by Anthology
Alex
I am behind the bar gaping at my cell phone, completely stunned.
“What’s the matter with you?” Carlo is headed straight at me.
“She hung up on me. Mike found her work and her number at her desk. I’m…”
“That fast. He’s good. Maybe you’re not her type,” Carlo jokes, and I don’t find it funny.
“Dude, I couldn’t even get my name out before she hung up on me. I called back three times and she didn’t pick up the phone,” I spew, exasperated.
“Fuck, that’s cold,” Carlo replies. “Did you leave a message?”
“No.” I couldn’t think of what to say when the voicemail prompt sounded and her amazing voice resonated through the phone. “I think I should go to her work,” I venture, wrapping my brain around how to handle this.
“Are you nuts? Does the word stalker mean anything to you?” Carlo is shocked that I would even consider doing that. “You need to take a step back and think about this whole thing. You met her and talked to her for a whole two minutes. You sent a cop looking for her. That has crazy written all over it.” Carlo grabs a glass and fills it with Coca-Cola from the tap. “I’ve got some shit for you to do anyway.” He gulps down his soda.
“Great,” I mumble, sticking my phone back in my pocket.
“You need something to get you off this crazy shit.”
I follow Carlo to the elevators, my headspace taken up with thoughts of Meryl, and we ride it down to the basement. He swipes his card and the doors separate and open up to a whole new world that houses all of the security, the break room, and the armament that goes along with the businesses, legal and illegal. A big-screen TV, leather couches, and a mini kitchen fill the entire area—plenty of stuff to keep the guys busy when business is slow.
A bunch of guys from my security team are lounging around watching whatever game they can find on cable at this time of day. Our busy time is after five o’clock.
We cross the room to a metal door with a window. Inside sits Gilly, who’s in charge of all the cameras and surveillance in and outside of the casino, even on the family floors located high above the city of Chicago. La Bella Regale is its own small city within the big city. The size of it takes up an entire block.
“Hey, Gilly.”
“Hey, Alex.” Gilly flicks some switches and brings up the back alley side of the building, the opposite one from where we did the ass-kicking. He zooms in on the brick wall and it is covered with some God-awful graffiti.
“What the fuck?” I slam my fist on the table with all the television screens.
“It’s them. From last night,” Gilly informs me.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. I knew they were assholes, but I didn’t realize they were juvenile assholes.”
“Send somebody out there to take pictures in case we need to share them with the cops,” Carlo orders. “And that needs to be cleaned up before tonight. I’m expecting a big crowd and a long line.”
“How can anybody be so stupid after we took their licenses and everything?” Gilly asks.
“They were probably too fucked up to even remember we did that,” Carlo responds.
I push through another metal door that leads into a long room with a firing range. And I am plain, old, fucking disgusted that I have to deal with this. But it needs to be taken care of. We don’t want any unnecessary attention or bad publicity for the casino.
Against the wall, stacked high, are guns, bullets, and other accoutrements needed for the businesses. The Glock I typically carry is tucked in the back waistband of my pants under my leather jacket where it always is, whether I’m in a suit assisting Carlo with security or enforcing for the Caruso family. I open some boxes and take out a second one and fill a couple of clips. Better to be safe than sorry.
Carlo comes to the door behind me. “Take Julius with you.”
“Got it.” I don’t even glance at him.
“Eh?” He tries to get my attention. “Keep your head in the game.”
“It’s always in the game, Carlo.” I stare him in the face while I click the fresh clip into the second gun. “You know that.”
But it doesn’t change the fact that having to chase these guys pisses me off. I have a million things I need to do at the casino, and I wanted to try calling Meryl again before her work day ends. But Carlo’s pop, Ennio, wants to make sure these guys don’t come back. This is exactly my job, though, on both sides—the casino and the mafia. I can’t think about Meryl. She is a distraction I can’t afford right now.
“These guys really have balls after that ass-kicking last night,” Julius comments from the passenger seat.
I don’t know who they think they’re dealing with but they’ll never be back after I catch them. Julius and I roll to a stop in a black Suburban a few apartment buildings down from the biggest asshole’s—Josh’s—address.
“He’s probably at work,” Julius offers.
“Punks like him who spray graffiti and act like an ass in a public place don’t have jobs. Either Mommy and Daddy are supporting him or he’s just a lazy fucker. Guaranteed, he is home. Especially after last night.”
Sure enough, I’m right. I pick him out immediately, sitting on the steps of his building laughing it up with his two friends. I know it is them even though it was dark last night because I can see the bruising on their faces, and one of them is nursing his side where he was kicked.
The doors to the Suburban slam and Julius and I cross the street toward them. Apparently, Josh isn’t the stupid one of the three because he starts running. The other two follow.
We chase them down a back alley about two blocks away and my breathing is labored because I’m stoked to catch them. This type of shit gets my adrenaline flowing.
They’ve slowed down. I hear the rustling of a few garbage cans off to my right. I pull the gun out from the back of my jeans and hold it by my side. I use the edge of the building, scaling adjacent to it, inching forward, closer and closer. Julius is flanking me. They have to be tiring easily from the beating and the early morning vandalism.
There is nothing more volatile than the male ego, but when you catch it and beat the shit out of it for a second time, it starts to diminish. And if they fuck with me again, I’m going to beat the shit out of them for a third time and leave them on the front steps of the police station downtown.
It amazes me how stupid they are. I can hear them talking in short whispers. I continue to gradually inch my way closer to them, keeping under the shadow of the building. The premises are so close together that the alley is dark even in the daytime because the light can’t fight against the tall structures.
I’m closing in with each step I take until I sneak up on Josh and hold the cold metal of the pistol in my hand against his temple.
“Found you,” I mock. “We have a problem, and we’re going to resolve it today. If I find you within a three-block radius of La Bella Regale, I will beat the shit out of you for a third time.” I raise the gun and smack it across Josh’s face. Julius has Lou and Barry cornered, his gun trained on them. “If we have a problem a fourth time, there will be no beating because I will be acting not as security for the casino, but as an enforcer for the Caruso family. Which means, by mafia law, no one will find your body.” His eyes go wide and I punch Josh in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. He attempts to mumble through a lack of oxygen the word shit. “Nod if you understand what I’m saying.” Josh nods and so do Lou and Barry. “Three strikes and you’re out, permanently. I don’t make the rules. I just enforce them.” I take a few steps over to Lou and Barry, whacking them the same way I did Josh. “Well, I think this has been a very informative meeting, and I just want to reiterate that I do not want to see you within a three-block radius of the casino, or the next steps will be taken.”
“Have a nice day,” Julius snarls sarcastically.
And the two of us walk away from them and back to the black Suburban.
Meryl
I�
��m ready at seven thirty because I have nothing else to do. I sit on my new couch in my new apartment waiting for a text from Derek letting me know that he and Mariah are downstairs. I have the TV on and I’m watching Jeopardy. I never get any of the answers correct. Jim always did, though. My heart lurches in my chest thinking about him. It leaves a repulsive punch in my stomach. So many days go by and each one I think the same thing. It’s not real. He isn’t gone. He’s away, or he’s going to meet me here in Chicago when he’s back from a business trip.
This isn’t good. When I start feeling this way, I need something to distract me and the TV just doesn’t cut it.
I get up and go to the kitchen to pour myself a brandy. I was never a drinker before. It has recently become a very enticing thing. I don’t sip it; I flip the glass upward and take it all in one large gulp. The burn at the back of my throat doesn’t feel the same way it did a month ago. It’s smoother and less gritty. Now, I expect it. My body prepares for it. It isn’t a numbness, but it’s becoming a more natural part of my day, a new normal that I have to inflict on myself because I don’t have a choice. My eyes water, but it’s from the deep loss and not the effect of the stinging alcohol. In the beginning, the crying was uncontrollable, snotty bawling that I couldn’t contain. The lack of being where everything reminds me of him helps the fits that have become fewer and fewer over the past weeks.
I raise the brandy bottle again and refill my glass when my phone dings with a text.
Derek: We r in the lobby.
Me: Kk, I’ll be right down.
While snatching my purse, I swig down my drink and set the cup back on the counter and head out the door, locking up. The hallway to the elevators is narrow and gives me an unwanted paranoia. Things that never bothered me before, I have a problem with now. The loss unleashed a deep-seated, unsettling insecurity. I’m glad I had that drink to relax me.
Club Bellissima has a line a mile long that snakes all around the building, the entrance of which happens to be in an alleyway. From the outside it looks like an underground club Jim and I went to when we were vacationing in Paris. Narrow street, dark and dank, and clustered with bodies all trying to get in.
“Do you think we’re going to have to wait out here long?” I wonder. I’m not feeling so hot. Maybe I should’ve stayed home.
“This looks like fresh paint,” Derek comments, tapping the brick wall. “The club must have had some vandalism recently.”
We wait for about ten minutes and the line finally starts to move. We shuffle forward with the rest of the crowd, and the cross street in front of us looks familiar. We are about five people from the entrance and it dawns on me.
“Is this the only thing in the building? This club?”
Mariah gives me the rundown. “No, this is part of the casino, La Bella Regale. This is a separate entrance. It’s only open certain nights or if they’re hosting an event. Like tonight, for example, is ladies’ night. They don’t do that all the time.”
“So, do you think they have the same people working here as they do in the casino?”
“I have no idea. Why?”
“Uh, no reason.” I am still mortified by my little bar experience last night inside the casino. I don’t need to give Derek and Mariah the gory details. I’m sure this place is so huge and there are so many people the chance of running into that guy is a hundred to one.
We step forward and Mariah gives a soft squeal because we are next.
“IDs, please.” The beefy bouncer is deadpan and uninterested. I roll my eyes at the thought of having to show my ID at thirty-four. I should’ve considered this knowing that Derek and Mariah are quite a bit younger than me. This place must be for a much more youthful crowd.
“I don’t think I’m going to fit in here,” I whisper to Mariah as the bouncer checks her ID and waves her through. I step forward, handing my license to the bouncer. He glances down then looks up at me and glances down again. He pauses. I rub my arms for something to do during this embarrassing situation. I am totally holding up the line. Does he think mine is fake? Is it because it’s an out-of-state license?
Derek leans into me, whispering in my ear, “I knew the Feds were after you.” He is joking, but I am really getting nervous. I am ready to throw in the towel and call a taxi when the bouncer pulls a small microphone device from the neck of his shirt. He mutters unintelligibly into it.
“Stand over here, please,” he orders and points to an area behind his tall stool. I blink, confused, but not knowing what else to do, I go and stand where he tells me like a scolded child.
Mariah is bouncing on her heels in the doorway of the club. She doesn’t know what to make of this either.
Derek steps forward, handing over his license, and in less than a millisecond the bouncer waves him through. My mouth drops open in shock.
“Um.” Derek points to Mariah, then to me. “We’re with her.”
The bouncer drops his arm down and points to where I’m standing, letting them know without words, then you’re over here too.
Mariah’s eyes are like saucers when she approaches me.
“What the hell?” Derek grumbles. “Should we just leave?” The three of us are corralled in a corner on display for each and every person who comes through the line.
“I don’t know,” Mariah answers.
“This is ridiculous,” I say, dumbfounded. “I appreciate you guys sticking it out with me.”
“Well, we weren’t going to leave you standing here alone,” Derek replies, annoyed.
Our circle of three gets tighter the more insecure we become, when a familiar face pops around the corner.
“Hey, Meryl!” It’s Bobby, the bartender. He waves for us to follow him.
“Oh!” I tell Mariah and Derek. “I know him.” I’m elated to see a friendly face. A whoosh of relief leaves me. I lead the way for the three of us.
“Bobby, what is going on?” I ask, clip-clopping in my heels to keep up with him through the tight bodies of people. I steal a glance behind me for Derek and Mariah to make sure they’re still there.
“You have a fan.”
“A what?” I yell over the music thumping. That’s an odd thing to say.
Bobby leads us to a posh booth raised high above the others. It’s half-moon shaped with a deep purple velvet fabric back, and the sparkly granite-topped table reminds me of the bar inside the casino. Definitely this spot is VIP seating, but there is just one problem—we aren’t VIPs.
Bobby holds his hand out, offering the booth to us, and Mariah and Derek, obviously deciding to take the situation in stride, don’t hesitate to climb the three black steps and shuffle right in.
“But…” I start to say when I feel a close presence behind me, someone in my personal bubble. It’s not the crowd here or the people dancing. A zing of butterflies hits my stomach. Something that hasn’t happened to me in a very long time, like I’m in my teens instead of my thirties. I freeze, unprepared for the feeling.
A hand brushes my long hair aside and I shiver. “You hung up on me today,” is spoken into my ear. I am immobile, perplexed, not knowing how to handle the situation. I turn my head enough to see a profile in the twirling colored lights shining down on the room.
“The horrible bartender,” I say without thinking. The words complete idiot shoot through my brain for insulting him. But his reaction surprises me. He laughs and it totally breaks the tension. I laugh too, but it comes out tongue-tied.
A few uncomfortable moments pass.
“Aren’t you going to have a seat and introduce me to your friends?”
“Um. Oh. Sure.”
I’m unaware of what is going on, but I take the steps carefully and I feel a light hand on the small of my back guiding me. The little hairs on the back on my neck stand in a good way, not an I want to run the hell out of the club screaming way.
“Uh. This is Mariah and Derek. I work with them.”
“I know,” he says.
I blink in surprise.
How does he know that?
He reaches his hand out to them. “Alex,” he says cordially. Mariah is grinning ear to ear. She loves this place, and being in such a high-profile booth, she is in her glory. Half of the people in here don’t even have a place to sit it is so crowded.
I twist my hands in my lap and my purse strap is still on my shoulder. Mariah is all settled in, purse on the seat and ordering a drink from a waitress who has already come by placing square napkins on the table that read Club Bellissima. Derek is leaning forward too, ordering.
“Whiskey?” Alex asks in a confirming way, using what he knows about me.
“Not tonight. Cranberry juice, please.” I don’t feel like I need one, and this situation is weird. I want to be completely with it if I have to make a beeline out of here.
Alex holds up two fingers and tells the waitress, who smiles at him, “Two cranberry juices.”
I turn to him. “I’m working tonight,” he offers.
“Thank you for the table. I don’t want to keep you from your job.”
He sits back against the booth, resting his hands in his lap, and a slight grin tips the corner of his mouth.
“I’m good. I have some time.”
“Oh.”
Mariah leans past Derek. “Thanks so much for the table. This is awesome!”
“Anything for Meryl and her friends.”
Our drinks arrive extremely fast, especially with the enormous swarm of club-goers. Not giving me a chance to absorb his comment, Alex hands a fifty-dollar bill to the waitress and she nods a thank you.
I sip on my juice and listen to the music, questioning this whole scene. Why the special table and treatment? Why did Bobby say Alex is a fan?
“I’d like to take you to dinner tomorrow night.” Alex’s words are passionate even though they are ordinary. The statement tickles my insides and the whole thing frustrates me. Why is he asking me out?
I stare at my cranberry juice, not sure how to respond. I barely know him. In fact, I don’t know him.
