Men of Mayhem (51 page)

I raise the brandy bottle again and refill my glass when my phone dings with a text.

Derek: We r in the lobby.

Me: Kk, I’ll be right down.

While snatching my purse, I swig down my drink and set the cup back on the counter and head out the door, locking up. The hallway to the elevators is narrow and gives me an unwanted paranoia. Things that never bothered me before, I have a problem with now. The loss unleashed a deep-seated, unsettling insecurity. I’m glad I had that drink to relax me.

Club Bellissima has a line a mile long that snakes all around the building, the entrance of which happens to be in an alleyway. From the outside it looks like an underground club Jim and I went to when we were vacationing in Paris. Narrow street, dark and dank, and clustered with bodies all trying to get in.

“Do you think we’re going to have to wait out here long?” I wonder. I’m not feeling so hot. Maybe I should’ve stayed home.

“This looks like fresh paint,” Derek comments, tapping the brick wall. “The club must have had some vandalism recently.”

We wait for about ten minutes and the line finally starts to move. We shuffle forward with the rest of the crowd, and the cross street in front of us looks familiar. We are about five people from the entrance and it dawns on me.

“Is this the only thing in the building? This club?”

Mariah gives me the rundown. “No, this is part of the casino, La Bella Regale. This is a separate entrance. It’s only open certain nights or if they’re hosting an event. Like tonight, for example, is ladies’ night. They don’t do that all the time.”

“So, do you think they have the same people working here as they do in the casino?”

“I have no idea. Why?”

“Uh, no reason.” I am still mortified by my little bar experience last night inside the casino. I don’t need to give Derek and Mariah the gory details. I’m sure this place is so huge and there are so many people the chance of running into that guy is a hundred to one.

We step forward and Mariah gives a soft squeal because we are next.

“IDs, please.” The beefy bouncer is deadpan and uninterested. I roll my eyes at the thought of having to show my ID at thirty-four. I should’ve considered this knowing that Derek and Mariah are quite a bit younger than me. This place must be for a much more youthful crowd.

“I don’t think I’m going to fit in here,” I whisper to Mariah as the bouncer checks her ID and waves her through. I step forward, handing my license to the bouncer. He glances down then looks up at me and glances down again. He pauses. I rub my arms for something to do during this embarrassing situation. I am totally holding up the line.
Does he think mine is fake? Is it because it’s an out-of-state license?

Derek leans into me, whispering in my ear, “I knew the Feds were after you.” He is joking, but I am really getting nervous. I am ready to throw in the towel and call a taxi when the bouncer pulls a small microphone device from the neck of his shirt. He mutters unintelligibly into it.

“Stand over here, please,” he orders and points to an area behind his tall stool. I blink, confused, but not knowing what else to do, I go and stand where he tells me like a scolded child.

Mariah is bouncing on her heels in the doorway of the club. She doesn’t know what to make of this either.

Derek steps forward, handing over his license, and in less than a millisecond the bouncer waves him through. My mouth drops open in shock.

“Um.” Derek points to Mariah, then to me. “We’re with her.”

The bouncer drops his arm down and points to where I’m standing, letting them know without words,
then you’re over here too
.

Mariah’s eyes are like saucers when she approaches me.

“What the hell?” Derek grumbles. “Should we just leave?” The three of us are corralled in a corner on display for each and every person who comes through the line.

“I don’t know,” Mariah answers.

“This is ridiculous,” I say, dumbfounded. “I appreciate you guys sticking it out with me.”

“Well, we weren’t going to leave you standing here alone,” Derek replies, annoyed.

Our circle of three gets tighter the more insecure we become, when a familiar face pops around the corner.

“Hey, Meryl!” It’s Bobby, the bartender. He waves for us to follow him.

“Oh!” I tell Mariah and Derek. “I know him.” I’m elated to see a friendly face. A whoosh of relief leaves me. I lead the way for the three of us.

“Bobby, what is going on?” I ask, clip-clopping in my heels to keep up with him through the tight bodies of people. I steal a glance behind me for Derek and Mariah to make sure they’re still there.

“You have a fan.”

“A what?” I yell over the music thumping. That’s an odd thing to say.

Bobby leads us to a posh booth raised high above the others. It’s half-moon shaped with a deep purple velvet fabric back, and the sparkly granite-topped table reminds me of the bar inside the casino. Definitely this spot is VIP seating, but there is just one problem—we aren’t VIPs.

Bobby holds his hand out, offering the booth to us, and Mariah and Derek, obviously deciding to take the situation in stride, don’t hesitate to climb the three black steps and shuffle right in.

“But…” I start to say when I feel a close presence behind me, someone in my personal bubble. It’s not the crowd here or the people dancing. A zing of butterflies hits my stomach. Something that hasn’t happened to me in a very long time, like I’m in my teens instead of my thirties. I freeze, unprepared for the feeling.

A hand brushes my long hair aside and I shiver. “You hung up on me today,” is spoken into my ear. I am immobile, perplexed, not knowing how to handle the situation. I turn my head enough to see a profile in the twirling colored lights shining down on the room.

“The horrible bartender,” I say without thinking. The words
complete idiot
shoot through my brain for insulting him. But his reaction surprises me. He laughs and it totally breaks the tension. I laugh too, but it comes out tongue-tied.

A few uncomfortable moments pass.

“Aren’t you going to have a seat and introduce me to your friends?”

“Um. Oh. Sure.”

I’m unaware of what is going on, but I take the steps carefully and I feel a light hand on the small of my back guiding me. The little hairs on the back on my neck stand in a good way, not an
I want to run the hell out of the club screaming
way.

“Uh. This is Mariah and Derek. I work with them.”

“I know,” he says.

I blink in surprise. How does he know that?

He reaches his hand out to them. “Alex,” he says cordially. Mariah is grinning ear to ear. She loves this place, and being in such a high-profile booth, she is in her glory. Half of the people in here don’t even have a place to sit it is so crowded.

I twist my hands in my lap and my purse strap is still on my shoulder. Mariah is all settled in, purse on the seat and ordering a drink from a waitress who has already come by placing square napkins on the table that read
Club Bellissima
. Derek is leaning forward too, ordering.

“Whiskey?” Alex asks in a confirming way, using what he knows about me.

“Not tonight. Cranberry juice, please.” I don’t feel like I need one, and this situation is weird. I want to be completely with it if I have to make a beeline out of here.

Alex holds up two fingers and tells the waitress, who smiles at him, “Two cranberry juices.”

I turn to him. “I’m working tonight,” he offers.

“Thank you for the table. I don’t want to keep you from your job.”

He sits back against the booth, resting his hands in his lap, and a slight grin tips the corner of his mouth.

“I’m good. I have some time.”

“Oh.”

Mariah leans past Derek. “Thanks so much for the table. This is awesome!”

“Anything for Meryl and her friends.”

Our drinks arrive extremely fast, especially with the enormous swarm of club-goers. Not giving me a chance to absorb his comment, Alex hands a fifty-dollar bill to the waitress and she nods a thank you.

I sip on my juice and listen to the music, questioning this whole scene. Why the special table and treatment? Why did Bobby say Alex is a fan?

“I’d like to take you to dinner tomorrow night.” Alex’s words are passionate even though they are ordinary. The statement tickles my insides and the whole thing frustrates me. Why is he asking me out?

I stare at my cranberry juice, not sure how to respond. I barely know him. In fact, I
don’t
know him.

“What happened this afternoon?” he asks when I don’t answer whether or not I wish to go with him to dinner. I search around in my thoughts and remember my gut-wrenching experience in the bathroom.

I don’t even get a chance to respond when Mariah pipes in, “That was you?” She points. “Meryl was in the bathroom,” she adds, sending a pink embarrassment to my cheeks. I shift my gaze to her, wishing daggers could fly out of them.

“I haven’t been feeling so well.” I feel stupid for even having to say it. Does the whole world have to know I was sick today?
Geesh!

It dawns on me that Alex must’ve been the person I hung up on before racing down the aisle between the cubicles to the bathroom. “I’m sorry if I hung up on you. I did check the caller ID but there was no number to call back or voicemail.”

Concern mars his face. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” I say, shrugging him off. “It comes and goes.” I take another drink of my cranberry juice hoping that it will settle my stomach, which has been on the sour side since we got here. It dawns on me. “How do you know where I work?”

“Are you hungry?” He evades my question.

My suspicion increases, and my radar is sky high. “How do you know where I work?” I repeat. I have only lived here six weeks. I am barely getting my mail at the correct address.

Alex waves the waitress over and she leans down to his level, listening. I can’t hear what he is saying but I am guessing he’s ordering appetizers or some kind of food. I glance around and don’t see anyone else with food, just drinks. He is close. Heat between us flickers, an awareness setting off fire along my skin. For a sizzling moment, time is standing still.

“Dinner sounds good,” I say before I even realize the words have left my mouth.

Alex

My palms are sweating against the leather of the steering wheel of Ennio’s Mercedes. I decided that taking Meryl to one of the restaurants inside the casino was a bad idea. I want to take her somewhere classy and neutral, away from the two lives I lead behind the doors of La Bella Regale.

Meryl represents a diversion from my daily grind, and when I look at her, I see what I would like my future to be. She is the only one I see in it. I am not wavering in my loyalty to the family or the business, but after meeting Meryl, I see a new dimension to my life that I never knew was possible. It’s scary in a way I’m not used to. There is very little in this world that gets to me, and this is completely foreign.

I pull up in front of her building and park. She specifically told me to text her when I got here, but I want to do things right. It is more chivalrous for me to go upstairs and get her. I reach into the back seat, and lying across the black leather are a dozen long-stemmed red roses wrapped tightly in shiny cellophane. I pick them up and get out of the car, clicking the lock button on the fob. My heart is thumping in my chest as I stand in front of her building. I don’t need to press the buzzer for her apartment because I slip in as someone is leaving. I press the elevator for the ninth floor. The doors open and I check the numbers, looking for 936.

I knock.

“Who is it?” Her voice is a tinkling church bell in my ears.

“It’s Alex.”

The metal of locks clink and flip. The door cracks open. One beautiful green eye peers at me through the gap.

“I told you to text me. I would have met you downstairs.” She is displeased.