of this whole damn thing is that Dante caused all of it against me with no other agenda than to hurt me. Is there nothing good in my life that he won't take and destroy until there's nothing left of it but a smoldering pile of ash?

  Marcella holds a hand up. "Unless your answer is no, then we have nothing more to say to each other. Manuel and I can take care of ourselves, and I'll thank you to never darken my door ever again with your lies and manipulations."

  Dante stands up and turns toward Marcella. "I can see that you two need to have a private conversation, so I'll fetch your brother and have him wait for you at the valet stand. I'm so sorry you had to hear this information from me, Miss Castillo. You have my card if you ever need anything."

  He tosses that last bit of information over his shoulder like a grenade. When the fuck did he see Marcella long enough to give her his business card? But I can't ask. This is major damage control time. I can't lose Marcella. The thought of it is worse than having my heart manually ripped from my body. I'll do anything.

  Anything.

  "Why are you still here, Nixon?" she says, not looking at me. Her eyes dart everywhere in the room but at my face. Like she can't stomach the sight of me. "I never want to see you again."

  Regret and memories of my dad so painful I can do nothing but hope they don't bring me to my knees enter my mind, unwelcome. Nothing has been the same since Dante destroyed my family. Marcella thinks she's seen cracks in my armor, and maybe there have been, but I seal them back up before they can widen.

  "Marcella, how can you say that? How can you believe some gangster with mafia ties? Did you know about some of the things Giovanetti's been accused of?" I fire the questions, grasping at straws and fractured hope. I'm watching my future circle the drain with dirty hair and soap scum.

  "Don't even start, Nixon. Everyone knows that Dante's not a saint, but we're talking about you. And what you did. How can you even deny that you bought me like a fucking piece of chattel! You spent over a hundred thousand dollars to get my brother out of trouble, and in repayment, he offered me up to you like the vestal virgin splayed out on the sacrificial altar of your lust. I thought I was special. I thought I mattered. How could you? I feel so dirty. Like if I go home and take a hundred showers, rubbing my skin raw, it won't be enough to wash the filth from my body."

  Each word she utters peppers me with pain like the explosion of a thousand bullets. I want to explain. To tell her that it started out that way, but as soon as I got to know her, everything changed. But she won't believe me. It all looks so convenient. Like I wrapped it up in a package and tied it with a bow. Life's messy, and things never are as they appear. This package isn't decked out in festive gold foil paper. It's enveloped in a hundred shades of grey.

  "It's not like that," I say, desperation creeping into my tone. I know she hears it because her eyes flash fire through the veil of tears. She reaches across me to grab a tissue from a box on Dante's desk. I can feel the heat radiating off her, but I can also feel the anger. It's palpable. She wants to hurt me as much as I've hurt her. Hell, if she wants me to strip naked so she can kick me in the nuts, I'll gladly drop my pants for her. She can take her best shot. The pain of the body would be a welcome relief from this pain of the soul.

  "Really? Then what's it like, Nixon? Huh? You can't offer an explanation because you don't have one. I'm done. I'm so sick and tired of this shit. I'm poor, but I'm honest, and I live a simple life. I never had so much drama until I met you. I worked hard and did what I could to better myself, but all of your attempts to improve my situation? You know what? You've made it worse. Before, I could walk around with my head held high. Now, I'm just a paid whore."

  "Don't you ever talk about yourself like that again!" I hiss out through clenched teeth. In that moment, I realize she's gone. Long gone. I'll never get through to her when she's in such a state of pain masked by anger and confusion. I regret the fact that I never came clean about helping Manuel, but I figured what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

  I'm wrong.

  As I stare at Marcella, wanting anything to touch her, I feel the piece of paper inside my suit coat. It's rubbing, poking, and making itself known. I pull it out and throw it on the desk. It's my ace in the hole. And I'll play it.

  "See that?" I say, pointing down at it. "Why don't you open it up and then repeat what you just said."

&n
bsp; I'm not sure if it's my audacity or my righteous indignation, but she stops long enough to look down at the contract. After blowing her nose and wiping her eyes, she reaches out but not far enough to touch it. "What is it?"

  "You'll have to look at it yourself," I say, knowing it will have more impact if she sees it with her own eyes.

  After a few torturous seconds, she picks it up and unfolds it in her lap. Her hands shake as she reads. The tears start falling again, and some of them land on the thick parchment, staining it and blurring the words.

  "This is the purchase agreement for a house."

  I nod. "Yes, I just bought it. I was going to ask you to move in with me, but there's something else. Something even more important than that. Keep reading."

  Her mouth starts to move as she reads as if mumbling the words aloud will make them false. I know she doesn't believe it. Thank the fucking heavens that Reagan sent me this contract back prior to this meeting so I could sign it and make it official. If I'd told her this after we left the Mona Lisa, I'd never get another chance with her. But for now, I may see a sliver of light up ahead. If I didn't care about her, there's no way I would have done what I just did.

  "The house is in my name, Nixon."

  "Yes."

  She shakes her head, a new tear sliding down her beautiful face. "Why would you do that? You took my virginity. You got what you wanted. Is this some warped attempt to compensate me for what you stole?"

  "No, of course not. I—"

  "Well, I don't want it." She looks back at the contract and picks it up. "I can't ever get back the precious gift I gave to you with my own free will, not knowing I was actually being manipulated. Why do you rich bastards always think that money can make everything go away? As if all your wicked deeds will just disappear if you throw a pile of cash at them."

  "Marcella, I—"

  I watch in horror as she stands, still holding the purchase agreement for my brand-new house in her hands. "You know what? Maybe my addicted brother can be bought with your blood money, but I can't. I'm my own woman. I'm strong. I'll make something of myself with or without you."

  "Please, listen—"

  In one deft movement, she rips it in half, throws it on the floor and grinds it into Dante's carpet with the toe of her shoe. The look in her eyes is crazed. "You see that, Nixon Caldwell? That's what I think of your grand gesture and your attempt to buy me a second time. You can take your ten-million-dollar house and go fuck yourself."

  Chapter Twenty-One – Marcella

  I feel like I've been hit by a runaway locomotive. I take that back. I feel like I've been shot by a few rounds from a machine gun, exploded in a land mine, and then the remaining shreds of my body hit by a train. Maybe that's not even graphic enough to explain the pain I'm in.

  After learning of Nixon's betrayal, I came home to my trailer and went to my bedroom. I didn't even answer Lita's text to let her know I'm okay. I should be pissed that she spilled the beans about the call from the Mona Lisa, but I'm not. If she hadn't tattled to Nixon, I'd still be blind to the truth.

  I'm still in my room, with the flowered bedspread that used to make me happy with its cheerful pink buds pulled up over my head so tightly I may never come out. I snuggle down deep and drift off when a pounding on my door snaps me back to my black cloud of reality.

  "Marcella, you in there?"

  Damn, it's Manny, and he's the last person I want to have to deal with right now. My dipshit brother's the cause of every curse in my life. There aren't words to express how angry I am with him, and even if there were, I'm too exhausted to say them.

  The pounding continues until I sit up and throw my hands over my ears. "Go away," I mumble, too low to reach him through his obnoxious rapping.

  "I know you're in there. Your car's outside. Unlock this door." At the end of his last statement, the thin door starts rattling on its hinges. If I don't get up and unlock it, the door will break, and I'll be hosed with splintered wood. With an exasperated sigh, I throw the covers off and pad to the door in my flannel pajamas. Even though it's over a hundred outside, the air conditioner is working right now. Besides, flannel equals a wardrobe hug.

  I fling the door open to Manny's surprised look. "What do you want?"

  He has the good grace to look sheepish, and his eyes fall to my bare feet. When he looks back up again, I temper my emotions. I don't have any tears left. Not for Nixon. And for sure not for Manny. He's on his own from now on.

  "I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I know that the Mona Lisa called you, but I left before you could get there to pick me up. I only owe them a couple hundred. I'll be able to pay them off when I get my next paycheck."

  I laugh, but it sounds hollow. "You think this is about the gambling at the Mona Lisa? Guess again, Einstein."

  He blinks, obviously having no idea about the shit show that Dante Giovanetti orchestrated in his office. The one that imploded my entire world until nothing remained but shards of my future raining down from the sky like confetti.

  "What else could it be about? I know I've fallen down again, but I'll get back up. I promise. This time I really mean it."

  I scoff and move to slam the door in his face, but a hand snakes out to stop me. "I'm done with your bullshit promises. Your addiction is leading you around by the nose, Manny. Or maybe it's by your wallet. Either way, I'm never dealing with it again. You promised Mom and Dad. You promised them that you'd take care of me, your little sister, if something ever happened to them."

  I step forward, poking him in the chest. He doesn't even react or make a sound.

  "I remember the day clearly," I go on, willing my voice not to break. "It's almost like they knew. Even though they were killed in an accident, they knew something would go wrong. And you promised, but the tables have turned because all that's happened since they've been gone is me taking care of you. It's disgusting. Grow the fuck up."

  To my dismay, tears well up in his eyes and one escapes to fall down his cheek. "I know, Marshmallow. I've let you down. Hell, I've let myself down. I'll go to meetings. I'll—"

  I put a hand up to stop him. His tears don't even have any effect on me. He's taken everything from me, and it's time he knows it.

  "Save it, Manny. You sold me to Nixon Caldwell to pay your debts and save your sorry ass. I'll never forgive you. I've saved enough money to start college next term. What I don't have saved, I'll work to earn in an on-campus job. I'm leaving, Manny. The gravy train has left the station. I no longer give a shit, and I won't be helping you. Whether you live or die is up to you. As my only flesh and blood, I hope it's the former."

  Without waiting for a response, I slam the door shut in his face, and he lets me this time. My heart's probably broken, but then again, it was never whole to start with. I toss some clothes on and grab my purse and keys. I have a task ahead of me that I dread with every fiber of my being.

  Half an hour later, Manny doesn't even look at me as I slam the door with a resounding thump. I don't say anything, and neither does he. Someday, I hope he'll straighten up and fly right because I want the old Manny back. I want my brother, not some pathetic shell of a man who thinks playing poker is more important than family.

  On the way to the Armónico, I blow the hot air on high and try not to self-combust. The air's been on the fritz in this vehicle since I bought it. It's probably just out of Freon, but that doesn't matter because I can't afford more. I'm tough, and I can take the heat, but I'm afraid I'm about to go from the frying pan into the fire.

  The radio's playing some song about love being too painful to bear. I get it. In an act of defiance, I park in the self-parking and walk an extra mile in the blazing heat so I can avoid the front entrance. He's got eyes and ears all over this damn place, and he's probably got all his employees on high alert. Well, I'm not keen to listen to any more of his pathetic bullshit.

  I clamp my ball cap tighter on my head and push it down over my eyes. I've got all my hair in a tight bun at my nape, and I'm wearing
clothes of my mom's that look like they saw their best days in the seventies. Unless he has some kind of Jedi surveillance, he'll never know it's me until I get to where I'm going. By then, it will be too late. What I have to do won't take long.

  After flashing my employee badge to the security guard so fast there's no way he can catch my name, he waves me through, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I've just passed the first obstacle. Now, to get to my destination, I need to use the executive elevator. I pray to God that Troy Cass isn't lurking around. He's like a ninja sidekick, seeing everything and missing nothing. I swear the guy has eyes in the back of his head.

  I press the up button and stand still even though I want to bounce on my toes. My nerves are jangling, and my body's taut with unmet anticipation because I don't want another showdown. My argument with Manny is enough for one day. If it wasn't for Lita, I'd have no one to talk to. Except maybe one more person.

  As the elevator doors slide open, I catch sight of him. He's bent over some Legos trying to make a building. His occupational therapist is encouraging him to work until the pieces click together and lock. I wish I could do that with the fragments of my heart. If only healing and moving forward was that easy.

  But it's just not. It's not easy at all.

  It's so fucking hard, it's crushed me, and I need to learn how to harden my heart until hope never sneaks in again.

  When he spots me, a smile spreads across his face, and I tear up. I guess there are more tears left in my eyes. I'm going to miss him so much I don't even want to think about it. Where I was starting to fall in love with Nixon, I was already head over hills for his little brother. I think I've loved Lincoln since the first time he threw his arms around my neck and squeezed.

  "Cella!" he shouts, waving. I can barely hear him through the glass. "Come see what I built."

  "Hey, Linc," I say, sinking down to my knees on the floor beside him. "That's pretty cool."

  Linc's therapist stands and excuses himself, saying he needs a restroom break anyway. Maybe Jay sees the tragic look I know I'm carrying around like facial luggage. I hate myself for what I'm about to do. But I'd hate myself even more if I didn't.