Skin Games (12 page)

I was willing to risk everything for her.

They walked towards us.  My heart fell to the parquet floor and a ripe tomato jumped into my throat.

When they reached us, my trance just got worse.  The smell of shampoo and perfume was mesmerizing.  Her face had a dark complexion that was drastically contrasted by the shimmering diamonds that hung from her ears.  She looked at me and smiled.  Her teeth were whiter than pure, untouched snow, but probably not as white as my face must have looked.

Vinny and Tommy looked up from their conversation and exchanged hellos, but it was brief.  After just a couple of seconds, Nicole walked over to me.  Her friend followed.

“Hi,” she said.

I could feel Griff looking at me nervously, although I didn’t turn to look at him.  Vinny was trying to be nonchalant, but I could see him turn sideward to eyeball us.

I cleared my throat and said, “Hi, I’m Sean.”

She looked down and bit her lip.  It was so cute I wanted to cry.

“I know.  Shamrock Sean.  I know who you are.”

“And I know who you are.”

Her nose twitched as she laughed.  “I’ll bet.”

Her friend tapped her on the shoulder and said something in her ear.  Nicole nodded.

“Well.  See you later, I hope,” she said and followed her friend towards the back of the restaurant.

“I hope so, too,” I said aloud, although no one could hear.  She’d already walked off and the music was too loud for anyone else to hear.

Griff leaned over, and into my ear he said, “I don’t like it.”

“Shut up.”

“Neither does Vinny.”

I looked over at Vinny, who was glaring at me.  But when he saw me look at him, he looked back at the girl he’d been chatting with, and they continued their conversation.

Scrubby came back from the bathroom and said, “So, what did I miss?”

“Not much,” Griff said.  He was about to continue when I stepped on his foot in the darkness underneath the bar.  “Nothing at all.”

We turned back to the bar, and Griff and Scrubby downed their drinks and ordered more.  I sipped my seltzer and leaned against the bar.

The songs kept blasting out of the speakers, and we kept drinking our drinks and watching the beautiful people dance and play.  At some point I turned and noticed Vinny and Tommy leaving with the two girls.  I thought of my mother, home alone with a bottle of Beefeater and a pack of Virginia Slims while Vinny left with a girl about my age.  I could’ve been angry at Vinny, but mostly I just felt sorry for my mother.  She knew the type of guy that Vinny was.

I waded through the crowded dance floor to get to the men’s room.  On my way out, I saw Nicole and her friend sitting on a couch in the lounge.  She looked up at me, then waved me over.

“Sean, come on over,” she said.

I looked towards the bar.  Griff and Scrubby were standing there, same place as before with no plans to move any time soon.

“Come on,” she called again.  Her tone let me know that she wasn’t used to being kept waiting.

I walked over.  She patted her palms on the couch next to her.

“Sit.”

I sat down.

“You know my friend Kim, right?”

“Hi, Kim,” I said.

The music wasn’t quite as loud in the lounge.  We could hear each other without shouting too loud.

“I’m gonna go get a drink,” Kim said as she stood up.  The drink in her hand looked about two-thirds full.

“Okay, hon,” Nicole said.  She slid closer to me on the couch.  “So, you work for my father?”

“Yeah, sort of.  I work for Vinny.”

“Vinny who?”

“Vinny Macho.  You know Vinny Macho.”

“Of course I know Vinny Macho, since I was like two.  Vinny works for my daddy.  You know that.”

I nodded.  “Yeah.  Sure, I know that.  Everyone knows that.”

“Now what is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.  Doesn’t mean a thing.”

“Don’t be such a chicken shit.  Say what you’re thinking.”

“I’m not a chicken shit.  I’m not thinking anything.”

“Are you afraid of my father?”

“No,” I said with a coy smile.  “I’m afraid of you.”

Her eyes lit up, and she laughed and blew into my face.  Even her breath, laced with Vodka, smelled good.

“Good answer, Sean.  You should be.”

“Ha.  Ha.  Very funny.”

“Hey, you wanna dance?”

I looked over at the bar area.  Scrubby and Griff hadn’t moved a muscle.

“I dunno.”

“Come on,” she stood up and grabbed my arm.  “Let’s go.  It’ll be fun.”

She led me by the arm out of the lounge and into the main room.  She didn’t stop walking until she was dead center, just below the hanging disco ball.  Then she started to move.

The song was up tempo—really fast.  Nicole had no trouble keeping up.  She was a natural.

I wasn’t.  I wasn’t a natural dancer at all, but I did my best to stay in step with her.  I guess I didn’t make a total ass of myself because she was having a lot of fun.  And we kept at it for five or six songs straight.  Until, finally, her face red and just a tiny hint of sweat dripping down the side of her ear, she started back towards the lounge.

I followed her.

Our couch had been taken over by a couple of muscleheads and their dates, so Nicole found an empty chair and plopped down while sucking in air.

“Wow, you wore me out,” she said.

“I wore you out?  You were rockin’ it out there.”

“You did okay yourself, Sean.”

“I tried.”

I looked behind me and Scrubby Mike walked in, followed by Griff.

“Hi, Mike,” Nicole said.

He nodded to her, then said to me, “Let’s go.”  With a quick jerk of his neck, he motioned towards a lit-up exit sign.

“Come on, Mike,” Nicole said.  “Sean is hangin’ with me.”

“We have to go,” he said.  Without another word, he walked to the side exit.  Griff followed.

Nicole stood up and said, “You don’t have to listen to him.  Stay for a while.”

“I think I should probably go.  But I had fun.”

“You don’t have to take orders from him.  He isn’t your boss.  Vinny is.”

“Yeah, but he’s kinda like, my superior, you know?”

“No, I don’t know.  But if you have to go, Shamrock Sean, you run along.”

“Will I see you again?”

“I’m here all the time.  They make great pizza here.  Come by for lunch.  You’ll find me.”

I laughed.  “You come here for lunch?”

“Every day.”

“But your dad owns the Cucina.”

“The pizza sucks at the Cucina.  I eat lunch here.”

“You’re funny, Nicole.”

“So are you, Shamrock.”

“Then I guess I’ll see you.”

“I guess you will.”

I pushed open the windowed door and walked outside.  Scrubby was standing on the corner.  He didn’t say a word.  He didn’t have to.  His eyes said it all: the narrow pupils and pointed eyebrows.  His lips were tight, his shoulders tense.

He didn’t approve.

I knew he didn’t like seeing me with his cousin.  I knew it probably wasn’t a good idea either.  But the truth was I was a stupid kid without a care in the world.  I would soon though.  Soon, I would care, a lot.

* *

Of course, I wasn’t there when Scrubby Mike reported back to his uncle, Don Mario about what went on between me and Nicole at Costa’s.  But I have a pretty good idea what must have happened.  Knowing those guys as well as I do, and the way they talk, the way they think, I can hear the conversation in my head, just exactly the way it must have went down.

They were in the downstairs dining room at Mama Libardi’s Cucina, most likely it was that very night.  Scrubby Mike was still in his black, button-up dress shirt and freshly shined black shoes.  Shit, Mike didn’t shower but twice a week at best, and he did his laundry even less, so I highly doubt he went home to change or anything.

Not likely.  He went straight to see the big boss, to suck up and kiss ass.  It didn’t matter whose expense that was at, just so long as he kept himself in the good graces of Don Mario.  Without Don Mario, Scrubby Mike was nothing.  He owed more money around town than he’d ever be able to pay back—between his nickel-a-week coke habit and his love for betting horses, basketball, and pretty much any other sport you could wager on.  Not to mention Scrubby could not pick a winner to save his ass.

The guy was a fuckin’ loser.  The only thing he ever won in his entire life was the sperm lottery.  He shared DNA with the boss of the neighborhood.

So picture Mike, half frozen and half out of breath, showing up at the Cucina well after closing.  Joey Mix and his crew were probably at the bar having a nightcap while waiting for his girlfriend, Danielle, the Friday night bartender, to finish cleaning up.

Mike tried to scurry by but Joey said, “Hey you hoodlum, stop and have a drink.”  And Scrubby, never one to pass up a free drink, pounded back a shot of Cuervo and then when Joey said, “Come on, just one more,” he responded, “Later, maybe.  I have to talk to Mario.  It’s important.”  “Okay, Okay.”  And with that Joey finally let him go.

By the time Mike made it downstairs, Mario was polishing off the last plate of veal and peppers for the night, and the indigestion was setting in, mixed with fatigue and an overall pissed-off outlook on life in general.

So when Mike said, “Mario, I have to talk to you.”

I’m sure Mario said something like, “Tomorrow.  I’m fuckin’ tired.  I gotta get outta here at a decent hour.  I still have to empty the registers and make sure the drawers are correct.”  Mario always counted the money.  Every night without fail.  He didn’t trust anyone else to do it, and if there was one buck missing, it would be accounted for before anyone left for the night.

“Just give me a minute, Uncle Mario.  It’s important.”

Now Mario was really getting short tempered.  He probably picked up his arm and showed Scrubby Mike the back of his hand, as if he were about to slap him with it.

“It’s about Nicole.”

The magic word.  The only thing possible that Scrubby Mike could have to say that was worth disturbing him at this late hour.  Gucci Mike, who most likely was there too but had been ignoring Scrubby up to that point, I’m sure looked up from his plate of veal, and now Scrubby had the room’s attention.

“Nicole was dancing with Shamrock Sean tonight.”

“What?  Where?”  Mario’s breathing got heavier.  The hair in his nostrils began to whistle.

“At Costa’s.”

Gucci Mike looked at Mario and waited a second or two to make sure his input was welcome, then he said, “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?  Why would she be dancing with that bum?”

Mario’s breathing grew louder.  He dropped his fork and it pinged off the plate.  Mario took a thick, Cuban cigar out from his breast pocket, then took out a solid gold and stainless steel cigar clipper and snipped off the end of the cigar.  He didn’t light it, instead putting it in his mouth and chewing on the end.

“I don’t know.  I think she likes him,” Scrubby said.

“Was Vinny there?  He knows better than to let that happen,” Gucci Mike said.

“He was, but he and Tommy Guns took off with some chicks.”

“That fuckin’ guy.  Always thinking with his dick instead of looking out for the boss’s daughter.  Shamrock is his guy.  He should make sure that kid don’t step out of line.”

“I know,” Scrubby said.  Then he inched closer to Mario and asked, “You want I should say something to Vinny?  Or what?”

Mario looked down at his plate of veal.  He removed the cigar from his mouth then spit a wad of tobacco dead in the center of the ceramic plate.  Mario asked Scrubby, “His mother is that broad Vinny’s been fuckin’, right?”

“Yeah.  Yeah.  That’s her.”

“No son of an Irish slut is gonna date my daughter.  No fuckin’ way.”

“She’s Italian, Mario.  His old man was Irish.”

The room went silent other than Mario’s whistling nostrils.  Scrubby looked at Gucci Mike, but they both knew better than to say a word.

Finally, Mario erupted.  “Disgracia!  She’s Italian?  And she fucks every man in town for a buck.”

“Ever since her old man split and left her, she’s definitely been around.”

“Something is gonna have to be done about this.”

“You want I should talk to Nicole?  I’m her cousin.  Maybe I can reason with her.”

“Are you kidding?  You don’t say a fuckin’ word to her.  You tell her that I don’t like this kid, then she’ll only like him more.  That’s how these girls are today.  Anything to break their father’s heart.”

Scrubby and Gucci Mike both shook their heads in mock sympathy.

“We’ll have to find another way to take care of this.”

It was probably three o’clock in the morning by the time I got home from Costa’s.  So I slept in until eleven or so the next day.  Once I got out of bed, cleaned up and dressed, it was getting close to noon.  Just on time for a slice of pizza for lunch.

I walked down the steps and into the living room and saw my mother’s legs pointing upward on the couch.  At first, I thought something was wrong, like she’d had a heart attack or something.  I ran over to her.

Once I got up close, I saw an empty bottle of Beefeater not far from her head.  I could smell the remnants of gin in the rug, and there was a tipped-over ashtray and butts all over the floor.

“Come on, Mom.  You’re gonna start a fire.”

I reached behind her shoulders and straightened her up and onto the couch, then let her down softly.

She groaned; then she licked her dry mouth but didn’t open her eyes or say a word.

I picked up the bottle and put it on the coffee table.  Then I picked up the butts one by one and tossed them into the ashtray.  Using my cupped palm like a shovel, I did my best to pick up what I could of the cigarette ash and put it back into the tray.  I slapped my hands together, and the dust from the butts came off my hands.

“He doesn’t love me,” I heard my mother say.  Then she took the pillow from the couch and put it over her head.

I sat down next to her and rubbed her legs.

“Vinny doesn’t love me,” she said.

I didn’t have a response.  Of course, I knew she was right.  I knew she loved Vinny, probably much like she’d loved my father.  She didn’t have much luck with men, my mother, but she didn’t do a good job in the selection process either.