Roz smiled. “Thank you, Deuce. But you know you can call me Roz.”
“Yes, ma’am, I can. If I don’t mind Mr. Sinatra knocking me into next week. But since calling you Roz is not worth that particular pain to me, I’ll stick with Miss Graham.”
But Roz was dumbstruck. “Why would you say that? Mick wouldn’t,” she stared to say, but then caught herself. Because she didn’t really know what Mick would or wouldn’t do. Deuce, who’d been with him for years, did. And it didn’t look as if Deuce was kidding. It looked as if he really believed Mick would knock him into next week if he thought he was being disrespectful to Roz. It pleased and unnerved Roz all at once. What manner of man was she dealing with here? But she didn’t pursue it. That was why she was here. To find out for herself. She got into the limo, Deuce got behind the wheel, and they drove away.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The owner of Raphael’s was waiting at the curb when Mick’s limousine drove up. Mick did not immediately step out, as he was on the phone with some of his anxious partners who had been told about the breach. The driver kept the door closed during this time, which made the owner peeved, but the driver didn’t see where that was his fault. Nobody told him to come out here anyway. But when Mick did hang up and got out, buttoning his suit coat, the Spanish owner smiled as if there was no ill will at all, and extended his hand.
“Mr. Sinatra, welcome back to Raphael’s!”
He said it the way Ricardo Montalbon would have said it, and Mick smiled. “Thank you,” Mick said, and shook the owner’s hand. “How are you this evening?”
“I am fantastico, sir! And you?”
“I’m very well.”
“Good to hear it, sir. Good to hear it. But come. Come with me. Your table awaits you.”
Mick was escorted in, with all eyes on him since the owner almost never met someone’s car, and was seated at a table by the window. Mick ordered the best wine for himself and Rosalind and then phoned Deuce to find out if they were en route. Once Deuce assured him that he would have his lady there in a matter of minutes, Mick leaned back and relaxed. And tried not to think about the level of betrayals his organization were enduring. Five in one month. That was unheard of. The Dons wanted a meeting. They were concerned too. Mick thought that situation alone would dominate his every thought. And it mostly did. But Rosalind did too.
A part of him still recoiled at the thought of even attempting to get close to someone the way it appeared he was getting close to Rosalind. The idea that he found himself smiling every time he thought about her. The idea that he actually initiated a phone call with her every night since he last saw her. Every single night. He refused to let the conversations linger, however. He simply asked if she was okay, she said that she was, and then he told her he had to go. And he did. He was a busy man. But when he thought about it, when he realized he never bothered to phone and check on any other woman before, not ever, it was a remarkable turn.
More remarkable was the fact that she was against his usual type. He dated women of all races before. Beauty came in every color under the sun to Mick and he sampled every one. But she was no supermodel. She was no elite businesswoman. She was no socialite. She was no self-centered pampered princess like his other women were, women who seduced him as eagerly as he seduced them. His interest in all the others began and ended with their looks, with their bodies, with what he could do to them in bed.
But Mick’s interest in Rosalind was on a different level. As the waiter arrived with the drinks, and left, Mick thought about that level difference. Unlike his other ladies, Rosalind’s beauty wasn’t in her makeup or in how many plastic surgeries she could afford or in other artificial ways to keep the lips full and the cheeks high and the eyes wide. Rosalind’s beauty wasn’t bold like that. It was natural. It was subtle. It was so subtle that many men probably missed it.
But not Mick. He saw it as clearly as he saw the world. Rosalind’s beauty went deep to him. It was in her smile, and the way she carried herself, and the way she refused to lose her integrity just to get what she wanted. She could have been in Barry’s play. If Mick would have insisted, he knew Barry would have granted him that request. But she refused to rig the game. She refused to skip the line just because somebody offered her the chance. She also turned his ass down, the first woman to ever do so. Mick smiled just thinking about that turn down, and how floored he was after she did it. He saw her differently. It was as if every other woman he ever showed interest in was on one side, and Rosalind stood apart on the other side.
He never kept a woman around for any appreciable time, so there was never women waiting in the wings for his love. But what was truly odd was the change in approach. Because oddly enough, ever since he invited Rosalind to come to Philadelphia, he hadn’t slept with anyone, he hadn’t asked to sleep with anyone, he hadn’t even answered the call from women interested in sleeping with him. Not that he didn’t have urges and needed a night with a lady. He needed several nights. But he knew he had to sacrifice if he was going to give this brand new, fresh out of the box relationship a chance.
He even got HIV-tested, even though, after twenty years of wearing condoms, he knew he was clean. But go figure. For Rosalind’s peace of mind, he got tested. And then he text her a copy of the negative results before she came. But what was wonderful to him was that she text him her results too. He smiled all day, not because she was negative, but because it was a done deal. For the first time in two decades, he was not going to wear a condom. Just before he had his last child, he was young and dumb and thought he was invincible. He almost never wore a condom and ended up fathering children left and right. He had three grown sons and one grown daughter, and Shane, who was not his biological child, but was supported by him. But regardless, he was not a good father to any of them.
Now he was talking about giving love a chance. A man like him who didn’t deserve shit. But he wanted Rosalind. It pained him just thinking about it, because he knew how selfish he was being. But he wanted her.
He wanted her so badly, and in such a great way, that he had been excited all day about her arrival. He hadn’t been excited about anything in years, but he was excited about her arrival. He sent his plane for her, and the plan was for him to meet her at the airstrip when the plane arrived. But the breach took precedent and he had to leave it to Deuce, his best and most trusted driver, to get her safely to his home. Then the plan changed again when he ended up on the outskirts of town handling the breach. He couldn’t do dirt like that and then go straight to her. He needed time alone. To decompress. To feel human again. So the plan changed again. But no more changes, he thought. He hadn’t seen Rosalind in weeks. He missed her. It was her time now.
And when she walked into the restaurant, he realized why he felt warmth just thinking about her. She looked stunning to him. The way she wore that dress. The way her hair, worn straight with a fluff of curls at the tip, bounced as she walked. The confidence she exuded would put supermodels to shame. But it was more than that. He missed her. He missed the way she made him laugh. He missed the way she knew how to put matters into perspective. And yes, he had to admit, he missed the way she made him feel when he fucked her.
He stood up as she smiled and made her way to his table. And the way, once she saw him she hurried to him, as if she was as excited to see him as he was to see her. It warmed his heart all over again. And when they met, they hugged and held each other for a long time. The Maître d, who escorted her to the table, just stood there. But Mick didn’t care. He was not a man given to public displays of affection ever, but this was Rosalind. Everything was different when it came to her.
They finally stopped embracing, did a simple kiss on the lips, and sat down. And Mick was right. Rosalind was excited too.
“May I get you anything, ma’am?” the maître d asked.
“Yes,” Roz said, handing him the glass of wine that sat in front of her. “A fresh drink.”
The maître d seemed offended. “But ma’am, t
he drink in question was just brought to your table. It is fresh.”
Mick looked at him with those cold eyes Roz noticed he could turn on in a flash. “What did the lady tell you to do?” he asked.
The maître d nearly lost his lunch. He saw the boss escort this man into the restaurant. “She told me to get her a fresh drink.”
“Get her a fresh drink,” Mick ordered.
The maître d bowed, and left.
Roz didn’t think it was all that serious for Mick to intervene that way, but she was fairly certain that was just his way of doing business. Iron fist all the way. “Not that I think anything was wrong with that drink,” she pointed out. “Or that you did anything with it. Heavens no. But some creep put a roofie in my drink once. He didn’t get away with it. One of my girlfriends saw him and called him out on it. But I’ve been cautious ever since.”
Mick lifted his drink to her. “And so you should,” he said, pleased that she was nobody’s fool. “I would be disappointed if you weren’t.”
He sipped from his glass. She smiled. “So,” she said, unable to suppress her excitement. “We meet again, Mr. Sinatra!”
He couldn’t suppress his either. “Yes, we do, Miss Graham!”
“When I told my dad about you, and that I was coming to Philadelphia to spend some time with you and get to know you better, he---”
“He had many questions I’m sure.”
“Always.”
“Such as?” Mick asked. “No, let me guess. He wanted to know why I didn’t take my ass to New York. Why did you have to come see me? He said that, didn’t he?”
Roz laughed. “He did. Yes, he did.”
“I’m psychic,” Mick said. “For my services I should charge.”
“He also asked if you were some kin to, and I quote, ‘the great Frank Sinatra.’”
Mick nodded. He got that all the time too.
“I asked him who in the world was Frank Sinatra,” Roz said. “Well after he got up from the floor, he’s a musician, you see, he took me to school on who exactly Frank Sinatra was. But of course I already knew. I love teasing my pops that way. When I told him I was teasing, he laughed. He was more relieved than angry.”
Mick smiled. “He sounds like a good guy.”
Roz nodded. “He is. He’s my best friend. He still has his struggles with his career, and I have struggles with mine. We can relate to each other. We look out for each other.”
Mick loved to hear that. “Keep it that way,” he said. “And if your father ever wishes to meet the man you came to spend time with, just say the word and I will make myself available.”
Roz was pleased to hear that. “Thank you, Mick,” she said, heartfelt. He really was a good guy, she felt. Every time she was around him she felt nothing but positive energy. But why would a sweet guy like Deuce McCurry be so afraid of him? Which reminded her of something she read about Mick that bothered her royally. But in time, she thought, they would discuss it.
After placing their dinner orders, they settled down to elevator music in surround sound and the sound of very light, very polite chatter. Roz was used to Brooklyn eateries. She was used to noise and lots of it. But this was a welcomed change.
“Is this one of your favorite restaurants?” she asked him.
“I’ve only been here once. But I heard it was among the best in town. Since you deserve the best, I made a reservation. Excuse me.” Mick pulled out his buzzing cell phone and read a text message.
Roz watched him as he read. The idea that he would say she deserved the best was sweetness to her ears. Of course, he could be just saying that to have his way with her. But she agreed to come to Philadelphia. It seemed to her that alone meant he was already having his way with her. That was no longer an issue. And the fact that even his house manager acknowledged that he never allowed other females to stay inside his home, let alone in his bedroom, was another point in his favor. Although the trip started off rocky: she was a little pissed when he was too busy to meet her plane. But it was recovering nicely. It was now going the way she had hoped it would before she came.
“Sorry about that,” Mick said, putting his phone in his suit coat pocket without bothering to respond to the text. “Where were we?”
“We were speaking of reservations. Which reminds me. I reserved a hotel room.”
Mick frowned. “What the devil for? I made arrangements for you to stay with me.”
“But since you failed to share those arrangements with me, I had to cover my ass. Or head as it were.”
He smiled. “My error.” Then his look changed. “Cancel it,” he ordered.
Roz didn’t particularly like the fact that he made it sound like an order, but since she’d already canceled it, it wasn’t an issue. “I did,” she said.
Mick was relieved. “Good.”
And then their dinner orders arrived ahead of people who had been sitting far longer, and had ordered far sooner, than they had. Roz even heard a few of them point that fact out to the wait staff. But since she had nothing to do with that, she ate. They both were hungry and ate vigorously.
The Look of Love, a Burt Bacharach/Hal David tune, was heard as they ate. And Roz felt some kind of happy way. Because it was a song from her youth. It was the kind of music her father used to play in clubs and smoke-filled dives when she was a kid, and he’d sneak her in backstage. Her mother used to hate him for it, but he didn’t care. He did it anyway. Over and over. She loved him for that.
The look of love
Is in your eye
The look your smile can’t disguise.
Mick felt some kind of happy too as he ate and listened to the melodic sound. And Roz ate as vigorously as he was eating. Not as if she was some bird, the way his previous dates would handle it. She even belched, which made him laugh out loud.
Roz covered her mouth. She was mortified. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said, heartfelt. “You’re a piece of work and I like it.”
Roz smiled too, her dimples on full display. “You aren’t exactly a masterpiece yourself, buddy,” she said, and they both laughed.
After dinner, after their plates had been taken away and their fellow diners’ plates were just arriving, they continued to chill and listen to the music. Mick especially seemed mellow. It seemed like the perfect time, Roz thought, to talk.
“So you had another long day,” she said.
He nodded. “Always.”
“I know right? It’s like every time you phone me it’s ‘hey. How you doing. Gotta go. Bye.’ Not that I’m complaining. I’m not.” Then she looked at him. “At least you phoned.”
Mick considered her. She was a woman who demanded respect. And when she didn’t get it, she felt it. He realized in that moment that she probably felt slighted. “I apologize for not meeting your plane,” he said.
She looked at him. “It was a bit of a shock, I have to be honest. You invite me to come, and I leave my own busy life and come to spend time with you, but you aren’t at the airport?”
“Were you pissed?”
She couldn’t lie to him. “A little,” she admitted.
He smiled. “Thank you for being honest. And yes, I had every intention of being there. But business, you know, keeps me jumping about.”
Roz laughed. “Jumping about, hun? Like a grasshopper. But I don’t know. Mick the Grasshopper just doesn’t have that ring, you hear what I’m saying?”
Mick laughed. “Good.”
“Whereas Mick the Tick?” Roz said, staring at him. “Now that’s a nickname.”
Mick’s smile remained, but it was fading fast. But that was why she had come: to see what kind of man she was getting herself involved with.
“That’s your nickname, right?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yes. Yes, it is.”
“What does it mean?”
Mick considered her. “What does it mean to you, Rosalind?”
She loved the way he pronounced her name. And she would have let it sl
ide. But she couldn’t. Ever since she read that he had such an odd nickname, it bothered her. It sounded gangster. Like Sammy “The Bull” Gravano. Like “Machine Gun” Kelly. This was important to her. “Could it mean that you have some sort of tic?” she asked.
Mick wanted to smile, but he could see the concern in her eyes. “No. I have no tic.”
Then it was what she had hoped it wasn’t. “Could it mean you’re like a ticking bomb? Like a ticking time bomb, temper-wise?”
He knew she was bright. But was she tough enough to handle it? “Yes,” he said. “That’s what it means. If someone is loyal to me, they have no problem with me. If someone crosses me, then yes, I explode. That’s what it means, Rosalind.”
“From when you were a kid? Or is it still applicable today?”
“It had more meaning when I was younger man. Because I had more rage then. But I cannot lie to you. I still have my moments.”
Roz was willing to bet that was a grand understatement. She sipped from her drink. Then she considered him. “If you ever hit me,” she said, “I’ll hit you back.”
He smiled. “I understand.”
“You think you’re a ticking time bomb. Hit me. I’ll show you ticking.”
He laughed. “You have nothing to worry about I assure you.”
She smiled. And nodded. “That’s alright then.”
“So my nickname does not scare you?”
“It would have been nice if you had a normal nickname like Biff or Skip.”
He laughed.
“But since you’ve already warned me that you’re no angel, I wasn’t expecting angelic.”
She kept it real. He liked that. He missed that.
Roz considered him. She had missed him too. “You do look exhausted, though, Mick,” she said.
A bullet tearing through Pomp Valance’s head suddenly flashed across Mick’s mind. He quickly dismissed it. “You look well rested,” he said. “That’s what matters to me.”
Mick Sinatra: For Once In My Life Page 14
