“Got it.” Gina’s been moving swiftly around the room, emptying Al’s ashtray and picking up used glasses.
“I'm sorry to make you the bad guy.”
“No, it's cool.” She pats the apron pocket where the $100 bill disappeared. “I've got your back with the ladies.” Gina slips out the door.
Joey snorts as he deals the cards. “You having trouble handling your ladies, Bobby?”
“Yeah, fuck off,stronzo.”
“No, but really.” Al pins me with a tough-guy look. “Is this girl gonna be a problem?”
Aw, fuck. The Family gets real touchy about who we bring in and out of our lives. What they know. What happens to them when we cut them loose. Al’s asking me if Stacy knows anything and is she crazy or manipulative enough to turn on me. To wear a wire and become an informant. Or to get in bed with one of the other organized crime families in the Tri-State area.
Basically, Al wants to know if Stacy actually needs to be dealt with. Because the Family does not like loose ends. Not even the ex-fucktoy variety.
“Nah, she’s not a real problem. She’s nothing,” I say. I need to de-escalate this shit right away.
Joey takes a sip of his grappa. “Maybe if you stopped dating strippers and settled down with a real woman, you might not be getting stalked by your crazy exes.”
“Where'syourreal woman?” I pick up my cards. “I don't see you bringing around anyone worth keeping.”
“True, true,” Joey admits. “But I’m looking. I also don't make a habit of keeping women on the side like you do.”
“Yeah, what's up with that?” Al sets his cigar in the ashtray to fan his cards in front of his face. “It's like you still think you're married.”
I divorced five years ago, and for the record, never kept a woman on the side while I had a wife, even when our marriage was shit. But Al’s right, I’m definitely treating my women now as side pieces, not main events. That’s the way I prefer it. I like to play sugar daddy.
“It’s just easier.” I shrug. “I take care of her financially, and she makes herself available to me. I’m the bossman. Works out great for both of us.”
When I’m sugar daddy, there’s an unspoken–or sometimes spoken–business arrangement. She receives financial benefit in exchange for being available to me. And I love holding power over my woman. It turns me on. I’m good to them–don’t get me wrong. I spoil my girls rotten. And that’s why I get to call the shots. If I want her on her knees, I tell her. If I want her over my knee, I put her there. I don’t have to bring her to family events or introduce her to my daughters.
“Until she turns psycho.” Carlo jerks his thumb toward the door leading to the main lounge.
“Yeah, there's that.” I seem to let my dick do the thinking when it comes to women. Another reason to keep them in the periphery and not actually allow them into my life. In the business we’re in, it’s too dangerous. You can’t mix psycho withLa Famiglia.People will get killed. I’m definitely done with clingy crazy. My next arrangement is going to be clean. At the first sign of emotional attachment, I’m calling it off.
“What about you, Dean?” I change the focus of the conversation to one of the other soldiers whose wife gave birth six months ago. “How’s family life?”
He chomps on his cigar. “Good, good. Olive is sitting up. Cute as fuck. Jessie’s doing an amazing job with her.”
“She’s not pissed about you coming out with us tonight?”
He grins. “I negotiated a deal. I get to come to poker night, she gets a ladies’ night, which is essentially just a book club where they drink wine and talk about dirty romance novels. She comes home all ready to put into practice what she’s been reading, so it’s a win-win for me.”
We laugh. It sounds sweet, but no part of me misses having a woman to answer to.
I am never doing that shit again.
* * *
Lexi
I camp out on a barstool near the corner where the cocktail waitresses put their orders in and get their drinks made. I have no business being here considering every dollar I earned cutting hair this week needs to go to the rent on both my apartment and the salon, but it’s Friday night, and I deserve a little fun. I need it. I’m at Swank, the nightclub where my best friend Gina works as a cocktail waitress.
“I just got a hundred-dollar tip.” Gina appears at my elbow and moves the glasses from her tray onto the bar. The bartender swiftly takes them and loads them into a dish rack below the bar.
“Are you serious? Damn, that’s good money. They’re not hiring now, right?”
The bartender, Stan, overhears and shakes his head as his hands fly mixing drinks.