And I had no reason to explain it.
CHAPTER FIVE
-1-
Whereas Saturday mornings were officially our Girls Day Out, Saturday nights were reserved for the West-End Boys! It had become tradition. Our “gang,” you might call it now, had expanded and grown to a formidable force of friends that would stick together and be there for each other no matter what—and indeed had done so.
Brad from Bushwick, Kayla’s fiancé—ripped and hard, solid and loving. Trey (remember: not Troy, that’s Dani’s freckly boyfriend)—the MI6 (we assumed) powerhouse that would give Shaq a run for his money in the size and power department. My Conall. And then the rest of the gang: Smokey—gold tooth chef in his mid-forties, and also deadly sniper. Keith “Bup” Spider Tattoo—scary as hell, and a dude who was part of the force that saved my ass in that warehouse I’d been held in. And “Clint Eastwood” (aka “Just Jack”)—a guy in his late sixties (or older) who took no shit from anyone, and who didn’t take kindly to men who beat up on women (as evidenced by how he put one in the head of the Hungarian Mob dude who’d been planning to force himself on me.) Freckly Troy—Dani’s boyfriend—would never really be a “West-End Boy.” Somehow he had just never clicked with the rest of the guys. But Trey (the Shaq Monster) had even given him some Krav Maga tips so that if anything ever happened to him or Dani again, he would be able to hold his ground and not sit there blubbering and crying while tied to a chair.
We were at the Red Light Diner, the West-End of London, the same place we’d come up with the name for the West-End Boys. Almost every Saturday night since Trey and Alexandra had returned from their honeymoon, we’d met up here for drinks and to catch up.
As usual, the men would hang out at the bar, and the girls would piss it up until the men had to look out for us. I usually didn’t drink much, but Kayla and Dani normally made up for me.
Alex was also not a big drinker. She and I would usually nurse a colorful long drink most of the night and watch the other two girls slowly getting more and more inebriated. And it usually ended up with them singing stuff like You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling as if this were a scene in Top Gun, only the people doing the singing this time were the girls, not the guys. And the ones being hit on were the boys.
We looked quite the force. Many times I would catch guys looking over at us and then deciding they wanted nothing to do with us because, well, our “gang” just looked so damn bad!
One night one guy did try and saunter on over to the newly-wed Alex, commenting on how “lovely” her dirty blond hair looked. Alex, who used to compete in physique contests (you know, the ones where all those babes have zero body-fat but still look sexy feminine?) didn’t even bother to look at the guy. She just smirked and waited a second while the guy, drunk as hell, tried yet another stale line on her. And then Trey arrived. Huge and towering over the dude. His dark form bent down to kiss Alex on the lips. “Hello, baby,” Trey said, making his voice sound deeper than usual. The dwarf of a man who’d been hitting on her just...disappeared. I mean, really disappeared!
Trey has that effect on people.
Alex buried her tongue in her husband’s mouth, pulling his gargantuan neck down with her left hand, and then pulled away, smiled at him, her skin slightly red and flustered. “Everything OK?” Trey had asked.
“Perfect,” she’d said.
The scar on her cheek, the one running from her eye to her lip, added a unique attractiveness to her, as if it proved that she would and could remain beautiful no matter what life had thrown at her.
And it had thrown a ton. Just like Dani and Kayla and me.
Sisters. All of us.
And brothers, all of the boys.
Tonight, Saturday night, less than twenty-four hours since Conall and I had gotten it on steamily on the couch, the boys were at the bar singing (now it was their turn to sing You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling!)
Dani and Kayla filled Alex in on my “scare” of earlier in the day. I still wasn’t out of the woods, and I’d opted to drink a virgin drink tonight, just in case. Dani and Kayla hugged and sang as well (a different song, clashing with both the music coming from the speakers as well as the chorus of baritones coming over from the bar.) They played it light and laughed a little, but Alex saw something in my eyes. She rubbed the bottom of my back and said, “Let’s go outside.”
On my way out, I saw what looked like one of Bettina Langford’s cronies way back of the bar. That was weird—London was almost two hours away by car from the UE. But I just let it be.
Cold air accosted us as we stepped out into the fast-approaching winter that would soon turn the West-End of London into a smushy mush of white snow.
“Talk to me,” Alex said.
I did.
I told her what was happening, both in school as well as what happened with Conall. I told her I felt like I was swimming, uncertain, afraid, lacking something to hold on to.
She did the only thing worth doing: She held me, my older sister, five years older than Conall and a good decade more older than me.
“How are things with you and Trey?” I asked after a while, changing the subject.
She let me go and smiled. “Incredible.” And then she rubbed her stomach.
My eyes went wide.
“No, no! Not yet. But...we’re thinking about it. I’m in my thirties now, Leo. I can’t wait much longer.”
She had a gleam in her brown eyes, the lights from the expensive stores around us shining in them. “It’s weird, you know, how life takes its twists and turns. You end up in a spot, and you just have to take the decision that’s right for that moment. I don’t think...” She looked down at the ground. “...I don’t think any of us can really plan what’s going to happen to us. We just have to take the decisions we feel are right, at the time that life presents something to us.”
There was silence for a while. More wind brushed against us. Alex gave a shiver. A guy came outside, singing some or other song off-key. He lit up a smoke and stumbled across to us. “Ladies,” he said. Then he kept walking.
“I’m dropping out of college. I’ve decided,” I said, looking out into the street.
“OK.”
“You don’t think I’m a loser for doing that?”
“Why should I?”
“‘College Drop-Out.’ I never thought I’d become that.”
“Mark Zuckerberg dropped out of college.”
“Who?”
“Zuckerberg. The boy who started Facebook?”
Boy—it’s funny how our view of people changes according to our ages. He’s older than I am...
“Well, I’m no Zuckerberg.”
“No.” Alex grabbed me by the shoulders. “But you are you. Don’t be a copycat. Just do what feels right at the time.”
She pulled me into her, held me again. She rubbed the back of my hair.
“Moving to England and being with all of you guys was the rightest thing I ever did,” I mumbled into her chest.
She squeezed me a little tighter. I knew she agreed.
From inside, the dissonant chorus of men singing got even louder. Soon it was all we could hear. Then the girls joining in. You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling.
All together now.
The sound traveled out on thick velvet drapes of baritones, basses and altos.
And then something broke that sound:
It was the sound of a chair breaking.
And a girl screaming: “Fuckin bitch!”
Dani?
And a male voice I didn’t recognize, saying, “What the fuck!?”
And then the unmistakable sounds of a full-blown barfight!
-2-
Alex and I rushed inside! Two guys ran straight into us, pushing us out the way! “Don’t go in there! There’s a barfight!” one of them said, standing on my toe in the process!
I pushed him off me, somehow jostled my way in and—
Oh, my God. Kayla was on some dude’s shoulder, pummeling his ba
ck! Her pink hair flailed wildly under the neon lights! Dani had her hands gripped into some skinny girl’s frizzy hair and Dani was pulling! There were other girls running into the melee. Two of them started smacking the dude that was holding Kayla up! Brad was there, his hands up, saying, “Baby, chill. It’s OK!”
And where were the boys?
I looked for them. And—
Oh, great.
Conall was leaning back on the counter, relaxed, easy, grinning, sipping on a Martini. He shrugged when I looked at him as if to say, Don’t ask me.
Trey was standing at the ready, but not stressed out.
Dani had this other girl on the ground and was trying to ram the woman’s head against the ground but two other girls had Dani by the shoulders and were saying, “Leave her, it’s not worth it!”
The girl on the ground was...
Oh, God, no...
It was the skank I’d seen earlier! Bettina’s crony! Damn it! I know she started this shit!
Dani screamed, “Get off of me!”
The bartender was on the phone.
Keith “Bup” Spiderman was chuckling at the bar as well. I frowned at him, and gestured my hands to the growing rumble so he could do something about it! And then he got suddenly serious. He got up off the bar, tapped Conall on the shoulder. He also tapped Trey on the shoulder, as if to say, OK, fun’s over.
Trey and Conall looked disappointed.
Trey went over to the guy holding Kayla up. She wasn’t letting up on the punches to the guy’s back! Trey grabbed her by the waist and then—
Out of nowhere, a guy came and slammed a fist into Trey’s lower back! The guy hit him with all his force!
Trey actually flinched, like a fly had landed on him.
The guy hit him again. Trey frowned.
The guy stood back, incredulous that his hard fist had hardly registered.
My hand went up to my mouth. “Oh, no.”
Trey looked down at the dude.
And then it was mayhem...
-3-
Conall got involved. He’d been simply trying to keep people from murdering each other until one skinhead dude pushed him forward so that Conall almost fell. Conall turned. The skinhead dude had his fist mid-swing! I cried out—
But I didn’t need to. Conall ducked! A rib-cracking fist went into the skinhead’s midsection from Conall’s mighty arm! The guy crumpled into himself. Conall stood watching the man as he teeter-tottered back on one foot, then another... Would he fall? Wouldn’t he? The man’s eyes went up into his head.
And then he did fall.
Smokey Gold Tooth got involved.
“Just Jack” Eastwood was pulling bodies off the ground after one of the West-End Boys had either punched, kicked or hit them.
The guy who’d been holding Kayla up suddenly dropped her and ran! He was out past me in a flash! I almost stuck my foot out to trip him but I wasn’t sure if he’d been helping her or hurting her! (It looked like he’d been simply keeping her away from Dani and that other chick.)
The guy who’d hit Trey was long since on the floor.
Alex pulled me aside so we didn’t get hit by flying bodies or chairs.
There was a flash! And another! People were in the corners with their mobile phones, filming or taking photographs! A bottle hit a girl who’d been staring at her iPhone and she screamed, “Bloody hell!”
Another bottle smashed. A chair went whizzing through the air in Conall’s direction but he flicked it away with his forearm.
Dani and the skinny girl were still going at it! Dani was yanking her hair and pulling! Two other girls were trying to pull Dani off Bettina’s crony! The crony’s arms flailed and grabbed at Dani’s pale arms. “Get off of me, you fat bitch!” the crony cried.
That pissed Dani off. She started slamming the girl’s head to the ground. “I’m. Not. Fat!”
The crony kneed Dani in the ass! Dani, straddled across the crony’s waist, jumped up and down every time she got kneed. It looked remotely like a cheap porno flick!
Somebody laughed. (I confess, so did I.)
And then the sirens came.
And like roaches exposed to the light, the bar emptied out.
Except, of course, for us.
-4-
British cops are very polite. And none of them carry guns. Conall and Trey were laughing on their way to the local jailhouse, apparently. When I got there (Alex and I weren’t arrested) they were already out of their cells.
“It was all on camera,” Conall said to me. “They could see we were just trying to break up the fight and then had to defend ourselves.”
He was still smiling. “You enjoyed it, didn’t you!” I accused.
He shrugged, put an arm around me. “Come, let’s go home. Trey will take care of the rest.”
Right, because Trey always took care of these touchy “legal” situations!
In the train back to Conall’s mansion (we would be staying at Crawley Down tonight, going back to West Sussex tomorrow) I asked Conall what the deal had been.
“Some girls from your college were there. They picked a fight with Kayla, and then Dani got offended and headbutted one of them.”
“Dani?”
“Yes, Dani.”
I couldn’t stop myself from smiling.
-5-
“I take it Dani will be charged, then?” I asked.
“Technically, she was provoked. Trey will pull some strings.”
“Trey constantly getting us out of trouble makes me worry you’ll take up a life as a vigilante or something! I saw you smiling at the bar!”
“Hey, don’t talk to me. Talk to your crazy girl bodyguards!”
I smiled again, wider this time.
CHAPTER SIX
-1-
Sunday.
Dani might have gotten off the hook through Trey’s magic intelligence community fingers. But my situation at the college with Bettina wouldn’t be so simple.
I called my dad and he told me I should follow my heart. He told me that he never got a college education, and look at him today. He was a millionaire. He’d even muscled his way into the Upper East Side, a community known for blocking the sale of condos to people that didn’t come from Old Money, instead shoving them off over onto the West Side where the Bonos and Hoffmans and Kidmans of the world lived.
Dad had not only bought and lived in an Upper East Side condo for many years, he’d also made friends with some of the rougher characters of the neighborhood, the sharks with bigger teeth than gangsters: You know, Wall Street and Madison Avenue men.
“I never insisted on you goin to college, Leo,” he told me. He didn’t add that that had always been my mom’s game, but he didn’t need to. My alcoholic mother had pushed the college game down my throat every time she’d gotten divorced and re-married.
“You need a degree so you don’t end up needing a man to support you,” she’d often said. It had been tantamount to a confession of guilt on her part as far as I could see.
But mom hadn’t been talking about good old-fashioned “support.” Mom, judging by her actions, had been talking about Diamonds, Gold, Expensive Dinners—that kind of support.
I have no need for these things. I’d seen how chasing them had destroyed my mother’s life. I’d seen how happy Maria Gonzalez had been—the woman who really raised me, in between cooking for me and providing a shoulder for me to cry on when my actual mother wasn’t there.
I went over it with Conall as well. As usual, he was already one step ahead of me. “Ever heard of Carlo Fabiano?” he said.
My jaw dropped. “Ever heard of the pope!?”
Carlo Fabiano was the new Gucci, the new Versace. In Britain, he’d won both the International Designer of the Year and the Designer Brand of the Year awards the year before. The year before that he’d won the New Establishment Designer Award, an award for significant growth of a designer. He owned a Ready-to-Wear store in the high-end of London, and also did some Haute Couture work
for select clients (and by ‘select’ I mean royalty.)
“Well, I know him. He said he’d apprentice you if he felt you were worth it.”
My jaw dropped further down. “You...know...him?”
Conall shrugged. “Sure.”
My tongue went dry, so I closed my mouth.
“Before you get any ideas,” he said, “Carlo is a hard-working man. He’s not doing this because you’re my fiancée.” Damn, I never get sick of hearing that word! “Apparently he has a large staff turnover. He never says no to anyone wanting to work at his place. Girls and guys walk in the door and apprentice for him all the time—but few of them make it. He’ll take a risk on anyone.”
“How do you know him?”
“Met him at a dinner once.”
Kayla was back in West Sussex already—near the UE. I called her. And then Kayla floored me with a conclusion of her own: “I’m dropping out for sure,” she said. “I just don’t...fit in, Leo. I’ll find a job, I’ll work it out. But I think it’s ridiculous that I have to go to school for another four years so that I can get a job failing to climb the corporate ladder because I’m unwilling to suck some man’s cock to do it—or some woman’s kitty.” Trust Kay to put things in, well, “perspective.” “I’d been hanging in because you were doing it. Now that you’re keen to leave, well, there’s no point in me staying either.”
“Oh, great. So now I’m not only ruining my education, I’m ruining yours?”
“It’s bullshit, Leo. Almost a hundred grand a year in tuition fees—and what do you get, a paper that says you’re qualified to do something you could probably learn online? It’s a frickin scam.”
“Well, I don’t know if it’s a scam. Are you sure this is what you wanna do, Kay?”
“Leo, it’s been hell the last few weeks. Honestly, I feel like I’ve been wasting away days and days of good sex for nothing. And then I’m exhausted during the day because Brad wants to catch up all the time, all night. And, well, so do I.”
“You’re giving up a college education for...more sex?”
Deep South (Naive Mistakes #4) Page 4
