Skin Games (15 page)

“You mean I look just like her.”

“Yeah.  You resemble her, for sure.”  I paused, then put the picture back on the mantle.  “She was very beautiful.”

“Yes.  She was.  Thank you.”

“I’m very sorry.  It must have been tough growing up without a mother.”

“And growing up without a father must have been tough for you.”

“I guess.”

“I want to show you something,” she said.

“Okay.”

On the mantelpiece next to the pictures was a box.  The box had a soft snow-white cushion exterior with gold trim and matching gold ribbons tied in neat bows in the stitching.  Nicole opened the box and took out a thin gold chain with a heart-shaped locket.  She held it up to her neck.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s very pretty.”

“My father gave this to my mother.  The box, too.”  She snapped opened the locket and held it out towards me.  As I took it from her, she said, “Be gentle.”

“Of course.”  I laid the chain softly over my arm and looked into the locket.  There was a small, faded picture cut in the shape of a heart.  There were two happy faces in the picture.

“Is that your father?” I asked.  He was younger and thinner, and smiling.

Nicole took the locket back, a thin sheen forming over her brown eyes.  “Yes.  That’s him.”

“He looks so young.”

“He was.”

“It’s a beautiful necklace.  Do you wear it often?”

“I never wear it.  It’s too precious.”

“I see.”

Nicole returned the locket to the box, then snapped the box shut.  She leaned over and began to kiss me.  Her lips were soft.  She smelled so sweet up close—the shampoo still fresh in her hair, her perfume sweet but not too strong.  She stuck her tongue in my mouth, and she tasted amazing.

I pulled back and ran my hands through her hair.

“You are amazing,” I said.

“You’re very sweet, Sean.  I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you.”

“I know I’ve never met anyone like you.”

We kissed again.  My stomach was tingling.  My palms were sweating.  I just couldn’t go on.  Not in Don Mario’s house.  No matter how amazing she was, and no matter how hot she was making me.

“I should drive you back to your car.”

“You don’t have to.  No one is coming home.”

“I think I should.”

“Okay.”  She looked down with a demure smile, and for a second, she seemed as harmless as the black and orange butterfly that was tattooed on the inside of her ankle.  Then she looked up and said softly, “Chicken.”  She stood up from the couch and her voice raised and her dance returned.  “Bock.  Bock.  Bock.  Shamrock is a chicken!  Shamrock is a chicken.”

“Very funny, Nicole.  Very funny.”

Her eyes squinted and she got quiet.  Then, in an almost inaudible tone she said, “Bock.  Bock.”

“Ha.  Ha.”

I started walking towards the door, without looking back.  I heard Nicole’s footsteps behind me.

We reached the door, and I turned.  As I did, she planted a big, wet kiss on my cheek and said, “You really are a sweetheart, Sean.  It’s nice.”

I smiled.  Then we walked out to my car.  I drove her back to Costa’s and stopped in front of her car.

“This was fun,” she said.  “Let’s do it again tomorrow.”

“Same time?”

“Give or take.”

“I’ll expect you about half an hour late then.”

“Perfect.  In that case, I’ll be an hour late.”

“Bye, Nicole.”

“Bye, Sean.”

She didn’t get up to leave.  I looked behind me, then out my window.  Across the street at the Fountainhead Diner, I thought I saw someone looking out at us.  I couldn’t quite make it out.  But then the sun flashed against the window, and I shrugged off the paranoia.  It was just the sun glare reflecting off the tinted windows of the restaurant.

“Bock.  Bock.”

Violently, I leaned over and kissed her, hard and firm.  This time I was the aggressor.  I just couldn’t help myself.  Was it her taunting?  Or her awesome lips?  I couldn’t say but the kiss had a passion so pure it could burn a hole in my leather upholstery.  I stopped, licked my lips and took a deep breath.

“Maybe you’re not a chicken after all,” she said as she opened the door.

“See you tomorrow.”

“Bye.”

I pulled away slowly, watching her get into her car.  Then I made the left on Randall Avenue and turned onto Hollywood.  I parked my car in front of my house feeling like I could conquer the world.

I worked late into the night doing some work for Vinny, so I slept right through breakfast and lunch.  My mother was out, and I didn’t set an alarm to wake me.  When I finally stirred and looked at a clock, it was already two o’clock.

“Shit.”

I rolled out of bed and ran to the shower, dressed and got myself together quickly.  Then I walked outside.  My stomach dropped.  If I wasn’t out on a public street, I surely would’ve broken down and cried my eyeballs out.

The Alfa Romeo was still parked in front of the house, right where I left it.  But it was hardly recognizable as the same car that cruised at eighty miles-an-hour just the day before.

All four tires were flat, slashed cleanly with a blade.  There was no glass intact, all four windows smashed, the front windshield a spider web of whitened glass.  The soft-top convertible roof was shredded, left in tatters in the small rear seat.  Even the chrome hub caps had been mangled, as if pounded flat by a baseball bat.

I walked closer.  The interior, too, had been sliced with a knife.  White foam padding from underneath the surface had been exposed and lay all around the floorboards like confetti.  The steering wheel was gone.  Just flat-out gone.  The gear shift, also removed.  When I looked at the hood, I noticed the Alfa Romeo red, white and blue emblem was also gone, ripped and snipped from the hood with a bolt cutter; only a limp piece of hanging wire remained.

There were words carved into the green paint on the hood.  Two words, scrawled hastily, but crystal clear in their legibility and intent.

Stay Away.

A message was being sent.  The message was from the top.  I was being given a directive.  A wise man would’ve taken heed.  I was making good money working for Vinny.  Life wasn’t bad.  It was pretty good, all in all.  The smart move would’ve been to turn around, walk back inside my house and leave Nicole alone at Costa’s.  A girl like that, you stand her up once and it’s over.  She had too much pride to take shit from a guy like me.  There’d be a new pet project by tomorrow.  Maybe the pizza man or the patrolman parked at the Shell station.  Maybe someone else.  She’d get over it.  But would I?

I knew what the wise move was.  The only sensible thing was to cut and run.  No one ever accused me of being wise or of having too much sense.  Instead, the half-Irish donkey marched up towards Tremont Avenue, floppy ears straightened and pointing up at the blue sky.

When I got to Costa’s it was almost three o’clock.  Nicole was sitting in her usual spot, slice in front of her and nose in a magazine.  I sat down.  She didn’t immediately acknowledge me.

“Gino,” I called.  “Can I get a slice, please?”

“Comin’ right up.”

She continued reading and took a sip of her Diet Coke.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“I get it.  Trying to beat me at my own game.”

“No.  I just overslept.  Honestly.”

Finally, she looked up.  Her thin eyebrows rose, her glare intense.  “Overslept?”

“I swear.  I was working late last night, and I didn’t set the alarm.  I don’t know where the time went.”

The glare held.  She was a tougher interrogator than Gambini and Owens could ever hope to be.  The eyebrows lowered, and the glare disappeared into a smile.

“Okay, Sean.  That’s your story and you’re sticking to it.”

I laughed.  “It’s the truth.”

Gino came over and dropped a hot slice on the table in front of me.

“Thanks, Gino.”

“You got it.”

“What were you up to last night?” she asked.

“Working.  I told you.”

“What type of work?”

“You know.  Stuff.”

“I see.  You’re a man of mystery.  I get it.”

“Not really.  Just business.”

“For my father?”

“For Vinny.  You know I work for Vinny.”

“Okay.  I’ll leave you alone.  You don’t want to tell me about it.”

“Not now.”

“Are you ashamed of what you do, Sean?”

“No.  I wouldn’t say that.  But I don’t brag, either.”

She nodded and her lips puckered.  I would’ve folded if she continued to push.  “That’s a good attitude.”

“I have to get going soon.  I’m due at Vinny’s shop in an hour.”  I looked over at the clock to the side of the pizza oven with its faded Pepsi Cola logo.

Nicole gulped back the rest of her Diet Coke and said, “Okay.  If you have better things to do than be with me.”

“Oh, stop.  I’m a working stiff.  We’ll do this again tomorrow.”

“Fine.”

We walked outside and she put her arm around me.  She nuzzled against me and kissed the side of my lips.

“Sean?”

“I’m sorry.”  I looked across the street at the tinted glass of the Fountainhead Diner.  There were outlines of heads, but I couldn’t make them out.  I’m sure they were just eating a late lunch, whoever they were.

She turned and looked, trying to figure out what I was looking at; then she inched closer to me.  Almost nose to nose she asked, “What?  What is it?”

“Nothing.  I better get going.”

She walked around her car and began to open the door.  She looked behind her car at the empty space.

“Where’s your car?” she asked.

“Eh, just having some engine troubles.  No big deal.”

“Already?  You just got the thing.”

“It’ll be okay.  I’m gonna get it fixed.”

“You should go back to the guy you bought it from and kick his ass.”

“Nicole.  It’s fine.”

“You want a ride over to Vinny’s?”

“No.  That’s not necessary.”

“Are you scared to be seen with me?”

“No.  I have to stop home first anyway.”

“Okay.  Get in.  I’ll drop you at home.  I’ve been wanting to see your house anyway.”

“You want to see my house?”

“I want to meet your mother.”

I shook my head.  “Really?”

“Yes, really.  You goofball.  I want to meet the woman who raised you.  I’ll bet she’s an incredible woman.”

I looked to the sky, as if the answers to life’s problems could be found in the fluffy white clouds.  “She’s probably not home.  She’s working tonight.  She’s probably leaving the house as we speak.”

“Then let’s hurry.”

I folded my arms, now looking at the ground.

Nicole got in the car and started the engine.  She opened her window and said, “Come on, Sean.”  Then, she really sounded like a brat as she said in a drawn-out voice, “Please.”

“Okay.  Fine.”

I got in the car, and before I even closed the door, she slammed the BMW into gear and gunned the engine.  We shot down Randall and as we approached Hollywood Avenue, I saw my mother already out of the house and walking towards the main drag.  She was working the checkout counter, 4-12 shift at Morley’s Supermarket.

“That’s her, right there,” I said.

Nicole hit the brakes, and the car screeched and jerked. 

I opened the window and said, “Hi, Mom.”

My mother had a look of horror on her face but then smiled and walked over to the window.

“This is Nicole,” I said.

She coughed, cleared her throat, then said, “So, you are the girl after my son’s heart.”

“Don’t worry, ma’am.  I’ll share him with you.”

My mother coughed out a throaty laugh.  “You have a deal, young lady.”

“Mom, you sound awful.  Turn around and go home.”

“I’m fine.”

“Please.  Just go home and rest.  You don’t need to work today.”

“Nonsense.”  She gurgled, spit a giant gob on the sidewalk, then took out a Virginia Slim and lit it.

“Oh, Mom.  Please.”

“It was nice meeting you, Nicole,” she said, waved, and started walking away.

“Nice meeting you, too,” Nicole said.  Then we watched my mother fade off and she said, “She seems nice, Sean.”

“Yeah, but she’s gonna kill herself.”

“She’s a grown woman.  You can’t tell her what to do.”

“I guess.”

“Oh.  My.  God,” Nicole said as she turned down Hollywood and pulled up in front of my house.  “Is that your car?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s nothing?”  She put the BMW in park and hopped out.  “What happened?”  Nicole ran over to my car.  “Jesus, Sean.  What the hell happened?  Who did this?”

“Probably just some neighborhood punk.  It’s okay.  I’ll get it fixed.”

She ran her fingers along the remnants of the ripped-up soft-top.  “This is terrible.  You can’t get this fixed.  This is like, completely ruined.  Oh, Sean, I am so sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Nicole looked at me with a red nose and wet eyes.  “I feel so horrible.  I can’t believe someone would do this.”

“It’s this neighborhood.  It’s going to shit.”

She walked up to the front of the car.  She looked down at the hood.  Nicole looked up at me, and her mouth started to move, but nothing came out.  The redness in her nose spread to her entire face.  The puppy-dog eyes turned to demon balls of fire.

“Is my father behind this?”

“Nicole, please.”

“He is, isn’t he?  My father did this to your car, didn’t he?”

“Nicole.”

“More like he had someone do it for him, that asshole.  He did this because of me.  He thinks he can run my life.  I am not a child.  He cannot tell me what to do.”

“Please calm down.”

“No!  I will not.”  A tear rolled down her face as she alternated from sad to angry and back again.  “I can’t believe you’re being so calm.  My father destroyed your brand-new car, that you worked so hard for.  Just because you like me.  How dare he.  Who the fuck does he think he is?”

“He’s Mario Torretta.  That’s who he is.”

“He had no right.”

I took her by the shoulders and said, “Come on inside, and calm yourself down.”

“No!  I am going down to the Cucina to tell him what an asshole he is.”