Here and Gone Page 5

  Two young men stood outside the clubhouse waiting to valet the cars. Why didn’t I ever see female valets? I once asked a valet why it was such a male-dominated field. He said because women couldn’t drive stick shifts and walked away. I took secret pleasure in watching his face when he noticed my five-speed transmission. It’d made my night. Women could be valets, but we just chose not to because running through the rain on some nights would be disastrous for our hair and make-up.

  I exited the vehicle and looked up at the mansion fashioned after a southern plantation house, all white with giant columns across the front. I stood up straighter and smoothed my dress. Hopefully no one would notice that I was a lowly farm girl from Indiana and bar me from entering.

  “Ready?” Gray asked, extending his arm to me.

  “Nope, but here goes nothin’,” I said.

  Chapter Six

  Two valets pulled open the outer doors exposing us to the opulence of the country club. The entry was a large open space showing straight through to the wall of windows on the back side. Only a grand, sweeping staircase blocked some of the view. Through the windows I could see the golf course, its pristine lawns a gorgeous background for the guests. The sea of green was so out of place in the desert, it looked like a movie backdrop.

  I loved coming here when we visited Vegas because of all the grass. Desert landscaping depresses me with its varying shades of brown. Seeing the grass here go on and on reminded me of home and of running barefoot in the summers. It always brought a smile to my face.

  “Mr. Thomas, Ms. Harris, your party is waiting for you at the table. Follow me, please,” the hostess said.

  I was terrible. I could never remember the hostess’s name, but she always knew mine. It was an amazing talent of each of the staff members. I bet they got beaten in the back rooms if a member were called by the wrong name or not by a name at all. A physical punishment was the only way I’d remember them all.

  Gray’s parents and another gentleman had their backs to us as we approached the table. I had been under the belief that there would only be four of us dining tonight. I welcomed the distraction of another guest.

  “You are in for a treat,” Gray whispered in my ear. His hand rested on the small of my back leading me to our table. The touch sent tingles up my spine.

  “Who is that?” I whispered back.

  “My Uncle Bob. You are going to love him.” Gray stepped around me and leaned down to kiss his mother’s cheek.

  “Hello, Mother. Father,” Gray said.

  “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Thomas,” I said with a smile.

  Gray’s mother acknowledged me with a nod of her head while Gray’s father stood to hug me hello. I resisted the urge to pat him down. I bet he had a gun tucked somewhere.

  “Uncle Bob, this is Regan Harris,” Gray said.

  “Regan, so nice to meet you! I’ve heard so much about you.” Uncle Bob pumped my hand like he was trying to get water from a well. My head snapped up and down with the movement.

  “Lovely to meet you, sir,” I said. I couldn’t return the compliment. Gray has never said anything about an Uncle Bob.

  “Sir? Call me Bob.” He slapped my back to emphasize his comment. Gray caught me as I lurched forward. Bob was on the smaller side, build-wise, but packed quite a punch.

  Bob kept dinner lively and entertaining. He told stories of being robbed in Bangkok and sleeping on a beach in Jamaica. Bob regaled us with stories of the type of adventures I loved to have. Staying in hostels and seeing the world from every angle sounded like the life to me. It was very hard to picture him and Mrs. Thomas coming from the same family. One of them must have been switched at birth.

  Bob leaned back in his chair, always casual. Mrs. Thomas sat up so straight a yardstick must have been attached to her spine. My back hurt just to look at her. I sat somewhere in between, grinning. True to Gray’s word, the thoughts of jumping off of the Stratosphere kept a giant smile on my face. I needed the distraction from staring at Gray’s father.

  The other mafia boss. I eyed him throughout dinner.

  Michael Thomas looked like any rich businessman. His suit was handmade, and his loafers were fine Italian leather. I tried to picture him ordering a hit on someone, but it was hard. Maybe his assistant did the dirty work? Or maybe Gray’s mother ordered the hits? Michael was tall and lean, like Gray. Dark hair and blue-gray eyes. I studied his features. A shadow of Gray could be seen in them, in the chin line and hair line, but Michael’s nose was straighter and his eyes were a different shape. Close to Gray’s, but not quite.

  Gray’s dad was...likable...and very dad-like. He would be my first choice if I needed help with a problem here. Michael would listen, help you make a game plan and then support you while you worked through your issue. Very similar to Gray.

  When Gray insinuated that his was the other family, I’d laughed. It was definitely my go-to response in times of stress. My friend, Toni, always said, “laugh until you get it,” referring to jokes. I just laughed until another emotion rose to the surface.

  I was still waiting.

  A million questions went through my mind.

  Did they know John Gotti? Was The Godfather an accurate portrayal? Was Tony Soprano portrayed as a viable Don? Why were mob bosses called Dons, anyway? Were horses’ heads really used? Wouldn’t a mouse or cat head be easier to transport and handle? Or were they killing the horses on site? What did they do with the body? Were there such a thing as ‘Cleaners’ like in Pulp Fiction?

  These were things I needed to know, but Gray said I could only ask him questions like those. I thought he was afraid that I would offend someone. Or maybe his parents didn’t know that I knew, yet?

  “What are you working on now, Regan?” Gray’s mother, Mary Francis asked.

  Mary Francis had always been nice to me in a bothersome-child kind of way. I mistook it for genuine kindness when I first met her and was rather hurt when I realized that she was merely acting. In my family, if you were nice and kind to someone it was because you actually liked them and wanted to be nice and kind. In this family, it was an act that was put on for the benefit of everyone else. Especially anyone who may be watching. Unbeknown to most, the Thomas family was actually the longest-running show in Vegas.

  “I’m in Vegas for an interview with Frank Donato at the Magari, Mrs. Thomas.” I focused on the work aspect of our trip since Gray’s parents were still in dark about our upcoming nuptials.

  “My, my, I still find it so out of place.”

  “What’s out of place?” I quickly checked my dress for spots or twists. Seeing I was in the clear, I looked around me. Everything looked fine to me.

  “Women in the workplace.”

  A time machine must have turned the clock back fifty years. The differences between Gray’s and my childhoods were very obvious when we came here to visit. It was never blatant rudeness, but always little jabs here and there, like this one. I came from a working family. Most of the women worked, my sister Peyton was the exception as a stay-at-home mom.

  Gray had always kept our time in Vegas to short one or two-day stops. In the past, I had never understood why. At moments like this, I realized that I owed Gray a big, fat thank you for keeping me away. I reined in my righteousness and responded with sugar in my voice.

  “I minored in Feminism, Mrs. Thomas. I think women in the workplace may be considered progress.” I smiled sweetly.

  “Mother, I hope you are speaking kindly to my fiancée,” Gray said. He stepped in to save me. He was great at not leaving me alone with his mother for long. Three sets of eyes shot my way when Gray said ‘fiancée,’ but nobody commented on it. Yet. The tension built at the table. I braced myself for the fallout.

  “Oh, leave her alone, Mary Francis,” Gray’s father Michael said, patting her shoulder with his hand. I sipped my wine, needing the movement as a distraction. Michael winked at me, acknowledging his role in covering the moment.

  “You’re working for Frank Donato? My, m
y, girl, you better keep your head about you!” Uncle Bob broke into a whooping laugh so loud that everyone in the dining room stopped talking and turned to stare at our table.

  Bob leaned forward and slapped my back as the laughter continued. I spit my red wine across the table all over Mrs. Thomas. The only sounds to be heard were Uncle Bob’s braying like a coyote and my choking as a bit of the wine trickled down my throat. A nervous laugh bubbled inside of me as I stared at Mary Francis. She held her arms out with disgust. Blotches of red wine covered her white dress. Bob grabbed my wrist, shaking my arm back and forth with his laughter. The wine in my glass sloshed over each side, in turn, covering the white tablecloth, too.

  I caught Gray trying to hide a smile behind his hand. His other hand was rubbing my back, trying to help me stop choking. My body was still being jerked back and forth.

  At the sight of the spilled wine, Uncle Bob let go of me, clutched his stomach and laughed even louder. I stared at him wide-eyed, wondering how a little man could be so loud. Bob’s chair tipped back and fell over from his uncontrollable laughter. I couldn’t help but join in the laughter. The man was infectious. The sight was so out of place in the formal dining room that I couldn’t contain my glee.

  I felt the sting of Mary Francis’s glare but didn't dare to look up at her until I regained control of myself.

  “Bob, enough. You sound like a barnyard animal,” Michael said.

  I laughed at that. Bob did sound like a donkey. His laugh was obnoxious. It just made me laugh harder. I clutched my sides as I guffawed with him, each of us egging the other on. Bob could barely right his chair and sit back down from his braying. My sides ached, and I needed a breath, but I couldn’t calm myself.

  Gray’s mother got up from the table and stormed off. I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself, but I made the mistake of looking over at Uncle Bob. We both started up again. Gray hid his chuckles behind his hand.

  “Get it out of your systems before Mother gets back,” Gray said. He kept a straight face, but I could see the laughter in his eyes.

  “Regan, it’s hard to shock Mary Francis, but I think you accomplished that tonight,” Michael said. Now that Mary Francis was away from the table, Michael was openly chuckling. “Sometimes, she needs a little shock to the system to loosen her up a bit.”

  “I’m...sor...sorry. I truly am,” I said, although I struggled to get the words out.

  “No worries, Regan. We all know Bob’s laugh can shock the habit off a nun,” Michael said.

  “Regan, my girl, I like you,” Bob said as he slapped my back again.

  Once we had all calmed down, the staff swept in and cleared and reset our table at record speed. Mary Francis rejoined us wearing a new dress.

  “Mother, you look lovely,” Gray said, his tone subdued again.

  “Thank you. I was lucky the Pro Shop keeps an array of clothes available.”

  I have never called my mom anything but, well, Mom. Never mother unless I am joking around with her. A mom is what she is. I can always picture her barefoot in the kitchen, covered in flour and rolling out fresh dough for chicken and noodles. Or cutting up apples to make a pie just because it sounded good. Store-bought is not in her vocabulary. If wine had been spilled on my mom’s shirt, she would have laughed with us and kept on wearing the shirt. She was a roll-with-the-punches kind of gal.

  “Mother, please don’t hold it against my fiancée. Let’s all have a wonderful time tonight,” Gray said.

  “Did you say fiancée?” Mary Francis shrieked. Her tone more abrasive than nails on a chalkboard. I grimaced. I’d never heard her raise her voice before. I didn’t know whether to be proud that I had gotten her to do it or to be mortified that the thought of me as a daughter-in-law was what broke her.

  “Yes,” Gray said. He draped his arm over my shoulders. I leaned into him.

  “But...but...she’s from a...farm,” Mary Francis said.

  I stifled a laugh at her use of the word “farm” like it was a four-letter word. Well, you know, that kind of four-letter word. It was fascinating to watch her perfectly crafted veneer crack. Emotions flew across her face. Disgust, disbelief, outrage, and anger fluttered across her features before she was able to put her mask back on. She may have controlled herself here, but I knew a blow up would be coming Gray’s way later, in private.

  Gray nudged my leg with his foot. I pulled back and kicked him, but my plan was ruined when Uncle Bob yelped and reached for his leg. I took this moment to excuse myself to let Gray handle his mother. I could hear her comment that I wasn’t anybody important. Gray gave a flippant “who cares.” I turned back to watch them for a moment and laughed. Gray may fight as hard as he could not to be like his family, but he and his mother used the same hand gestures when arguing.

  I headed to the ladies’ room to freshen up and let everyone absorb the bombshell that Gray had dropped. We hadn’t set a date, but the plan was to marry out here since it was so convenient in Vegas. We just needed to decide on when and where, and to let my family know so they could fly out.

  I didn’t hold it against him in the slightest that he used the information to disarm his family. I just wish I’d had some warning that he was going to drop the bomb tonight. I could’ve taken more pleasure in his mother’s reaction.

  The women’s lounge was larger than my first apartment in Chicago. And my second. I picked one of the private vanity areas and sat down to wait. I washed my hands and freshened up my lips. I took off my shoes and stretched my feet. The heels were causing a bit of pain, but nothing major. I checked my make-up one more time, sang the ABCs, put everything back in my purse and exited the restroom.

  “You’re good for him,” Bob said. I jumped back in alarm. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be right outside the door. Bob leaned against the wall next to the door to the restroom.

  “Thank you, I think. You scared the crap out me,” I said. My hand covered my heart, trying to keep it inside of the chest.

  “Sorry. I just wanted a moment alone with you. And a moment away from them. My sister is a real piece of work.” Bob hooked my arm through his and started to escort me back to the dining area. “You are everything Gray needs. He takes life too seriously, you aren’t afraid to let loose and laugh. He needs that.”

  Gray took life too seriously? He and I joked around together almost constantly. The only time he was serious was with his family.

  “Gray and I do have fun together,” I said tentatively. Bob may have come across as the polar opposite from his sister, but I didn’t want to risk being fooled. I’d been burned by this group before.

  “You need to watch yourself over at the Magari. Has Gray told you?” Bob asked.

  “Yes, he has. I find it hard to wrap my mind around.”

  “You may find it difficult, but it’s true. Those men are dangerous. Watch yourself.”

  “And what about Mr. Thomas?” I asked.

  “He is just as dangerous, but lucky for you, he would do anything to protect Gray. That means protecting you, too.” Bob patted my hand with his. “If you ever need anything, I’m your guy. Just call me.”

  Your guy? Bob emphasized the words giving me a flashback to Chicago. Gray and I were caught up in an escort ring and needed more information on the players involved. At the time, Gray had said he had ‘a guy.’ Whoever it was came through, delivering background and insight. Bob slipped a piece of paper into my hand discreetly. I made a fist, hiding the evidence inside.

  “I think I liked the loud Bob better,” I said.

  “Everyone always does.”

  Chapter Seven

  Frank June 1988

  The flash of a camera blinded Franky as he took a drag off his cigarette, enjoying the burn in his throat before exhaling. Franky blinked a few times until his sight returned. He lifted his shoulder in a shrug, stretching the muscle and then relaxing it. He wanted to swing his arm around and give it a good stretch to loosen it up but feared the shirt would rip at the seams. His old m
an had about pulled his shoulder out of the socket last night in his drunken rage. That was the last good move the bastard got in. Franky looked down at his right hand. His knuckles were torn up, swollen and bruised from his father’s teeth. Franky stretched his hand open, extending all of his fingers before relaxing it again. Pain shot through his knuckles, but the pain was worth it. Who was he kidding, using the word father? The only thing the drunk had taught him was how to take a beating, smoke cigarettes and drink cheap beer. Not that he’d be doing any of those things for a long time. Right now, dear old Dad was laid up in the hospital with six broken bones. Hell would freeze over before he ever got close to Franky or his mother again if Franky had something to say about it.

  His mother had begged him to stop hitting his dad, but the rage had taken over. A giant couldn’t have pulled him off. The man had hit his mother for the last time. Only the cops at the door had stopped him from killing his father last night. Thankfully, they were on Mr. Bianchi’s payroll. The two uniforms had looked the other way and not arrested Franky.

  Franky’s eyes burned, and his breath hitched. He fought against the rush of emotion. How the hell could he feel anything for the old guy? But, it was there. Not feelings of love itself for his old man, but feelings of loss for not having a real father. He glanced over at Guy, Sal, and Tony. The three of them hovered around their father, laughing and joking. Pride flashed in Bianchi’s eyes as he looked back at his sons. Jealousy flushed through Franky’s body, replacing the feelings of loss. Those punks didn’t even know how good they had it. Franky took another drag.

  “Hey, DW, wait by the car. Pops doesn’t want to stay for the whole show,” Sal Bianchi yelled back to Frank.

  Franky raised his arm in acknowledgment but didn’t reply to Sal. Sal was a thug through and through. He thought he was invincible because of who his old man was. Antonio Bianchi spent more time cleaning up Sal’s messes than managing the family. Just last week, Antonio had called Franky in to clean up a mess for Sal. Sal had taken it upon himself to tune up Tammy, a hooker who hadn’t been paying her fees. The moron had tried to fix a problem that wasn’t a problem. Tammy’s sister had taken ill, so she had split town for a few days to take care of her. She’d paid up to date the minute she’d returned, but Sal didn’t get the message. He was trying to show Antonio how valuable he was at handling family business and had ended up costing Antonio two weeks of work from Tammy. Franky had brought in the doctor and cleaned her up. He’d spent two days there helping her recover from her wounds. Her voice would never be the same. Sal had choked her until she passed out, which was probably a blessing for her since she didn’t feel the other blows coming. Sal had left her black and blue. Moron. If he weren’t Antonio’s oldest, Franky would shoot him himself, but it’d be a death sentence to Franky. Nobody touched a Bianchi.