A Santangelo Story

A Bonus Santangelo Story: Part I

A Bonus Santangelo Story: Part II

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About the Author

Bobby Stanislopolous Santangelo could stop a room cold—he was that good-looking. Over six feet tall, twentysomething, dark and handsome, women loved him. He had that young John Kennedy Jr. thing going for him. Style, class, and sex appeal. Not to mention money—for he was the heir to two fortunes. His father’s, the late Greek billionaire Dimitri Stanislopolous, and his mom’s, the very much alive and wildly beautiful Lucky Santangelo—a true maverick who owned and built Las Vegas luxury hotels and apartment complexes.

In spite of his rich heritage, Bobby was his own man, and after dropping out of college, he’d headed for New York where he’d opened a very successful club/restaurant—Mood—with his best friend, M.J. The also handsome, African American M.J. —son of a famous neurosurgeon—ran the place, and together they had plans to rule the late-night club scene. So far, it was working out just fine.

Bobby enjoyed his life. He had a great apartment, a successful club, and as many women as he could manage. Not that he was into juggling women—he kind of preferred relationships that lasted longer than one night. His mom, Lucky, had a fantastic marriage to Lennie Golden—the one-time comedian/movie star, who now wrote, produced, and directed his own independent movies. The two of them set a fine example. However, Bobby was not looking to settle down; he was too young and restless to stick with one woman for long. That was, until he met Serenity, and almost instantly he decided that staying with one woman was definitely the way to go.

Serenity was a Slovakian model with cat-like eyes, cut-glass cheekbones, overly full lips, a body that drove men wild, and cascades of wavy auburn hair. Currently a favorite of up-market swimsuit and lingerie catalogues, she was much in demand.

Bobby introduced himself to her at his club one night. It was drama at first sight.

He asked her out.

She turned him down.

He called her.

She did not return his calls.

He sent her flowers.

She did not acknowledge them.

Damn! This kind of disinterest never happened to him. So naturally he had to think of a new approach. And he did. He turned up at her apartment early one morning with bagels, cream cheese, smoked salmon, and an adorable Labradoodle puppy.

Her roommate, Inga, a six-foot-tall Swedish model, let him in, cooed over the puppy, and ran to fetch Serenity, who finally appeared and accepted his gifts.

She kept the bagels
and
the puppy, and a few nights later, agreed to have dinner with him.

He took her to a small, romantic Italian restaurant in the Village. She didn’t eat much, appeared bored, and spoke very little in a soft, heavily accented drawl.

After a lot of questions, he found out that she was twenty-two and, much to his surprise and disappointment, married.

“Is that why you wouldn’t go out with me?” he asked.

“I am separated,” she offered with a casual wave of her hand. “My husband, he very jealous man.”

“What does it matter if you’re not with him anymore?” Bobby asked.

“I do what I want,” she said casually, contradicting her previous statement.

Bobby’s pursuit of Serenity was long and arduous. The fact that she was so offhand about everything drove him crazy. He was used to women falling all over him. And she didn’t. She was cool, almost businesslike. She didn’t seem to care either way whether she saw him or not. Her attitude attracted him like a magnet.

Finally, after taking her to dinner five times, she accompanied him back to his apartment and slept with him.

The sex was hot.

The aftermath was not.

“You want to pay my rent?” she inquired, almost as soon as they’d finished making love.

He was stunned. Was she kidding him? There they were, lying next to each other in bed after incredible sex, and she was asking him if he wanted to pay her rent. It was crazy. She was a successful model, she didn’t need his money—or did she? What was the deal?

“No, I don’t want to pay your rent,” he said, puzzled and at the same time intrigued that she would make such a request.

She rolled over in bed, all smooth silky skin and long flowing hair. Reaching up, she gently touched his cheek and smiled slightly. “Are you sure, Bobby?” she murmured.

“I’m sure,” he replied, feeling relieved. Asking him to pay her rent was obviously her idea of a joke.

Not funny.

After their one night of passion Serenity stopped taking his calls and completely shut him out.

He was shocked and confused. What a bitch! A bitch he couldn’t wait to sleep with again. He was hooked, and that was not a good thing.

A few days later she turned up at a private party PUMA was throwing at Mood
,
and attached herself to the star deejay, Frankie Romano.

This pissed Bobby off big-time. Why the hell was she going after Frankie? Everyone knew that Frankie was a major womanizing cokehead whom M.J. sometimes hired for the occasional big party.

He made an attempt to talk to Serenity, but she blew him off, acting as if she barely knew him.

Furious, he grabbed hold of M.J. and told him to dump the deejay. M.J. wasn’t having it. “No way, man,” he argued. “Frankie’s the best in town.”

Seething, Bobby watched Serenity’s action with Frankie from the sidelines, ignoring the parade of girls coming on to him.

Plain fact. He wanted Serenity. Nobody else would do.

Plain fact. She wanted nothing more to do with him. And when he called her the next day, he discovered she’d changed her phone number, which really infuriated him.

“What’s Frankie Romano’s story?” he asked M.J.

M.J. didn’t seem to know much. “Seems like an okay dude. He sure as shit gets `em out on the dance floor. We like him.”

“Invite him for a drink,” Bobby said. “He’s working our club, so I should get to know him better, right?”

M.J. wasn’t fooled. He and Bobby went way back—they’d bonded in high school and stayed tight ever since. There wasn’t much they didn’t know about each other.

Frankie turned up stoned. Bobby launched right in.

“You’re seeing Serenity, right?” he asked.

Frankie gave a knowing grin. “You could say she’s one of many.”

“Yeah?” Bobby said, curbing an urge to wipe the smirk off Frankie’s face. “She asked you to pay her rent yet?”

“Huh?” Frankie started rapidly blinking.

“Her rent,” Bobby repeated. “The request usually comes after the first fuck.”

“Jeez!” Frankie said, frowning. “Are you shittin’ me?”

“Do I look like I am?”

Frankie began to laugh. “What’s the deal? Is she hookin’ on the side?”

Bobby hunched his shoulders. “Who knows?”

Two days later Frankie reported back.

“You’re on it, man. Last night I got her in the sack at my place, an’ right after we did it, she asked me.”

“What’d you say?”

“I bailed, gave her money for a cab, and told her to go home. That kinda action is not for me.”

Bobby nodded. It wasn’t for him either, but in spite of the fact that she’d slept with Frankie, he still couldn’t help wanting to see her again. Maybe one last time.

He waited a few days, then turned up at her apartment.

Inga, the six-foot Swedish model, answered the door.

“Oh,” Inga said, brushing back a lock of white-blond hair. “It’s you. Have you come to take the puppy back? I hope so, `cause I can’t look after it.”

Bobby shook his head. “Is Serenity around?”

Inga gave a dry brittle laugh. “Serenity is gone,” she said. “Went out on a date and never came back.”

“Where’s she gone?”

“I have no idea,” Inga said, gesturing vaguely. “She took nothing with her. No clothes, no money, not even her passport.”

“That doesn’t sound right.”

“Serenity has always been very secretive.”

“Did she need money?”

“Serenity need money?” Inga started to laugh again. “That girl has more money than any of us. She
collected
money, it was her passion. She kept bank deposit boxes filled with cash all over town.”

“Then why?”

“With Serenity there’s always a man involved,” Inga said mysteriously.

“Maybe her husband came back and whisked her off.”

“Do you know her husband?”

“No, I’ve never met him. He’s Russian, and quite a brute. But apparently a very sexy brute.”

“She must’ve talked about him.”

“Serenity doesn’t talk much.”

“Who did she go on a date with?”

“Some guy. I think he deejays at your club.”

“Was it Frankie?”

“Wow!” Inga exclaimed. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“I’m concerned. Aren’t you?”

“The only thing
I’m
concerned about is that Serenity pays her share of the rent. Believe me, that girl can look after herself.”

Later, when Frankie breezed into the club, Bobby was ready with questions.

“Where was Serenity going when she left your apartment?” he asked.

Frankie gave him a puzzled look. “Huh?”

“She hasn’t been seen since,” Bobby said, determined to find out more.

“So?” Frankie said, heading for the deejay booth. “That ain’t my problem.”

“She never went home,” Bobby said, following him. “Did you put her in a cab?”

“Do I look like a babysitter?” Frankie said sarcastically. “I gave her twenty bucks and said good-bye.”

“Nice.”

“What’s your deal?” Frankie said, seemingly unconcerned. “You know she was a lunatic. Trouble with a capital T. An’ hey—not that great in bed either.”

“That’s your opinion,” Bobby said, somewhat pissed that Frankie was putting her down.

“I tell it like it is, man,” Frankie said. “Now can we get off the subject and forget about her?”

Sometimes Frankie acted like a real asshole, but after a while, Bobby figured he was probably right, it was time to stop thinking about a girl who obviously
didn’t
give a rat’s ass about him.

Then two days later, the
New York Post’
s headline screamed GIRL’S NAKED BODY FOUND IN DUMPSTER. Bobby read the accompanying story and his stomach tightened.

It was Serenity.

He was sure of it.

Christ! Did Frankie have anything to do with it? That was the big question.

It turned out that the naked body discovered in the Dumpster was not Serenity. The naked girl was an eighteen-year-old college student who’d had too much to drink and ended up getting raped, beaten, and strangled.

She was definitely not Serenity.

Bobby was filled with mixed emotions. On one hand, he was relieved, and on the other, he felt guilty as hell that he’d suspected Frankie of committing such a heinous crime.

He confessed to Frankie what he’d been thinking, and they both had a good laugh about it.

“You got a real big imagination, man,” Frankie had said, shaking his head in wonderment that Bobby could think such a thing. “
Me
a freakin’ murderer! That’s some fucked-up shit.”

Soon after that, they began hanging out, which surprised both of them. The experience with Serenity seemed to have created a natural camaraderie between them. They actually liked each other, even though they hailed from totally different backgrounds. Frankie was the son of a tough Italian union boss. And Bobby came from money, money, money.

Still… Bobby could not completely forget about Serenity. Every so often, he checked in with Inga to find out if she’d heard anything. The answer was always no.

Frankie never wanted to talk about her. Every time Bobby brought her name up, he dismissed the conversation as if it was totally unimportant.

“Maybe we should report her disappearance to the police,” Bobby suggested after a month had passed and Serenity had still not reappeared.

“You fuckin’ crazy, man?” Frankie said, finally exhibiting a modicum of interest. “She’s a nutso model we both had a one-night stand with, then she took off. She’s probably lying on a beach in Brazil. What’s the big deal?”

“Yeah, but she left behind her passport, clothes—”

“Shit!” Frankie snapped. “How come you’re makin’ this into a federal case? Inga thinks she ran off with her old man, an’ come to think of it, I seem to remember her sayin’ something about maybe gettin’ back together with him.”

“
Now
you’re remembering this?” Bobby said, frowning. “How come you didn’t mention it before?”

“It wasn’t that important.”

“Jeez, Frankie!”

“You gotta calm down, man,” Frankie said sharply. “Serenity is one of those fucked-up beautiful babes who thinks she can get away with anything. She’ll come back when she feels like it. That’s her style.”

Inga happened to agree with Frankie, which was no surprise since they were already sleeping together.

Soon Frankie was spending all his time at Inga’s apartment, and after that, everyone seemed to forget about Serenity. Everyone except Bobby—who still couldn’t get her out of his head. He had a feeling he couldn’t shake. Something had happened to her—something bad.

Then one night Frankie let it casually drop that Serenity had come back.

Bobby was all over him. “You’re kidding? When? What did she have to say?”

“She turned up at the apartment yesterday morning,” Frankie said casually, as if it was no big deal. “Collected most of her stuff, an’ took off again.”

“Took off where?”

“Who knows?” Frankie said yawning. “Who cares? She stiffed Inga on the rent for the last two months. Inga’s royally pissed. She let her have it big-time.”

“How come you didn’t mention this before?” Bobby asked, annoyed that Frankie was acting so damn blasé, when he knew how concerned Bobby was. “You know I’ve been worried about her.”

“Your
dick
was the one doin’ the worrying,” Frankie quipped. “An’ hey—just like we thought—she was with her old man. They’re headin’ back to Europe, so now you can get her off your mind an’ start gettin’ laid again.”

“Did she, uh…ask about me?”

“C’
mon
, Bobby, you sound like a freakin’
girl
,” Frankie jeered. “Get over it. Serenity is history.”

So Bobby got over it. He went on a dating frenzy, until he got bored with a different girl every night. And shortly after that, Frankie dumped Inga, and M.J. broke up with his girlfriend, so the three of them were on the loose. They made a formidable trio, covering the New York nightlife. Three hot available guys on the prowl. The single life was definitely the way to go.

That was until Max, Bobby’s half sister, came to stay on a school break.

Max was the mirror image of Lucky. She had the same clouds of long curly black hair, full lips, and deep olive skin. However, her eyes were a hypnotic green—while Lucky’s were black—and Max favored colorful clothes, while Lucky was a black, white, and red woman.

Like her mom, Max was bold, street-smart, and full of life. She was, at seventeen, the full package. A fact that Frankie immediately noticed. Bobby saw his friend’s eyes light up the moment he brought her into the club. So he took Frankie to one side and gave him a stern talking-to. “Stay away from my sister,” he warned. “She’s a kid, and she’s certainly not for you. Got it?”

“Are you crazy?” Frankie said, feigning outrage. “I know she’s a baby, I wouldn’t touch her.”

“Make sure you don’t.”

But Bobby hadn’t reckoned on Max going after Frankie. And she did. With a vengeance. Because when Max saw something she wanted, she didn’t hesitate, and staying with Bobby in New York was an adventure that she planned on living all the way, especially as Ace, her boyfriend back home in L.A., was playing it too cool for her liking.

She came onto Frankie big-time, hanging out in the deejay booth, outrageously flirting, letting him know that she was available.

Frankie stayed strong, well aware that Bobby was watching him.

“What’s the matter?” Max whispered in his ear one night. “You scared of big brother?”

“No way,” Frankie responded, as Max pushed her young hard body up against his, tempting him.

“Then why don’t you invite me back to your apartment?” she insisted, licking her full lips. “We could have lots of fun.”

Flirting was Max’s favorite game, and Frankie was a real challenge. Max got off on challenges.

Frankie began to weaken. “Bobby’ll never let you out.”

“Bobby’ll never know,” she promised. “I can skip out while he’s asleep, and be back before he wakes.”

“Jeez…” Frankie mumbled, feeling the beginnings of a righteous hard-on. “I don’t know…”

“Yes you do!” Max exclaimed boldly. “Tonight.”

Finally Frankie couldn’t resist. His willpower level was way too low.

True to her word, in the early hours of the morning Max made it out of Bobby’s apartment and hopped a cab to Frankie’s. She was excited, thinking that maybe tonight was the night she might go all the way… It was about time.

Frankie greeted her at the door. He’d lit a few random candles and had R. Kelly playing on his iPod speakers.

Seeing him out of the club, Max began having second thoughts, especially when she noticed the residue of white powder sitting under his nose.

Maybe not
, she thought.

Too late. Frankie grabbed her, started kissing her, and that’s when she totally changed her mind. He had garlic breath and his hair smelled of cigarette smoke.

She moved deftly out of his grasp.

“I don’t feel so good,” she managed. “Got a scratchy throat, and I’m freezing.”

Being somewhat of a germ-phobe, Frankie immediately let her go.

Max started shivering.
I should have been an actress
, she thought gleefully.
I can play this all the way out of here.

Frankie fetched her an extra sweater, made her a cup of hot chocolate, and put her in a cab.

They both felt they’d had a narrow escape.

Much as he loved his little sister, Bobby couldn’t wait to ship her back to L.A. Max was a handful and then some. So when her visit was up, he personally took her to the airport. Lucky had been very specific with her instructions that he made sure Max got on the plane.

Shortly before saying good-bye, Max threw her arms around his neck and hung on tightly, assuring him that she couldn’t wait to come back for another visit.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, well aware that she seemed to have developed a crush on Frankie and that there was no way he was allowing her to return while Frankie was still on the loose. He sure as hell didn’t trust Frankie around his little sis, and he wasn’t so sure he trusted her either.

Just before moving through to join the security line, Max started taking off her coat.

Bobby did a double take on the long cardigan sweater she had on. It was a purple and green Missoni sweater, very distinctive, and identical to a sweater Serenity had possessed.

“Where’d you get that sweater?” he asked.

Without thinking, Max replied, “Frankie gave it to me.” And then, realizing she’d said the wrong thing, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and darted through the barrier leading to the security line, leaving Bobby behind.

Before he could grasp what she’d said, a familiar-sounding voice called out, “Bobby? Is that you?”

He turned to look, and there stood Inga—all six feet of her, festooned with Louis Vuitton carry-on bags, a wide smile, and by her side, an attentive airline escort.

He hadn’t seen Inga since she and Frankie split, and he’d forgotten how striking she was.

“Wow” he said, hugging her. “You look great.”

“Wow yourself,” she responded. “You look great, too.”

They smiled at each other.

“Bobby,” she said, with a small secret smile. “I shouldn’t really tell you this, but I always suspected I picked the wrong one.”

“Huh?” he mumbled, still wondering where Frankie had gotten hold of Serenity’s sweater. And why was it in Frankie’s possession?

“You or Frankie. Frankie or you,” Inga singsonged. “And guess who I chose?” She giggled. “Silly me.”

He decided not to reveal she was hardly his type. Too tall and too Nordic.

“Where are you off to?” he asked, trying to summon up some interest.

“L.A. A swimsuit shoot in Malibu.”

“Sounds like the place to be.”

“Yes, Bobby, it will be when
I’m
there,” she said, smiling coyly. “And I’m engaged,” she added, flashing a huge diamond ring. “You can tell Frankie I found me a millionaire.”

“Congrats.”

“Thank you.”

“So…uh… I haven’t seen you since Serenity came back and picked up her things,” he ventured. “How was she?”

“I
told
you not to worry about her,” Inga said, tossing back her long mane of hair. “She
still
owes me two months’ rent. One day I collect.”

“You got any idea where she is now?”

“No clue,” Inga said. “I don’t know, and I don’t care.”

“But she cleared out all her stuff? Everything? Right?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Well,” he said. “I hope you mentioned how concerned I was about her.”

“Ah, Bobby,” Inga sighed, reaching out to touch his cheek. “You are so
sweet
. I always liked that about you.”

Her airport escort butted in. “We have to go through security,” the man said. “You’re already running late for your flight.”

“Of course,” Inga said, blowing Bobby a kiss as her escort led her through a roped-off V.I.P. area. “Oh, yes, and Bobby,” she added over her shoulder. “I would’ve told Serenity how concerned you were, but I was away on location when she came back. Frankie saw her, I never did.”

And with those words she was gone, leaving Bobby with the distinct feeling of having been lied to. He was sure that Frankie had said Inga was around when Serenity came back. And if Inga wasn’t there, the only one to have seen Serenity was Frankie…

And what was with the sweater, Serenity’s sweater? How come Frankie had it? And when had he given it to Max?

Unfortunately both people he needed to question had passed through security, and there was no chasing after them.

Once again he began to have doubts.

And yet… Frankie was his friend. A little screwed-up, but he was still a good guy.

What the hell… Serenity was a distant memory, he was obsessing over nothing. Or was he?