Simple Intent (7 page)

“Gina, I swear I wouldn’t ask if I knew any other way. I’m telling you, he’s going down. Unless—”

“Jesus, Eddie. Unless what? Unless I lie?”

“I know, I know. It sounds like a lie, but Gina, come on. It’s not like it hasn’t happened before, right? Lou has spent the night. He has been drunk. These are all things that have happened, aren’t they?”

“Well, sure, but...”

“Listen to me, Gina. If he does the time, what will happen to you? What about Holly? Please. Do it for me. For old times sake.”

Gina snorted. “Old times, huh, Eddie? Yeah, I remember those old times.” Her voice was low and angry. “Turning tricks in the street, sleeping in the back of unlocked cars. Those were the good old days. Shit.”

“Gina. I need you.” 

She stood there with her arms crossed, eyes on the floor, in her sensible waitress shoes and yellow pom-pom socks. Finally she tipped her chin to the ceiling and exhaled loudly. 

“Only for you, Eddie. Not for him.” She looked Deluca in the eye. “Only for you.” 

Deluca hopped off the stool, leaned over the counter and kissed her. “Thank you. I’ll need you in the office later. Call Mimi, okay?”

Gina nodded. 

Deluca peeled a fifty from his money roll and slid it under the coffee cup just as his pager went off. He turned, halfway to the exit, shot back a wide grin and winked. 

Gina had to smile. She watched him leave, then turned away shaking her head. “Fucking Eddie. You do it to me every time.”

“What’s that, Boss?’ The cook stood next to Gina, rubbing at a stain on his apron.

“Nothing, Chuck. Just talking to myself. So, what’s the soup today?”

Sonja checked the greenhouse, study and exercise room. Maybe Miss Chetta was enjoying one of her foreign films in the media room. She passed the kitchen where the chef stood at the marble workstation, his whisk tapping the sides of a deep copper bowl. 

“Stephan, have you seen Miss Chetta?”

“Not since breakfast. She said something about going into town.” He dipped a spoon into the creamy mixture and held it out to Sonja. “Here, tell me what you think.”

The soft warm cream melted on her tongue. Honey and cinnamon mingled with a tart spike of something. She swallowed, licked her lips, then guessed, “Anise?”

“Very good. You’re learning, Sweetie. But, do you like it?” 

Sonja blushed. Sweetie. “Of course. Of course I love it, Stephan. I love all your desserts.” She tugged her long jacket over her ample hips and watched him dip another strawberry into the bowl. The fruit rested on his full lower lip as his tongue darted out to lick the dollop of cream on the tip. Sonja sighed.

Stephan popped the fruit into his mouth and turned back to the stove. “She might be in her dressing room, Sweetie. Did you try there?” 

“Um. No, I’ll just head over there, I mean up there now.” Sonja began backing out of the room. “Is there anything you need? That is, if Miss Chetta is going into town, is there anything you need her to pick up?”

He called over his shoulder, “Just one order of tall, dark, and handsome.” 

Sonja laughed. “Yeah, me too.”

In the closet of her dressing room, Maria Chetta knelt in front of a large wall safe. She added a cassette tape and two envelopes to a bulging leather satchel then closed the safe door and pulled the evening gowns back into place. 

Sonja knocked. “Miss Chetta? I have some papers for you to sign.”

Maria left the leather bag in the closet and walked to the door. “Come in.” She sat in the chair at her antique vanity as Sonja passed her the papers. “Is that it then?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I’ll get these out right away.” Sonja turned to leave. “Oh, one more thing. Will there be anyone joining you for dinner?”

“No. Not tonight. Just tell Stephan to serve something light, and not until seven.”

“Seven?”

“Yes, I’m going into town. I may be delayed.” 

Sonja stood at the door, a question on her face. 

“Was there anything else, Sonja?”

“No, Miss Chetta.” 

Maria heard Sonja’s receding footsteps, waited a moment then retrieved the satchel.

Paris dimmed the lights and adjusted the volume on the CD player. Music filled the room mingling with jasmine incense. She checked her reflection. Hair perfectly tousled, makeup artfully natural, lips plump, zebra-print panties barely visible under the open wrap. Smiling and humming to Ravel’s Bolero, she sashayed on feathered mules into the living room then arranged herself on the divan.

A bottle of Veuve Cliquot Ponsardin peeked from the sterling ice bucket. Two crystal flutes waited to be filled as a key turned in the lock and the penthouse door opened.

“In here, darling.” Paris Kendrick twisted the diamond band on her finger, adjusted her robe and turned to welcome Ted Montgomery.

Maria exited the bank adjusting her sunglasses. She glanced up and down the street. Boys with green and purple hair on skateboards to the north. A scattering of obvious tourists complete with maps and walking sandals to the south. Just another summer day at the cape. She hurried across the street to the parking lot, the empty leather satchel hanging loosely at her side.

Sailor cradled the phone as she finished applying the top coat of nail polish. “No Dad, I don’t sound tired. I sound like I’m working hard and learning. Now stop worrying and tell me about dinner at the Smith-Houghtons.” Sailor wished she could be there with him, wondered what he’d think of his little girl in her grungy sweats with her home manicure. He’d always provided the best for her and expected the best in return. Dr. Beaumont was tough but fair, and Sailor respected and loved him. He’d been both father and mother the last ten years, and Sailor wanted nothing more than to please him, to make him proud of her. 

“Your mother is watching you, Sailor.”

“Dad. I wish you wouldn’t say that.”

“I know. You don’t want to talk about it. I’m just saying that she’s with you in spirit. Philadelphia is your town too.”

“Okay, Dad.” Sailor glanced over at the family photo on the end table. A smiling, nappy-haired girl holding a Pooh bear stood between a tanned, blond couple in tennis whites. “I’ll call you soon.” Sailor hung up, and then sunk back into the couch, blowing lightly on her drying nails.

REILLY was on. The whites of his green eyes weren’t too red today, his clothes were neatly pressed, shoes shined, tie knotted perfectly. He wore cologne that hinted of scarf-draped women in exotic lands. In the secretarial bullpen, six young ladies leaned over the cubicle walls, all breasts and teeth. Five others stalled en route to urgent meetings.

Reilly said, “A guy phones a law office, says, ‘I wanna speak to my lawyer.’ The receptionist tells him, ‘I'm sorry but he died last week.’ Next day he phones again, asks the same question. The receptionist says, ‘I told you yesterday, he died last week.’ Next day, the guy calls again and asks to speak to his lawyer. By this time the receptionist is getting annoyed and says, ‘I keep telling you that your lawyer died last week. Why do you keep calling?’ The guy says, ‘Because I just love hearing it.’”

As the ladies laughed and repeated the punch line, Reilly searched the room.

Behind him, she said, “Looking for someone?” 

Reilly smiled, turning around. “Good morning.” 

Victoria wore glasses today, giving the impression of a studious Playboy centerfold. “Good morning to you, funny man. Don’t forget, you’ve got to run down that depo before the meeting with Harry.” 

“Don’t worry Sweden. I’ll be right behind you and let me say, it’s not a bad place to be.”

“Hey, Reilly.” Missy broke in, touching Reilly’s arm. “Do you have it?”

Reilly reached in his pocket and pulled out a small square of paper. He passed it to Missy, his eyes still on Sweden.

Missy snatched it. “You’re the best!” She took off to the break room, waving the paper. “I’ve got Reilly’s top ten!”

Sweden raised her brow. “They all love you, don’t they?”

Reilly said, “I don’t know. Do they?”

Sweden shrugged, then pushed up her glasses and walked away, feeling Reilly’s eyes on her back.

Across town in Paris Kendrick’s penthouse, Ted Montgomery felt obligated to ask, “How long will Arnold be gone this time?’ 

Paris rolled onto her side, propping her newly tightened face on her chemically treated hand. “The usual. Three weeks. He’ll be back just in time for the Van Gogh opening. Are you taking Alice?”

“Oh hell, probably. She hired a house manager last month, and already this broad has us committing to every damn invitation that comes along. Alice says we need to be seen at more charity and social events. Some crap about the firm’s importance to the community, and our commitment to mankind.” Ted tugged gently on the silk sheet covering Paris, drawing it down across her surgically enhanced forty-something breasts, past her lipo-suctioned abdomen, all the way down to her carotene-lotioned pseudo-tanned thighs of steel.

“Umm-hmm. Now that’s what I call mankind.” 

Paris giggled as Ted buried his face in her breasts.

Deluca primped at the mirror, speaking into his headset. “Mariel, I swear, I’ll be there. You know how it is with these high profile cases, if they call at the last minute, I have to go. Why don’t you meet me at Le Bec Fin? The press will be there and you can show off your new stones.” He walked to the couch and lay back on the cushions. “So, baby? What are you wearing, now?”

“Chuck! I’m out of here!” Gina slipped into her sandals, while pulling bobby pins out of her loose bun.

“Okay, Boss.” Chuck poked his head through the order window. “Anything else you need done before the lunch rush?”

“No, I think we’re good. Susie should be here in ten minutes. Table eight’s already paid. He can sit there as long as he wants.” Gina shook out her hair and smoothed the front of her dress. “How do I look?”

“You look great. You got a date or something?”

“Hi’s coming around. He’s taking me to the zoo.”

“Tell that guy, Chuck said to watch his manners. He’s in the company of a lady. And besides, if he pulls any crap on you, I’ll be happy to bust his fuckin’ nose again.”

“Aw, Chuck. What would I do without you?’ Gina blew him a kiss from the door, bells jingling behind her as it slapped shut.

The air was heavy and warm. A slight breeze from the south served only to stir up the downtown smells—Chinese food from Huy Fong’s, pitch tar from the roofing job at Starbucks, bus exhaust, bad cigars. Gina kicked a few cigarette butts over the curb, checked the street traffic and began to pace. She had always been a pacer. It helped her think. That and a long hot shower. 

Her Grandmother used to say, “Gina Lee, if we had an eight-foot shower and a ninety-gallon water heater, you could solve all the world’s problems.” God, she missed her Nana. 

“Excuse me, Miss?”

Reilly held an old street atlas and a piece of paper with an address. “Could you tell me where the One Hour Dry Cleaner is? It’s supposed to be Fifth and—”

“Yeah, they moved last month. Ernie lost his lease; he’s over by the bookstore now.” Gina pointed, “Go two blocks down and turn right at McNally’s.”

Reilly saw her do something with her arm, but he was really watching her face. She had the most amazing lips. “Uh, thanks. I appreciate it.” He stood there, staring. 

She smiled, so he asked, “Can I buy you a cup of coffee? I mean, to thank you for your help.” 

Still smiling, she cocked her head.

“I’m Reilly.” He extended his hand. “Kenneth Reilly.”

“How do you do.” She grasped his hand firmly. “Mr. Reilly, I’m Gina. That’s my place.” Her eyes motioned to the diner. 

His followed to the neon sign flickering, “Nana’s.” 

She said, “I’m all coffee-ed out for the moment, but thank you for the offer. Could I have my hand back now?” 

“Oh, sorry.” Reilly released his grip. “Maybe some other time, then?”

“Some other time, then.”

A shiny Impala pulled up to the curb, rattling to a stop with Sinatra singing, “Luck be a Lady Tonight.” A well-groomed Hiram Berger leaned over the roof of the car. He held a long-stemmed rose in his teeth. Gina laughed. She waved to Reilly as they pulled away. 

He watched for a long time, until the Impala was lost in a sea of cars headed to the highway.

Banning signed the last page of a thick document then hit the intercom. “Helen, see if Deluca’s around. I need to borrow Jeremy.”

Helen picked up the phone wishing she could borrow Jeremy, too. 

DeLuca’s henchman, Jeremy Strom, was revered at MDB&S. He was the stuff tall tales were made of—six-four, two-ninety, with thighs like tree trunks, biceps like bowling balls, and an oak barrel chest—he was an anatomical masterpiece. And when God made Jeremy, he didn’t stop at his body. He gave him large cornflower blue eyes, high Nordic cheekbones, and a perfect smile. Like the hero on the cover of a romance novel, Jeremy Strom was beautiful.

“So, you’re really going to do it?’ Helen asked from the doorway. 

“I’m really going to do it. I should have done this years ago. Tell me again, Helen, how did I get here?’ Banning looked around his plush office.