Mick Sinatra: For Once In My Life (17 page)

But looking
at the fortified nature of this estate made Roz quickly realize that family was
probably not the issue here.
 
Security
was.
 
Mick’s security.
 
Which begged the question even further for
Roz.
 
Why in the world would a
businessman, a hotel magnate no less, need this much security?

Not that Roz
was naïve.
 
There were hints, when she
Googled Mick, that he had had a rough past.
 
He was even prosecuted once for racketeering, but had beat the rap.
 
From everything she could gleam, he turned
his life around after that trial and was straight ever since.
 
But the security she was seeing didn’t bear
that out.
 
This was the security of a man
who was either still knee deep in gangster shit, or was too deep in to ever get
out.
 
This was the reason, Roz believed,
that Mick wanted her on his turf before their relationship went a step
further.
 
He wanted her to see that he
was no choir boy.
 
Since she had already
concluded when she first met him that there was nothing angelic about him, she
wasn’t exactly shocked.
 
She was
concerned.
 
She still didn’t know the
extent of his activities.
 
But because it
was Mick, because she saw that softer side of him, she wasn’t scared.
 
She remained, in fact, very excited.

Deuce
McCurry got out of the limousine, walked around, and opened the back passenger
door for Roz.

When Roz got
out, and saw an entire staff of maids and butlers and assistants standing at
the opened front doors, her heart began to pound.
 
This was Downton Abbey shit.
 
She wasn’t used to this!

“Oh my
Lord,” she said as Deuce closed the car door behind her.
 
“Who are all these people?”

“The staff,”
Deuce said.
 
“You’re the guest of honor,
and Mr. Sinatra ordered them to greet you.”

Deuce looked
at her.
 
He could feel her sudden
nervousness.
 
“He chose you for a
reason,” he said.

Roz looked
at him.
 
“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah,”
Deuce said.
 
“He knows you can handle
it.”

“I’m glad he
thinks so,” Roz said.

Deuce still
felt an affection for her.
 
“Be you,” he
said.
 
“If you can manage that, then
there’s no way you can lose.”

Roz
smiled.
 
“Thanks, Deuce.”
 
She tucked her nerves safely away again, and
made her way up the steps that led to the Sinatra household.

One of those
standing, a beautiful woman, came out of the pack with her hand extended.
 
“Welcome,” she said jovially.

“Thank you,”
Roz said, shaking her hand.

“I’m Carolyn
Brimmer.
 
I’m Mr. Sinatra’s house
manager.
 
Please come in.”

Roz smiled
at the assembled staff as Carolyn led her into the massive home.

Talk about
beautiful.
 
Roz was blown away by the
beauty.
 
She stood in the middle of a
foyer that was as large as her entire Brooklyn apartment, where marbled floors
and chandeliers and duel staircases met her as she entered.
 
This was no home.
 
This was a showplace.
 
This was the place that magazines filmed when
they needed to capture luxury for their dreamy-eyed subscribers.

“I’ll show
you to your room,” Carolyn said as she escorted Roz up one of the
staircases.
 
Roz had no intention of
staying at Mick’s home while she was in town. She had, in fact, reserved a
hotel room for herself before she left New York.
 
But she was not going to discuss that with
Mick’s staff.
 
That was an issue she
would take up with him.

“I hope your
trip proved satisfactory,” Carolyn said as they walked up the stairs.

“It was very
nice, thank you,” Roz responded.

“It’s not a
long trip from New York, but like all trips it can be taxing nonetheless.”

Roz didn’t
find anything taxing about the trip, so she did not reply.

“How long do
you plan to stay?”

“A few
days.
 
I’m not real sure.”
 
She had a week off, but Mick might not want
her there that long.
 
She was playing it
strictly one day at a time.

They arrived
on the second floor landing, but kept going up, to the third floor.
 
And Carolyn kept with the questions.
 
“We’re happy to have you regardless of how
long you stay.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ve known
Mr. Sinatra how long?”

Roz didn’t
see where that was her business.
 
“Is
that a matter a house manager will need to know?” she asked Carolyn.

Carolyn was
at first surprised by the question, but then she smiled it off.
 
“We’re very protective of our boss,” she
said.
 
“That’s all.”

“Oh,” Roz
said with a smile.
 
“I can understand
that.”
 
And she could.
 
But she still didn’t answer the question.

Carolyn was
perturbed by her refusal to answer, but she let it go.
  
If word got back to Mick that she had even
asked the question, she knew there would be hell to pay.
 
One thing he was clear about to her when he
hired her three years ago: run his household, but stay out of his business.

“Here we
are,” Carolyn said as she swept open the double doors to a bedroom so incredible,
and so filled with Mick’s wonderful scent, that Roz looked at her.
 
“You may rest here.”

“Is this Mr.
Sinatra’s bedroom?”

“Why,
yes.
 
This is where he told me to place
you.
 
And before you take my head off, I
agree with you.
 
It is highly
inappropriate.
 
He has never, and I mean
never had an overnight guest that he put up in his own bedroom.
 
He has never even put them up in the main
house.
 
They always stayed in one of his
numerous guest houses on the property.
 
No matter how big they are, no matter what relationship he has with
them, they always stay in one of the guest houses.
 
But he told me to put you up in his
bedroom.
 
I’m doing what I was told to
do.”

Carolyn
expected Roz to be offended.
 
And she was
highly offended at first.
 
But Carolyn’s
own words changed her mind.
 
Mick never
made this request of any of his previous overnight guests, many of whom, if not
all, were undoubtedly female.
 
By
Carolyn’s own account, this would be a first for Mick.

Roz felt
some kind of happy about that reality.
 
Because she, unlike Carolyn, understood what it meant.
 
He wasn’t putting her up in his room simply
because they were going to engage in sexual activity while she was in
town.
 
Even if she had gone straight to
her hotel room and never stepped foot in Mick’s home, they would still engage
in sexual activity.
 
That went without
saying.
 
But he separated her from the
rest.
 
The fact that he wanted her to
stay, not only in the main house, but in his own bedroom in the main house, was
telling to Roz.
 
This man was serious
about their relationship.
 
This man, if
she were to be so bold as to think it, was serious about her.

“You can
always object,” Carolyn suggested.
 
“That
way, I will be justified in putting you up in his myriad of guest rooms.
 
Or even one of the guest houses, if you
prefer.
 
That’s what I would do.
 
If I were you, I wouldn’t allow a man to
treat me this way.”

Roz knew
Carolyn’s type too.
 
She was probably in
love with Mick herself.
 
She’d be
thrilled to put Roz up in the guest house.
 
Roz wasn’t going to stay on his property at all.
 
She had her own hotel reservation.
 
But again, that wasn’t Carolyn’s business.
 
“No,” Roz said.
 
“This will be fine.”

She could
see that look in Carolyn’s eyes.
 
But
Carolyn smiled it off.
 
“Very well,” she
said.
 
“I’ll let you rest.
 
If you would like a tour of the grounds,
please let me know and I will be happy to assist.
 
Or would you care for something to eat or
drink?”

“I’m good,
thank you,” Roz said.
 
“I don’t need
anything right now.”

“Very well,”
Carolyn said, and then left Roz in Mick’s bedroom.

A wonderful
sensation washed over Roz when Carolyn left her alone in Mick’s room.
 
She felt an intimacy she couldn’t
explain.
 
She wanted to explore
everything, from his chest to his closet to his medicine cabinet, but she knew
that would be out of line.
 
Besides, for
all she knew he could have cameras on her ass at this very moment.
 
There would be plenty of time to explore, she
felt.
 
So she sat her ass down, in the
sitting room that was as large as her living room, and got herself some rest.

She rested
so well on Mick’s lounger that she was almost asleep when the door opened
again, and Carolyn and one of the butlers entered with her luggage.

“Knock
knock,” Carolyn said as she entered.
 
“Where are you?”

Roz
stretched and yawned.
 
“In here,” she
said between yawns.
 
“I’m in here.”

Carolyn
headed toward her.
 
“Change in plans,”
she said.

Roz looked
at her.

“Mr.
Sinatra’s assistant phoned.
 
He is to
meet you at Raphael’s where you and he has reservations for the evening.”

“I assume
this Raphael’s is a restaurant?” Roz asked.

“Oh,
yes.
 
One of the best in town.”

Carolyn said
it with a smile, as if she was certain Roz would be intimidated.
 
Roz was not.
 
“I would not have expected anything less from Mick,” she said with her
own smile.

Carolyn’s
smile left.
 
“The reservation is for
eight,” she said.
 
“Your driver will be
waiting.”

After
Carolyn left, Roz exhaled, grabbed underwear, and headed for Mick’s bathroom.

They stood
in the middle of the warehouse like four men in a lineup.
 
To the men detaining them, they were a
disgusting sight.
 
Snitches.
 
No lower name existed in their world.
 
They would rather die than do what these men
did.

“You got it
all wrong, Rennie,” one of the men said to one of their guards, but the guard
kicked him in the gut, causing him to double over.
 
“Shut the fuck up!” he yelled.
 
“Boss will deal with you!”

The man was
in pain now, and wanted to go down to his knees, but when he heard the
warehouse garage door opened, and Mick Sinatra, along with Leo Barone, Paul
Ricci, and Silvio Fontaine walked in, he stood straight and tall.
 
Sinatra hated weakness.
 
He wasn’t about to show it now.

It was a
long walk from the entrance to where the traitors stood.
  
They all stared at Mick as if he was either
coming to their rescue, or coming to their kill.
 
These men were in Mick’s inner circle.
 
These were the people who were supposed to be
willing to die for him.
 
And they
betrayed him.
 
Every one of them.
 
They snitched.

But Mick
didn’t walk toward them like a man ready for revenge.
 
He didn’t show the rage that was within him,
nor the angry disappointment.
 
Because he
was assessing them.
 
Who was the weak
link, who was the next weak one, and so on.
 
And who was the strength.
 
Who
still had enough mental fortitude within himself to tell the story straight,
and his part in it.

Mick’s men,
however, were teeming for action.
 
Four
men snitching on a man like Mick was the equivalent of a tsunami in the
underworld.
 
This didn’t happen.
 
This didn’t happen to Mick Sinatra.