Mick Sinatra 2: Love, Lies, and Jericho (13 page)

“Handling
me?” Roz asked.
 
“Why does he have to
handle me?”

“He’s handling
you,” Cecil said.
 
Mick smiled.
 
“I’m not taking it back.
 
You’ve been
I am woman hear me roar
for far too long.
 
I’ve been looking out for you all your
life.
 
Now it’s his turn.
 
I was afraid no man alive would ever be
strong enough to take over.
 
I think he
may be the one.”

“He’s going
to be my husband, Pop.
 
Not my daddy.”

Cecil
laughed a one-syllable laugh.
 
“That’s
what you think,” he said, and Cecil laughed too.

“Oh, both of
you can kiss my grits!” Roz smiled and stood up.

“I’m sure
he’ll be doing that too,” Cecil said, and Mick laughed grandly.

“Two of a
kind,” Roz said, shaking her head.
 
Then
she looked at her father.
 
“Mom inside?”
she asked.

Cecil’s
smile left.
 
Just the thought of his
ex-wife made him ill.
 
“She’s in there,”
he said.

“Is that why
you’re out here?”

“Exactly
why,” he said.
 
“I tried to talk civil
with her, but you know how she is.
 
So I
bought my sorry black ass, as she calls me, out on this porch to wait on my
little girl.
 
And this is where I will
remain.”
 
He looked at Mick.
 
“If you have half the brain I think you
have,” he said, “you’ll remain out here too.”

“Thanks,”
Mick said, “but I’m here for Rosalind.
 
Not for myself.”

Cecil liked
that answer.
 
“Yup,” he said, “you have
what it takes to take over.
 
Roz is in
good hands.”

“Even though
I’m not as legit as you would like?” Mick asked.

“Even
though,” Cecil said.
 
“Roz like those bad
boys you know.
 
That’s why she loves me
so much.”

Mick smiled.

Cecil
pointed at his eyes and then at Mick’s eyes.
 
“We understand each other,” he said playfully.

“We do,”
Mick agreed.
 

“Anyway,”
Roz said, “I need to interrupt this pissing contest to go see Mom.
 
We’ll be back, Pop,” she said.

“I’ll pray
for your safe return,” Cecil said.

Roz and Mick
smiled, but then they headed for the front door.

After
ringing the bell, the door was opened by a tall, bosomy woman who had never
seen Roz before.
 
“Yes?”

“Hi.
 
I’m Rosalind Graham.
 
Is Judge Graham in?”

“Oh.
 
Yes, ma’am.
 
She’s expecting you, ma’am.”
 
She
opened the door wider and stepped aside.
 
“Please.”

Roz glanced
over at her father, and then she and Mick entered the home.
 
The woman closed the door behind them.

“This way,
please,” she said, and escorted them down a narrow hall that led to a parlor
across from the formal living room.
 
She knocked
once, opened the door, and then motioned for them to go inside.
 
Then she closed the door behind them.

And there
she was.
 
Judge Bernadette Graham.
 
In red head to toe.
 
Sitting in a wingback chair as if she was
sitting on a throne.
 
What amazed Mick
was the size of her.
 
Not big, but very
tall, very bosomy, and very leggy.
 
Roz
was a little thing.
 
This woman was
Amazonian compared to Roz.
 
But one thing
she had in common with Roz, Mick thought, was her beauty.
 
There was no denying her beauty.

She sipped
from her teacup as Roz and Mick walked in, but her eyes remained focused, not
on her daughter, but her daughter’s man.
 
Roz noticed it too, and thought it was a disgusting, lustful assessment.
 
But Mick knew better.
 
This woman wasn’t lusting after him.
 
She was targeting him.

“Hello,
mother,” Roz said as they made their way toward the woman in red.

“Hello,
Rosalind.”

Roz leaned
down to give her mother a hug.
 
Mick
didn’t see any recoiling on the part of the mother, but he did see tightness,
uncomfortableness, on the judge’s narrow face.

Roz was
accustomed to her mother’s stiffness, so it didn’t affect her nearly as much as
simply being there again.
 
“Mother, I
want you to meet,” she began, but her mother cut her off.

“Sit down,
Rosalind,” she ordered.

Mick thought
cutting Roz off like that was wholly unnecessary, but Roz didn’t seem to
object.
 
She sat down on the sofa in
front of the chair.
 
So Mick didn’t
object either, and sat down too.
 
But he
placed his arm around Roz.

“Now,” the
mother said, “you want to what?”

“I want you
to meet Mick Sinatra,” Roz said.
 
“My
fiancé.
 
Mick, this is my mother, Judge
Bernadette Graham.”

“Nice to
meet you,” Mick said with a nod of his head.

“Likewise,”
Bernadette responded, still staring at Mick.
 
“I see.
 
Your fiancé.”
 
She glanced at Roz’s finger.
 
Roz held it up.
 
Mick had purchased her a ring the day after
his proposal.
 
A very expensive, huge,
diamond ring.

“We’re
officially engaged,” Roz said, waiting for the objection.

Bernadette
stared at the ring longer, and then sat her teacup on the tray beside her
chair.
 
“I’ll be blunt with you,” she
said.
  
And then she looked at her
daughter.
 
“I do not approve of the
match.”

Roz was
floored.
 
“You just met him.
 
How can you not approve?
 
You don’t even know him!”

“I know
enough.
 
I know no daughter of mine will
ever be dumb enough to marry a gangster.”

“He’s not a
gangster,” Roz said.

“To his
core,” Bernadette replied.
 
“When I got
the call last week, I had him investigated.
 
I was, quite simply, shocked by the findings.
 
And you expect me to give my blessings to a
match like this?
 
You must be mad!”

Roz knew she
would face stiff opposition.
 
Her mother
was always combative even when it wasn’t called for.
 
But she didn’t expect this.
 
She didn’t expect her mother to not even give
Mick a chance.
 
Mick, on the other hand,
simply stared at Bernadette.

“He had his
issues in the past,” Roz admitted, “but that’s not him anymore.”

Bernadette
finally looked at her daughter.
 
“You are
so naïve,” she said.
 
Then she looked at
Mick.
 
“I do not approve of this match,”
she said.
 
“No daughter of mine will be
marrying a hoodlum like you.
 
I do not
approve of this marriage.”

“Since I’m
not marrying you,” Mick responded, “who gives a fuck what you approve?”

Roz was
stunned that Mick would speak to her mother that way.
 
He knew how difficult it was without the
hyperbole!

But her
mother was now cowered.
 
“My daughter
gives a fuck,” she said.
 
“That’s who
gives a fuck.
 
And one thing that is
certain about my children: if their mother does not approve, they will not
engage in the matter.
 
I do not
approve.
 
There will be no marriage I
assure you.”

Mick stared
at Bernadette.
 
He waited for Roz to
speak up and let her mother have it.
 
That was the Roz he knew.
 
But not
a word came out of her mouth.

Then her
mother had the nerve to smile.
 
“Now that
that’s settled,” she said, “how have you been, dear?”

“It’s not
settled, Mother,” Roz finally said.
 
“You
cannot dictate who I marry, and you know it.”

Mick
continued to stare at Bernadette.
 
Bernadette smiled again.
 
“That’s
what you think,” she said to her daughter.

“Rosalind,”
Mick suddenly said, “go outside with your father.
 
I need to speak privately with your mother.”

Roz looked at Mick.
 
“I think I can hear what you have to say.”

Mick looked at her hard.
 
“Go outside.”

Roz was suddenly fearful for her mother’s sake.
 
She was going to go, she was going to let him
have his conversation, but he had to understand something.
 
He could not mistreat her mother.
 
“I honor my parents, Mick,” she said.
 
“Right or wrong.
 
I just need you to understand that.”

“Given the amount of b.s. you’ve been willing to take
in this lady’s presence,” Mick said, “I’ve already reached that conclusion.”

Roz stared at him.
 
He understood.
 
So she stood up
and went outside.

“So what is this?” Bernadette asked.
 
“Time for the gangster to come out and for
you to threaten me?
 
To threaten a
sitting judge?”

“You don’t like me,” Mick said.
 
“You don’t know me, but you don’t like
me.
 
And that’s fine.
 
I don’t give a damn about you either.”

Then Mick exhaled.
 
“But I do care about Rosalind.
 
More than you can imagine.
 
And
she cares about you.”

Bernadette stopped sipping her tea and looked at
him.
 
“What are you attempting to say?”

“I’m marrying your daughter.
 
You can approve, you can disapprove, that’s
up to you.
 
But what you will not do is
attempt to sabotage this relationship.”

“My daughter is not marrying a hoodlum,” Bernadette
made clear.
 
“She can do far better than
you.
 
And she will.”
 
Then Bernadette let him have it. “You claim
to love her.
 
You claim to love her more
than I will ever know, you say.
 
But yet
you’re willing to put her in a world like yours, where getting even and backstabbing
and illegality runs rampant.”
 
She shook
her head.
 
“I hate to tell you this, but
that’s not love, Mr. Sinatra.
 
That’s
selfishness.
 
That’s wanting somebody
because they’re good for you, but not the other way around.
 
You aren’t good for my daughter.”

“I know that,” Mick admitted, to Bernadette’s
surprise.
 
“You don’t have to tell me
that.
 
And you’re right.
 
Loving Rosalind is the most selfish thing
I’ve ever done.
 
It’s also the toughest
thing I’ve ever done.
 
And I’ve done
plenty.
 
Your investigator has no idea
the things I’ve done.”

Then he released a harsh exhale.
 
“But living without Rosalind, after having
her in my life this past year, is more than I can bear, Mrs. Graham.
 
That will be even tougher.
 
But if she leaves me, for her sake, I won’t
run after her.
 
I’ll let her go.
 
Thing is, she’s miraculously fallen for me
too.
 
And she doesn’t want to go.”

Bernadette did not expect this level of candor.
 
She remembered what her investigator had
said.
 
“He used to be a straight-up
thug,” the P.I. had said to her, “and now he’s one of the most respected and
revered businessmen in the country.
 
A
leader of industry.
 
A man with a
sterling reputation as a fair and ethical man.
 
He’s a study in contrasts, Judge Graham.”
 
Now she saw it on full display.

Or, she thought, he was conning her too.
 
“I told you my position,” she said.
 
“That position is final.”