Between Here and Gone

by Barbara Ferrer

  Well then, he’d have opportunity to prove himself an honest man. And provided yet another moment for me to question my own folly in insisting on accompanying him.

  After a smooth, swift ride, the doors silently slid open directly into a living area of spare elegance—cool marble and dark woods, the walls painted a deep, claret red. Wide, panoramic windows overlooked not the Strip, as one might have expected, but rather, the quieter lights of the city away from its signature thoroughfare.

  Dante’s apartment. For it made perfect sense that a man who created and lived the majority of his life against the decadence that defined the public spaces downstairs would desire something markedly different for his private quarters. Similar to Remy’s appetite for simple foods after a day spent immersed in heavy cream sauces and rich ingredients.

  Oh, Remy.

  When was the last time I’d thought of him?

  It took a moment to recall that it hadn’t been since that lovely walk on the beach. My moment out of time, pretending at being young and carefree. Only yesterday morning, but with what felt like months’ worth of experiences and events since then. I felt so removed from that girl. And ever more from the girl who’d departed New York a scant week before.

  “I apologize it’s not as spectacular as it would be from the other side, but a good owner always lets the guests believe they’re getting the best we’ve got to offer.”

  Jack turned, a broad smile erasing miles of road and worry that had shadowed him since Malibu. “Dante.”

  “It’s been too long, brother.” The other man pulled Jack into a hard embrace that to my surprise, was not only welcomed, but returned. “You keep promising you’ll come see me for an actual vacation.”

  Jack pulled back, still smiling, but with the light in his eyes dimmed. “Maybe one of these days I’ll actually be able to take one.”

  “Hell, you know you’re preaching to the choir,” he replied. After a final affectionate pat to Jack’s cheek, he shifted his attention to me. “Dante Campisi,” he said simply, taking my hand in both of his. Exceptionally warm and pleasantly rough with calluses that even regular manicures couldn’t completely eradicate, the rest of the man appeared to be a study of similar contrasts. A rugged man’s man in his forties, clad in a tailored dinner jacket that couldn’t quite disguise a burly body that spoke of the same hard, physical labor that had created the calluses. And while his voice was smooth and cultured, it was underscored with a definite New York flavor I suspected he went to no particular pains to mask. Dark blond hair touched with the beginnings of silver at the temples, green eyes and deep dimples bracketing a full mouth spoke to a conventional handsomeness—at least, until one noticed the crooked bridge of the nose, the thin scar bisecting one eyebrow, and the tiny chip in a tooth glimpsed during a smile that was equal parts welcoming and appraising.

  At first glance, it was obvious what Ava would have seen in him. Equally as obvious as what would have driven them apart. And once again begged the question, what, exactly, continued to draw them together?

  Patience.

  Those cool green eyes studied me, his hands remaining loosely clasped around mine as if everything he was unable to see, he could somehow physically absorb via that simple touch. Finally releasing my hand he said, “So—you’re Natalia San Martín.”

  Stunned, I turned to Jack who shrugged and smiled apologetically. “I should have asked which you preferred.”

  “It’s all right,” I said slowly, searching Jack’s gaze. “It is my name.”

  What else had Jack told him? What had Ava told him? Because clearly, contained within that loose grasp, behind that long, considered stare, I could tell … he knew. He knew everything.

  Jack closed the distance between us, leaning in until his forehead nearly touched mine. “I can’t think of you as anyone else now. But tell me if I overstep my bounds again.”

  As I nodded, Dante’s voice broke in, piercing the bubble that had so quickly formed around us. “Well, hell. No wonder Ava’s so hot under the collar.” He stood beside a sleek curved mahogany credenza, dropping ice into cut-crystal tumblers and pouring a generous measure of Scotch into each. His sharp gaze rested briefly on my face as he handed me a glass before shifting to Jack, studying him as intently as he’d studied me.

  “She’s still here?” Jack sounded oddly surprised as he accepted the glass from Dante, glancing down as if tempted before setting it aside on a small chrome and glass table. If he hadn’t expected to find her, then what were we doing here?

  Patience…

  “Nah—took off this morning. Predictably. And what I mean is that she was good and furious, my friend.” Raising his glass slightly, he murmured, “Cent’anni,” before taking a sip and continuing. “On the surface, it was all about your having hired Natalia. Said you were mocking her ambitions—bringing in someone with barely a high school education. How dare you consider someone so supremely unqualified.” His voice rose in an uncanny impersonation before dropping back to its normal register. “Along with some commentary about the true nature of your relationship, delivered in language that, out of respect for our guest, I won’t repeat here.”

  “Appreciated, but not necessary.” Giving up, Jack reached for his abandoned glass and tossed back its contents in one swallow. “She made herself perfectly clear when we last saw her.”

  “In other words, typical Ava.”

  “Yes and no,” Jack replied as he crossed to the bar and refilled his glass. “She’s getting worse, Dante, and I’m not going to stand for it anymore. She can’t keep treating people like they’re just so much garbage and expect there not to be consequences. She can’t expect that I’ll fix it every goddamned time. I’m tired of it.”

  “Sounds then, like we need to have a talk, brother.” Dante’s gaze shifted from Jack to me, then back to Jack once again. “Starting with what you’re obviously not seeing.”

  Jack’s eyebrows lifted as he paused with the glass halfway to his lips. “Come again?”

  Dante’s smile was a disarming flash of dimples and very white teeth that had no doubt lulled more than one opponent into a false sense of complacency. Just as quickly, that expression evolved into something far more shrewd and calculating.

  “Whatever relationship you two do or don’t have, it still stands that for the first time in your life you put yourself ahead of Ava. Worse still, as far as she’s concerned, you put another woman ahead of her.”

  The ice in the glass shifted with the visible tremor of Jack’s hand though his voice remained steady. “So I did.”

  Dante’s smile deepened. “I gotta tell you, it’s about damned time.”

  Twenty-one

  “The hotel business—she’s a harsh mistress, you know? Demands everything, blood and bone and soul, and Ava, she won’t come second to nothing or no one.” With a casual nod, Dante dismissed the waiter who’d delivered our meal and had remained, discreetly serving each course as we’d leisurely eaten, Jack and Dante catching up in that way men had, with anecdotes exchanged in the verbal shorthand of long acquaintance, only the central theme wasn’t sporting events or common business ventures.

  Even lacking a physical presence, Ava managed to be the undisputed center of attention.

  Reverting to form, I’d attempted to remain silent and listen, to file the facts gleaned for later incorporation into this odd tapestry, except Jack wouldn’t allow it. Over and over again, he deferred to me for corroboration of facts or asking my opinion or interpretation of the situation, as if seeking reassurance that the whole debacle had unfolded as he recalled and wasn’t just some twisted figment of his imagination. Or Ava’s.

  As the waiter silently retreated to the apartment’s kitchen, Dante took over the task of pouring coffee himself, his large, work-roughened hands deft and sure with the china. “Worked my way in this business from the ground up,” he commented with a smile as he handed me a delicate platinum-edged cup balanced on a matching saucer. “There’s nothing in this indus
try I haven’t done. Best way to be a boss, my pop always said. How could I tell people what to do if I didn’t know how to do it myself? Generally served with a slap upside the back of my stubborn head as I complained about another shift washing dishes at our diner.”

  He crossed to the large window overlooking the expansive nighttime vista of the “real Las Vegas” as he’d not-so-off-handedly mentioned over dinner. The Vegas where the fantasy ended. A fascinating man, this Dante Campisi, devoting his entire life to building dreams and fantasies, while simultaneously turning his back on the façade he was so adept at creating. Remaining attached to a woman who was the embodiment of every man’s fantasy—not for the façade she presented to the world, but for the real woman lurking beneath, well aware of the insecurities and issues that clearly transcended mere idiosyncrasy.

  As Jack led me from the dining table to one of the long sofas facing the view, Dante remained by the window, thoughtfully sipping his coffee. “With Ava, you’ve got to give her all of you and even then, it’s a crap shoot. But I live in Vegas for a reason, right?” His shoulder lifted in a casual shrug at odds with the stark expression reflecting back from the window. “I would’ve devoted everything to her and let the business go to hell if I thought I had a shot at winning it all.”

  He turned away from the window, his face smoothed into the practiced lines of the genial hotelier. “But her folks, they would’ve backed me into a corner, bled me dry, and Ava—” His gaze met Jack’s. “She would’ve been Ava and I would’ve ended up with nothing.”

  Beside me, Jack tensed. “I’m sorry I didn’t know more about that when it was happening.”

  “I’ve never once held you responsible for it, Jack, you know that.”

  “I know, but if I’d known—”

  “You’d have done what?” Dante withdrew a silver case from his inside pocket and removed a thin, dark cigar. Smoothly lighting up and blowing out a stream of fragrant smoke he continued, “What could you have done? You were still a kid, in law school, living your life for once, fighting for your own causes.”

  I remained very still, fighting the urge to remove the delicate coffee cup from Jack’s white-knuckled grip before it shattered.

  “Jack.”

  It took a moment before I realized that while Dante had addressed Jack, his intent gaze was fixed on me.

  Following his gaze, Jack made a visible effort at relaxing, shaking his head and presumably, shaking himself free of memories. “I’m sorry, Natalia—old history. Has a way of still getting to me.”

  “Perhaps I should—” Leave, I was about to say. Let them talk and figure out what the next step should be without having to be circumspect on my behalf. But where could I go? Hours since we’d arrived and I still had no idea what we were doing here.

  “You should have another coffee, then we’ll get you settled in for the night.” Ever the practiced host, Dante had brought the coffee service over to the low mahogany table positioned before the sofa. “Forgive my bluntness, but you two look like hammered shit and it’s clear your nerves are shot. Hitting the road tonight isn’t likely to gain you any real ground, so staying’s the best option, don’t you think?” Offered as a question, begging an opinion, but not. Pulling a recessed drawer from the table, he pressed a button; an instant later, our waiter appeared from the kitchen.

  “Call down to valet, have them send the young lady and gentleman’s bags up here.” A man accustomed to calling the shots, albeit in a polished, urbane, and oh-so-understated way. So similar, he and Jack.

  “Yes sir.”

  After the waiter had disappeared as quietly and efficiently as he’d appeared, Dante continued refilling the coffee cups while resuming the thread of conversation. Clarifying the “old history” for the newcomer.

  “Ava’s parents thought I was trash. Just some guinea wiseguy. I wasn’t, at least not the wiseguy part,” he clarified. “But in the neighborhood I grew up in, almost everyone was connected to someone who knew someone or was someone and maybe every now and again, you ran an errand for one of the guys in order to pick up a nickel or a dime tip. That’s all. But for her folks, that was more than enough to tar me with the same brush as if I took guys’ kneecaps out every Sunday after Mass. Definitely not good enough for Ava. Or rather, not good enough to be associated with the family. They’ve never given a rat’s ass whether anything was good for Ava or not—just how it reflected on the family.”

  Relaxing back into the sofa cushions, he casually crossed one leg over the other, the light playing across the toe of his polished dress shoe with nervous intensity. “In that way, they’re just as bad as the people they accused me of rolling in the gutter with.”

  “They threatened Dante.” Jack’s voice was tight and strained with the tension that Dante’s relaxed pose attempted to mask. “Threatened his business. Divorce Ava and any obstacles he’d been encountering would mysteriously disappear.”

  Recognizing their telling me this was tantamount to invitation, I finally succumbed. “So what happened?”

  “I told them to go to hell. This is my world, not theirs. And just because I’m not in bed with any of the families back east doesn’t mean I’m not willing to play just as dirty as they do to protect what’s mine. At the same time, by that point I also knew there was something wrong—not just with our marriage, but with Ava. Something dark I couldn’t fix or make better. There wasn’t a jewel or fur or car fancy or expensive enough—nothing I could say or do. It didn’t have a damned thing to do with how I felt and everything to do with something broken inside her.”

  Dante studied the column of ash balanced on the edge of his cigar before leaning forward and flicking it into the cut crystal dish on the table. “I’ve always been pretty good at knowing when to cut bait, so I let myself get absorbed in work, fighting the wolves scratching at the door, and let her think she was coming second. Let her decide to leave in that way she’s got. That it’s sad and tragic, but she just needed more than I could possibly give her and maybe someday, I could understand and we could end up friends.”

  He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender, yet the tip of the cigar balanced between two fingers glowed red and defiant. “It did let us stay friends in the end. Her thinking it was all her idea.” A wistful half-smile crossed his face. “And because we’re still friends, I always hoped that maybe … someday, she’d be better and we could—”

  The slow shaking of Jack’s head only served to deepen Dante’s smile. “I know, brother. I know. But a man’s got to have dreams. It’s what’s gotten me this far.”

  “Dreams.” Jack’s head jerked involuntarily with the harsh bark of laughter that escaped. “I don’t even know what those are anymore.”

  Dante’s steady, appraising gaze studied Jack. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

  • • •

  “So what now?”

  Jack paced the length of the elegantly appointed guest room to which Dante had escorted me, picking up framed photographs and decorative baubles and putting them down without even glancing at them. “What now should be my getting you on a plane first thing tomorrow and off to the destination of your choice. How do you feel about Tahiti?”

  I busied myself removing pins from my hair, loosening it from the confines of the French twist in which it had remained for far too many hours. “This has an all-too-familiar ring to it.”

  “Natalia, it’s not that I don’t want you—”

  At Jack’s pause, our gazes met in the mirror. “It’s not that I don’t want your help,” he clarified, the distinction subtle, but pointed. “It’s just … I don’t want for you to have to deal with this any longer. It’s dark and ugly as hell, and you don’t need to be dragged further into this. I should have never let it get this far, you don’t deserve it—”

  “Shut up, Jack.” I lowered my head, breaking the hold of his gaze with its lingering pain that I so intimately understood. That haunted us both. I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to loosen the te
nse knots gripping the base.

  “You are so goddamned stubborn, Natalia.”

  My downcast gaze traced the intricate chrome scrollwork that framed the mirrored vanity tray, attempting to find where it began or ended. “I believe this is what has historically been referred to as the pot calling the kettle black.”

  “You don’t say?”

  “I do.” I tensed, then relaxed as his hand pushed mine aside, gently massaging the knotted muscles, his sure touch doing a far more effective job than my agitated fumblings. His free hand grasped my waist, holding me steady as the motion of his fingers grew more purposeful, eliciting a deep groan as they dug into a particularly painful spot.

  Cool air bathed the skin of my neck as the heavy mass of my hair was moved aside, threads of heightened sensation winding down my spine as Jack’s mouth replaced his fingers.

  “Jack—”

  His hands fisted on my hips, twisting in the fabric of my skirt. “You should tell me to stop.” His breath fanned across my neck and teased the rim of my ear, soft as the brush of goose down. He was right—I should tell him to stop. Ignore the tension coiling deep within, making my body grow more languid and soft, molding itself to his.

  “What if I don’t want to?” My voice sounded distant, but with an underlying certainty, echoing the war going on between mind and body. The mind whispering urgently—run. The body wanting nothing more than to stay.

  I’d followed the dictates of both mind and heart in the past. Never had my body’s demands taken precedence.

  “You shouldn’t say things like that if you don’t mean them.”

  I reached back, his stubble abrading the sensitive skin of my palm. Another layer of awareness awakening long dormant sensations. “I know exactly what I’m saying.”

  “You’re a smart woman, Natalia. You know you should tell me to stop.”

  “Do I?”

  “You should.” His hands opened and closed, releasing my skirt only to refasten more firmly on my hips, his fingers splayed wide. His thumbs dug into my lower back, twin points of pressure, hard enough to leave marks.