ROMANCING SAL GABRINI

by Monroe, Mallory

  But by the time she looked back to see if he was still staring at that supposedly irresistible body of hers, he was already heading to another girl’s table. This time a white girl. As if the sisters who turned him down gave him no alternative. Gemma smiled, shook her head, and kept on stepping. His wife was undoubtedly clueless. Probably thought she had herself this fine, educated man with eyes for her and her alone. That was why Gemma didn’t give an inch to any of these guys anymore. She didn’t buy what they were selling, or sung what they were singing. She played the fool before. Too many times before. She wasn’t trying to play it again.

  She made it upstairs, to her hotel room, where she quickly showered, put on her pajamas, and got into bed. There was an old Bette Davis movie on the TV, called All About Eve, but the television screen was paying about as much attention to her as she was paying to it. She was so bored, in fact, that she nearly rejoiced when her cell phone rang. It felt like a reprieve. She turned onto her back, grabbed it, and looked at the caller ID.

  Then smiled.

  “Hey,” she said cheerfully as she answered it. It was Trina Gabrini, her close friend and business partner.

  “Well damn,” Trina said on the phone. “You sound as if I was Santa Claus. That boring, hun?”

  Gemma laughed. “And then some.”

  “Your seminar too?”

  “No, actually. It was better than last year. Much better. In fact all. Not a sleeping soul in the entire establishment.”

  “Good. That’s good to hear.”

  “What about you? How are things going with you?”

  “With me, fine. With our boutique, not so fine.”

  “What’s wrong?” Gemma asked this and sat up in bed. She, far more than Trina, had a lot riding on the success of their brand new clothing store they named Champagne’s. She was growing enormously disenchanted with the legal profession and what she saw as a lot of injustice disguised as justice, especially for people of color. She viewed this new business venture as potentially her ticket out.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” Trina assured her, “but the customers aren’t buying in any sustainable way. We have the traffic, very good traffic in fact, but we aren’t making the sale. We have got to do something differently or I don’t see progressing beyond mere survival. We’ll survive, but that’s about the best we’re going to do if something doesn’t give.”

  “And just surviving won’t cut it,” Gemma made clear. “We’ve got to thrive. But how? What’s the answer?”

  “As if I know,” Trina replied. “Because trust me, I don’t. But that hubby of mine wants us to sit down with him and talk about it.”

  Gemma smiled. “He does?”

  “Yeah, he does.”

  “That would be helpful, Tree, you’ve got to admit that. I can’t think of a more successful businessman than Reno Gabrini.”

  “I know. But you wouldn’t mind?”

  “Of course I wouldn’t! I was never the problem. You were the one who was so adamant about keeping him out of the boutique. I thought you wanted this to be your baby, without him having to hold your hand.”

  “I do want it to be my baby. I still don’t want his footprints all over this. But I don’t see where getting his advice will change any of that. But we’ll see.”

  “Okay,” Gemma said. “You know I’m on board.”

  “You should be back in a few days, right?”

  “More like four days. My last seminar for the week is at two p.m. Friday afternoon, and as soon as it’s over I’m catching the first plane out.”

  “But wow,” Trina said. “Four days left? And it looks like a boring ride all the way too?”

  “Unfortunately yes. But it’ll be okay.”

  “Have you talked to him?”

  There was a hesitation. No name was needed. Gemma knew exactly who she meant. “No,” she said.

  “And why the hell not, Gem? He lives right there! He can show you the town. Give you a good time. You wouldn’t be bored, that’s for damn sure.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t run men down and I’m not about to start now.”

  “How would phoning Sal and saying hey to him be equivalent to running him down?”

  Gemma hesitated.

  “Well?” Trina asked.

  “Because he didn’t phone me,” Gemma admitted, and it was a hard admittance for a woman like her.

  Even Trina had to hesitate. “What do you mean he didn’t phone you?”

  “After he left Vegas, he told me he would keep in touch. I thought we had had some pretty good conversation while he was in town, so I took him at his word. Was even anticipating his phone calls, which irks me to this day. But no calls came. Not a single one. So that tells me one thing and one thing only. Not that he was busy and couldn’t get around to it. Not that he lost my number or was hospitalized and couldn’t dial a phone. None of that shit. He didn’t call me because he didn’t want to call me. Period. I learned long ago not to believe it’s anything else. So I’m not about to rekindle a fire he already put out.”

  Trina could be heard sighing. “I hear you girl,” she said. “Trust me, I hear you. But Sal, he’s a breed apart, Gem. He doesn’t do things in that normal, traditional way you may be accustomed to. A guy like Sal probably figures if you’re interested, you’ll call him.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve done that in the past, too. I’ve called guys first. And not once did it end well.”

  “What else is new? None of your relationships end well!”

  Gemma laughed. “You know what I mean.” Then she turned serious, almost solemn. “Besides,” she said slowly, “I was kind of expecting something different from Sal.”

  “Something different? From Sal Luca Gabrini? Oh, come on, Gem! What could you possibly have expected Sal to be? A gentleman?”

  Gemma hated to admit it, because she could hear the laugh in Trina’s voice when she asked the question. But it was true. “Yes,” she answered. “I know that’s crazy, but yes. And I know he probably treats all of his women the way he’s treating me. He’s probably used to them running him down. He’s a good looking man, super-successful. He’s got that swag, that’s for damn sure. But I don’t want to be one of his women. Either he’s going to pay attention to me and me alone and see if we can make something work, or I don’t want any parts of it. It has to be that way with a man like Sal. Or else he’ll take me for granted and discard me when he’s done. And I’m not having that, Tree. Been there, done that. Never again.”

  “I hear you,” Trina said with agreement in her voice. “I hear you loud and clear. And you’re right. Sal will take you for granted if you let him. I’ve seen how he treats his females.”

  This interested Gemma. “He brought some to the PaLargio with him before?” she asked.

  “No. He never brings any of his ladies around us. Reno thinks it’s the kind of women Sal dates. A bunch of freaks and undesirables, according to Reno. But I don’t think that’s it at all. I think Sal just hasn’t been serious enough with any of those ladies to allow them to meet the family. He just hasn’t met the right girl yet.”

  “At his age?” Gemma asked with a smile.

  “What is that supposed to mean? He’s only, what, thirty-five or something like that? He’s not exactly ancient! He’s older than your twenty-nine years, but that doesn’t make him old.”

  “I know. Just kidding. He sounds like the perfect gentleman.”

  “He’s neither perfect nor a gentleman,” Trina said, “and you can rest assured of that. But there is something rather exceptional about him.”

  Gemma thought so too.

  “But you won’t experience that exceptionality, will you,” Trina went on, “if you don’t give the man a call?”

  Gemma smiled and then laughed. Sometimes Trina’s logic was about as oddball as her husband’s. But she always had a point.

  The Doorman hurried to open the huge double doors at the exclusive Wingate Apartment building as soon as Sal Gabrini, the building’s owner, step
ped out of the limo and headed across the sidewalk, buttoning his suit coat as he walked.

  “Welcome home, Mr. Gabrini,” the Doorman said as he opened the doors with a wide sweep. “How was your trip, sir?”

  “It was a trip,” Sal said as he walked through.

  The Doorman smiled, knowing the boss all too well, and then handed him off to William, the building’s general manager, who was also waiting for Sal’s arrival.

  “Welcome back, Mr. Gabrini,” the manager said. Sal didn’t break his stride, and the manager therefore moved swiftly too as he escorted his boss to the private elevator near the back of the majestic lobby.

  “Did they all show up?” Sal asked as they walked.

  “Three did. Two did not.”

  Sal looked at him. “What happened to the other two?”

  “One of them suddenly decided that living at the Wingate would make them house poor, that was her characterization, and therefore she backed out before the final signing. I contacted the realtor for the other potential and I still haven’t heard back from him.”

  “And when you do hear back tell him the deal is off.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I don’t want any unreliable people on my property. People who can’t make up their minds. If they’re trouble now, they’ll be trouble later. No thanks.” Then he exhaled. “Anything else going on?” Sal asked this as he held his magstripe card up to the reader, causing the light to flash green and then the elevator doors to open.

  “Nothing else, sir,” the manager said.

  Sal stepped on. “Good,” he said, as the doors began to close. “Keep it that way.”

  When the doors slammed shut, the silence engulfed Sal. He held onto the elevator bar and leaned against its’ wall. It had been another emotionally grueling trip to Jersey. His third in as many months. The kid wasn’t acting right and that crazy-ass mother was trying to put all of the blame on Sal.

  But he would have none of it. He cussed her ass out and told her what she could do with her blame. But it didn’t exactly change the truth of the matter. Because at the end of the day, even though he put that woman back in her place and got a good fuck out of her while he was at it, which was all she was ever good for anyway, the kid was still a monumental screw-up waiting to happen. And Sal, who hated coming up short in any part of his life, still felt like a failure.

  The elevator doors opened again and he stepped off, into his luxurious penthouse apartment. It, too, engulfed him with the kind of peace and quiet that he required. His days were always hectic, filled with meetings and arguments and demands and action. Lots of action. But his nights had to be peaceful.

  That was why he never brought a female up to his penthouse. That was why he never entertained a client, no matter how important for their business expansion, at his penthouse. He housed them occasionally in the designated apartment downstairs while they were in town, and he often fucked his women in that same downstairs apartment, but never inside his penthouse. And it was all by Sal’s design. Because this was his sanctuary. And he wasn’t sharing it.

  He removed his suit coat and tossed it over the bar stool as he made his way behind the bar. It was a massive display of liquor galore near the living room’s terrace, and he immediately began to pour himself a glass of wine. He also pulled out his cell phone, finally turned it back on, and listened to his messages.

  He had thirty. All personal since it was his personal cell phone. All female, which meant many of the messages were repeat calls.

  He deleted each message after every call.

  Until call number twenty-seven.

  “Hey, Sal, it’s Gemma Jones. I happen to be in your town so I thought I’d give you a ring. Yes, that’s right, I’m in Seattle. Didn’t want anything in particular, just thought I’d call. Hope life has been treating you well since last we met. I haven’t heard from you, so I’m assuming it has. I’m here for a lawyer’s convention, so I can’t say the same for myself.” She chuckled. He could detect the strain in her chuckle. This wasn’t easy for her. “But anyway, I was just saying hey. Didn’t want anything. Talk to you later. Bye.”

  Sal looked at his phone’s display after that call. It came in last night. Nine-fifty-seven. Now it was one in the morning.

  He listened to the last three calls, deleting all three of them.

  But he kept Gemma’s message.

  And listened to it again, as he sipped his wine.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Hold that elevator!” Craig Richards yelled as he sprinted onto the elevator, slicing through just as the doors were closing. Gemma had been trying to find the OPEN button, but couldn’t in time. Thankfully he was fast enough to not need it.

  “Thanks,” he said when he stepped on.

  “Don’t thank me,” Gemma replied with a smile. “I couldn’t find the button.”

  He smiled anyway, thanking her for trying to help. But as she looked away, his look lingered. There were others on the ride downstairs too, about a handful of others, but his eyes remained fixed on Gemma. When she looked back at him, sensing his stare, he smiled.

  “You’re Gemma Jones, right?” he asked.

  “That’s right,” she said, wondering where did she meet him before.

  “I’m Craig Richards,” he said, removing his overstuffed briefcase from his right hand to his left, and extending his right hand to her. “I teach the seminar next to yours in Room 12.”

  “Oh,” she said, removing the whiteboards from her right hand to her left hand, where she held her own briefcase. She shook his hand. “You’re the Fifth Amendment guy.”

  “There ya’ go,” he said cheerfully as he took his hand and raked his blonde hair out of his face. “How did yours go yesterday?”

  “Mine went well. Or, let me preface that, it went better than I expected. Yours?”

  “Disastrous. Those attorneys couldn’t get out of there fast enough. They’re here to party, not to learn. At least that’s how I’ve chosen to justify my failure anyway.”

  Gemma laughed. Last year, when she was such an abject failure herself, she used to utilize the same logic.

  He looked down, at her beautiful smile. Her skin was so dark and smooth against those perfect white teeth that the contrast enchanted him. “When does yours wrap up?”

  “Not until Friday afternoon,” she said.

  “Oh, you poor thing,” he said. “Tomorrow is my last day. And I can’t get away from here fast enough. Where are you from?”

  “Nevada. You?”

  “Montana. Kalispell, Montana. A million light years away from a city like this.”

  Gemma smiled again as the elevator doors opened and they all piled off, making way for a herd of new people to pile on. Gemma and Craig began to head across the lobby.

  Sal saw her as soon as she stepped off of the elevator. Her timing had been impeccable. He had just arrived, and was about to head for the front desk, when she stepped off. Even from across the room she was a remarkable sight to behold. Oddly enough, when he first met her, he couldn’t decide if she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, or the ugliest. Now it wasn’t even close.

  And when she finally took a break from some blonde guy she was talking with and she saw Sal, and her face lit up as if she was pleased by the sight, his heart leaped with an unexplainable joy. He felt that same feeling when he first saw her in Vegas. But then she had the nerve to turn down his invitation to bed. After all those clues, after all that banter, she turned him down. He’d never been turned down before, at least not since he had become a grown-ass man, and was a little peeved by it. Who did she think she was? He didn’t call her or even think about her because he didn’t see the point of fighting that hard just to get into some female’s panties. Even hers.

  But seeing her again made him realize his mistake. He’d been in the panties of a lot of females in his day, way too many, in fact, but he never felt this sense of joy about any of them. This pleasing feeling at just seeing this woman again, wasn�
�t about her panties. At least not completely, he thought slyly, as she excused herself from Blondie and made her way toward him.

  Gemma was about as nervous as a whore in church for some reason, but she fought hard to maintain her smile. The fact that he had come rather than call her back meant the world to her. It didn’t excuse the fact that he didn’t phone her at all after he left Vegas, but it was a nice gesture nonetheless.

  “Well hello there, Sal,” she said cheerfully as she approached him.

  “Don’t hello there me,” he responded in that blunt way she had already become accustomed to. “You come all this way, to my city, and I have to find out about it through a voice mail message?”

  “I’m the one who left you the message, remember?”

  “Yeah, right. Whoopdeedo for you,” he said to laughter from Gemma. “Why didn’t you let me know you were coming before you got here, smart mouth? That’s my point. Maybe I could have moved some things around and stayed back had I known.”

  This surprised Gemma. “You were out of town?” she asked.

  “Yeah, as a matter of fact. Just got back something like one this morning. That’s when I find out you’re here, in Seattle, and I didn’t know a damn thing about it.”

  Gemma was touched by his interest, but it also seemed a little overblown and fake to her, given his complete lack of interest over the last several weeks.

  “Then you don’t leave any information,” Sal went on. “I had to call Trina in Vegas to get the particulars. To find out which hotel and all of that.”

  Gemma smiled. “And I’m sure she was more than happy to give you every bit of info you needed.”

  “Of course she was happy to help me out. She’s a Gabrini. Why wouldn’t she be happy to help me out? But get your things and let’s go. You’re staying at my place, not in this ratty-ass hotel.”

  “This hotel is perfectly fine, Sal. There’s nothing ratty-ass about it.”

  “Get your things anyway. When you’re in town, you stay with me. You’re staying at my place.”