The sound of someone clearing their throat made my face rip away, my leg dropping to the ground heavily even as Virgin's grip slowly loosened on my wrist, his head dipping down to place a kiss at my throat.
"Sorry to break up the necking session, you two, but it was getting a bit steamy for the apartment entryway," Thad informed us, and I didn't have to look to see the amused smile he had on his face. "Your brother called to let me know some dangerous criminal was driving you home," he added as Virgin let out an airy chuckle against my neck before straightening, slowly pulling away and turning.
"Hey Thad."
"Hey you handsome thing, you."
My gaze went to my brother, finding him standing there in his kimono in his furry No, Officer, I didn't kill my rich husband slippers, a sleep mask sitting on his forehead, gold strips under his eyes that he claimed worked wonders on dark circles.
"You knew who it was. You didn't have to come down here to walk me in."
"Walk you in, no. Spy on you? Yes, I sure did. You two kids have fun?"
"Oh, God. Stop," I grumbled, moving away from Virgin, almost sure that when his hand brushed mine that it was on purpose. "Thanks for driving me home. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Goodnight, baby."
"Oh, goodnight to you too, baby," Thad called, giving him a wiggly finger wave as he turned to walk away.
"Could you be more embarrassing?"
"We both know I could," he told me, curling an arm around my hips. "Your lady bits need some ice?"
"There's not enough ice left on this ever-heating planet," I grumbled, closing my eyes, taking a deep breath.
"Well then, we're lucky you have a date tomorrow so you can finally seal the deal. Don't think I didn't see the empty battery package in the trash, you horny bitch."
"It's a first date. We aren't sealing the deal."
"Oh, psh. You'll be lucky if you make it to the restaurant from what I just witnessed. Don't be close-minded for the sake of some antiquated idea about when it is appropriate to fuck. The only appropriate time to fuck is when you want to. Now let's get us back upstairs. Colson interrupted my REM cycle, and we both know I am bitchy when I am sleepy."
A long shower washed the cooking off of me, but did nothing to ease the aching inside.
As I fell asleep, I wondered if Thad was right.
If I could jump into bed with Virgin, a man whose real name I didn't even know.
But maybe if I asked him his real name at dinner...
--
"Girl, go," Abby demanded, slapping my ass with a wooden spoon hard enough for me to wonder if she was going to leave a bruise. That Virgin might be seeing later.
"It's early," I objected, looking up at the monitor above our heads where the orders scrolled as they came in.
"Yeah, but, Fred, doll, you just put sugar in the macaroni and cheese," she told me, making my eyes shoot down to what I had been doing. And, sure enough, the gooey golden cheese was speckled with granulated brown sugar I had meant to throw in the bacon brown sugar chicken pan. "You are clearly already in date-mode. And, judging by your stint at a woman's facility for the past decade, I figure this will be your first male-female rendezvous in ten years."
"It will be my first rendezvous at all in ten years."
"Really? I mean, I'm not into the lady cave that much either, but in a pinch..."
"I haven't been in that tight of a pinch," I said with a smile.
"Christ. You must be wound like a clock, huh?" she asked, dumping the macaroni and cheese in the trash, then filling up a new pot with water to start over.
"I guess."
"Well, go. Get yourself all cleaned up, dolled up, the usual. Do you need condoms?"
"My brother already threw a box at me this morning."
At my face, in particular.
From what I saw last night, he's a Magnum man, he had told me with a finger wave before heading off to work.
As I went home and showered, shaved, did the hair process again since I had just wrapped one of Thad's colorful scarves over my hair to go to work, then worked on my makeup, picked out my clothes, his words came back to me again.
From what I saw last night, he's a Magnum man.
And this time, they sank in. Magnum. I had been so wrapped up in the sensations the night before that I hadn't given size much thought. But now, alone in the apartment, I was unnervingly aware of the fact that I hadn't had sex in ten years, that I barely even had a chance to engage in it before I went away.
The women at prison used to joke about being re-virginized.
They used to claim that after a spell, it was nearly like the first time all over again when they went home. Or, at least, the child-free ones said that. The ones with kids made crude jokes about how with the way their babies battered their way out of their bodies that nothing would ever pinch let alone hurt like the first time again.
My butt sank down on my bed, still only clad in black lacy panties and a matching bra.
And that was exactly where Thaddeus found me about an hour later.
"Alright, what is it?" he asked from my doorway. "And don't be trying to tell me it is nothing because no one pulls a The Thinker pose in their panties over nothing."
"Do you think it's going to hurt when we have sex?"
"Aw damn," Thad said, pushing off the doorway to drop down on the bed beside me, nudging his shoulder into mine. "Look, I can't claim to know all about what you have going on down there," he told me, waving a hand to my crotch. "But the way I see it, if you want it enough, and you're primed enough, your body will do what it is meant to do even if it maybe pinches a bit at first. What I do know is that if you get all up in your head about it, you'll psych yourself out of it for no good reason. Now, let's get some clothes on you for that handsome man to peel off later."
With that, Thad got me into a white sundress with red flowers I never would have picked for myself even if I had to admit it was flattering.
"Flats," I told him when he held out a pair of wedge sandals.
"It's a date. You don't wear flats on a date."
"You are not the one who will get blisters," I shot back. "Go let him in," I told him as the buzzer went off, shoving him toward the door before going into my closet myself, finding a pair of sandals similar to the wedge ones, slipping my feet into them, then spritzing on some perfume.
"Look at you," Thad said in his flirtatious voice as the door closed. "Freddie, your gentleman caller is here!" Taking a deep breath, I checked my reflection one last time before moving out into the central area of the house.
Walking out, I found Virgin out of his jeans, boots, and leather cut for the first time. In their place, he had black slacks and a matte black dress shirt. No tie. Slip-on loafers.
He'd shaved too.
And he looked good.
Good enough that I almost didn't want to go to dinner.
"And this, dear children, is where you stop eye-fucking one another," Thad told us. "And you," he said, pushing Virgin, "tell her that she looks beautiful. And you," he went on, pointing at me, "tell him he looks good all dressed up."
Virgin's lips curved up as he moved closer toward me, ducking his head down. "You look beautiful."
"Thank you. You look good too." He smelled better.
"So where are you taking her?" Thad asked, never one to miss an opportunity to butt in.
"Famiglia."
"Oh, fancy. Well, you two have fun. I am heading out to date Danny. You know, Danny-On-The-Down-Low. He got a room. I will see you in the morning." He was being ridiculously obvious. "Here, boo," he added, holding out my purse. "You have some Mags in the tampon zipper and your nightstand. You are all set," he told me in a blessedly quiet whisper. "You two have fun!"
"Thanks, Thad."
"Mmhmm."
"Take care of my girl," Thad told Virgin as he moved past, voice losing the light, amused tone, getting uncharacteristically serious.
"Got nothing to worry about with me," Virgin assured h
im before stepping out into the hall with me. "What's the matter?"
"I'm gonna have helmet head at a fancy restaurant," I declared, reaching up to touch the curls that came out perfectly, like they were excited for the date as well.
"Took the SUV tonight," he told me, hand going to my lower back as we waited for the elevator, stepping us both to the side to let off the lady down the hall who always stole Thad's magazines before giving them back to him claiming they were in her mail by mistake. We moved inside, the doors closing with a quiet click that somehow still made me jump. "You're nervous." It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway.
"Yeah. I... haven't been on a date in a long time," I admitted.
"Baby girl, I've never been on a date," he told me with one of those smiles that made his eyes go all warm. "So we can just trip along this whole thing together," he told me, hand slipping to my hip to give it a squeeze.
Trip along.
I liked that.
"Are you nervous?" I asked, watching as the button froze on the main level.
"I don't really get nervous, but I second-guessed these shoes for fifteen minutes. So that counts."
The drive to Famiglia was short.
I had never been inside the restaurant myself, but had walked the docks beside it, watching all the men in their suits walk in with their ladies in dresses, everyone looking altogether very fancy and wealthy since I knew the food was expensive because it was where my aunt made her dates take her when she managed to find someone who wasn't put off by her gruff personality.
It looked like I remembered it, but somehow nicer and brighter at the same time. The lights from the outside deck shined down on the choppy water below the stilts holding up the building. Inside, everything was dimmed to the perfect intimate lighting level, the colors black and gold and just a hint of red here and there.
"So did you and your brother work it out?" Virgin asked after we ordered our drinks, as we looked over the menu while we sat in our fancy rounded booth in the back of the restaurant that was saved just for us in a way that implied it was a big deal, like maybe had an in with the owners or something.
"We haven't spoken yet," I admitted, feeling guilty. Now that the anger had died away, I knew I had overreacted, that I read too much into his tone.
"Got some wounds there that need stitchin' up," Virgin told me, glancing up at me over his menu. "And I don't mean about last night."
"I know," I agreed. "It's a sore spot. I was pretending it wasn't because I was just happy to have him around again. And I didn't want to rock the boat or make things awkward. But we are going to have to have that uncomfortable talk, I guess."
"Your family loves you. That is worth working on. Even if it isn't comfortable."
"Are you close with..." I lost my sentence when the waiter came over with a bottle of complimentary wine From Mr. Grassi. "Do you know the owner?" I blurted out when he walked away again.
"I've met him and his sons. I wouldn't say we know each other. But there has always been an understanding with The Henchmen and the Grassi family."
Grassi family.
Family.
"Do you mean family as in family?" I asked, half leaning over the table to whisper it.
"Yeah. That kind of family. The established organizations in Navesink Bank have respect for one another even if we don't do much business together."
"Who else is in an established organization in town?" I asked, having been too young and too into my own little life when I was last in town to know anything about them except for The Henchmen who always openly flaunted their illegal activities by wearing their cuts and one-percent badges.
"Mallicks. Hailstorm on the hill. And then there is Abruzzo. Though he stays clear of us now."
I wanted to ask, but also figured that asking questions was not what an outsider did in this kind of situation. "That's it? It sounded like so much more."
"There are a lot of, ah, independent contractors. Then there is Third Street."
"The gang?" I asked.
"Yeah, them," Virgin agreed with a grimace.
"I'm confused," I admitted.
"About?"
"Why you are grimacing about Third Street when you aren't about all the other organizations. What makes them worse?"
"Reign doesn't like 'em because they deal all sorts of shit. Heroin when they can find it, meth. I have nothing against drug dealers, obviously, from where I came from. What I have a problem with is the way they treat their working girls."
"Working girls. Like... prostitutes?"
"Are you surprised?" he asked, smiling.
"No, well, maybe a little." I shouldn't have been. There were more than a few women in prison with me who had worked the streets or in makeshift brothels. I knew all about the business. I knew more than I wanted to know, in fact. "Just that it is happening here and I never noticed, I guess. But, I'm guessing they are rough with them?"
"Rough is an understatement. I don't think I ever see one of those women without bruises or dried blood. And if they are doing that to their own women, you can only imagine what they let the Johns do. That shit doesn't fly with me. And now we are hearing that they are selling Easy Lay."
"What is Easy Lay?" I asked, feeling like I used to in high school when people would talk about weird sex acts then make fun of me for not knowing what they were.
"Date rape drugs," he told me with a dark look in his eye.
"Oh." The sound came out of me, weighted, heavy, knowing what that meant for the women in the area. All women in the area. Anyone who went on a date with a new man. Anyone who went to a bar where the bartender was paid off to slip something into the drink. Any girl who went to a high school party and woke up to find herself sore and bruised.
Yeah, no, there was no respecting an organization who sold those kinds of drugs. For me, while I had never used - and would never use - drugs, I understood the sale. Supply and demand. It was no different in my mind than selling illegal guns or whatever the Grassi and Mallick families did. But there was a line to be drawn in the sand. On one side, you could sell as much product as you wanted to someone who was okay with messing their own lives up. On the other, you catered to the lowest of the low and became slime yourself when you sold things that enabled someone to screw someone else's life up.
"This probably wasn't appropriate first date talk, huh?" Virgin asked, picking up on my dark thoughts.
"Well, we did agree there would be some tripping involved," I told him, shrugging it off as the waiter came back to take our order. "Besides, neither of us really know what appropriate first date talk is anyway."
"I think it is all about getting to know each other."
"That sounds about right." And also somewhat terrifying, to be perfectly honest.
"So, Freddie. Why don't you tell me your story?"
We both knew what he meant. He already knew what I did for a living, where I lived, what my family situation was like.
He was asking for the other stuff.
The stuff I didn't like talking about.
The stuff that lead to me losing ten years of my life.
And I wasn't sure I was ready for that yet.
Would he even believe me if I did tell him?
No one else did, save for Thad and Colson.
Reaching for my wine, I took a tentative sip, trying to find the courage to launch into it.
But what came out of my lips wasn't my story.
"You first," I demanded, watching as his shoulders went a little tight, as he struggled with the possible ramifications of telling me his story.
But, in the end, he leaned back, kept almost unnerving eye-contact, and went into it.
SEVEN
Virgin
My earliest memories were of a brown carpet in a mostly empty room where the walls had concave spots from angry fists. Whether they were from people who lived here before us or my mom and her endless string of boyfriends, I had no idea. I just remembered staring at those spiderweb-like holes, my
heart skittering around in my chest, sure something was going to pop out of them if I looked away.
I slept on that brown carpet in that small room with the closet door that hung off the top hinges, so it didn't really open. But it opened enough for a skinny four-year-old me to climb inside when I heard raised voices in my house.
The carpet wasn't comfortable. It wasn't the kind like they had in the house of the lady next door who watched me when my mom went... wherever she went - all plush like you sank into it. It was hard, and the strings all stuck out wild and itchy. When an extra blanket was clean, I spread it out over the carpet to sleep. When one wasn't, I pulled my arms into the armholes of my shirt and slept with them pressed against my body, so they didn't get scratchy.
It hadn't occurred to me at the time why I didn't have a bed like my mom did. Or why I couldn't sleep on the couch in the living room. All I knew was that when I was home, I had to stay in my shoebox of a room and Out of my mom's hair like she told me all the time.
And since all she did was scream at me or slap at me when I did come out of it, I was happy to stay in until she and her friend were in her room making noises. Only then, I would sneak out, go to the bathroom, snatch some quiet food from the kitchen. Quiet food meant anything that didn't come in a crinkly, noisy wrapper. No cereal or chips or crackers. Usually, I stole stuff off the plate my mom left in the kitchen cold and a cup of water, rushing back to my room before the bed stopped knocking around, eating, curling up on the floor, trying to sleep, comforting myself with ideas of the house next door.
Squishy carpets.
A TV that was always set to cartoons.
A lumpy couch to sit on with a heavy knitted blanket the lady with the glasses who insisted I call her Mama Rita told me she made herself, though I didn't understand how you could make a blanket.
She gave me big glasses of watery milk she said would feed my bones, make me grow big and strong.
There was always butter and cinnamon toast for a late morning snack. Then lunch would usually be canned tuna fish mixed with mayonnaise and a bit of hot sauce. Some days, she would chop up pickles and mix it in. Those were my favorite days.
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