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“What do you think?” I ask, spinning in a wide circle. The silk slithers against my skin, like the caress of a hand. I don’t plan on taking this dress off ever. I’ll scrub the toilets at Marjory’s with a toothbrush for the next decade if I have to. I wait for Leka’s smiling response. For once, his declarations that I’m beautiful may actually be true. “Well?” I prompt. I hold out the sides and sway from side to side. “It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?”
Leka says nothing. He raises a hand to cover his mouth. Is that to disguise a frown? I search his eyes, looking for approval or disdain, but find nothing. His eyes are blank. The silence grows prolonged. Even Catherine, who couldn’t seem to stop talking before, can’t find anything to say.
My smile wilts. “Do you…do you not like it?” I croak out.
“It’s fine,” he says, and without another word, gets up and leaves.
Catherine clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth and pushes me into the dressing room. “It’s a lovely dress.”
“Okay,” I say, but at this point, Anna Wintour could waltz in and say that it’s more beautiful than any gown worn at the Met Gala and I wouldn’t believe her. Leka hates this dress and so do I.
20
Bitsy
“I’m sorry.” I stare down at the large dress box on my lap. I wonder if Leka’s pissed because of the cost. The total amount for the shoes, the rhinestone jewelry, and the dress had me gasping. I tried to leave without purchasing it, but Leka was having none of it.
“For what?” Leka asks as the cab driver pulls away from the curb. He takes the dress bag from me.
The wide boulevards and glass storefronts give way to narrow alleys and graffitied buildings before I answer because I don’t know what’s wrong. I don’t know if it’s the dress. I don’t know if it’s because of the cost. I don’t know if it’s because I’m not doing the right things at school. I don’t know anything other than the fact that Leka’s unhappy, and if he’s unhappy, I’m miserable.
The cab stops in front of the restaurant. “I’m sorry about everything.”
He won’t look in my eyes. “You’re not the one who needs to apologize.”
“That’ll be ten fifty,” the cabby says.
Leka peels off a twenty. “Keep the change.”
I scramble out of the cab after him. “Is it the dress? Because I can return the dress.”
He shoots me a lopsided smile that is full of emotion I can’t read. He’s changing on me. I used to be able to understand every single twitch of his brow. Now there are secrets in his eyes.
“The dress is beautiful. You’re beautiful. I guess I didn’t realize you’re growing up.” He shuts the cab door behind me and hustles me inside the restaurant.
He just realized I’m growing up? And the blue dress did it? That’s it. I’m wearing that blue dress every day until I die. “I’m fifteen, not five, Leka.”
“Don’t remind me,” he mutters.
There’s no time to respond, because as soon as we clear the doors, Mary grabs Leka, whipping the bag out of his hand.
“Arturo is coming.” She points to me. “Get an apron on and go clean table ten. And make sure you get the floor. We don’t want his feet sticking to the floor. You—” The finger moves to Gerry, the overly loud, can’t-stop-talking goon, who pales. He half loves Mary and is half afraid of her. “He’ll want spicy sausage, peas, and orecchiette pasta. Don’t forget. He likes it hot.”
And, then, as quickly as she appeared, she disappears inside the staff bathroom. Gerry and I exchange apprehensive looks. It’s not that we fear Arturo, but it’s Mary that we have to worry about. After a meeting with the boss, Mary has only two moods: smug satisfaction and torrential anger. It really depends on whether she gets what she asks for. Most of the time, it’s positive.
“Keep your head down,” Leka cautions.
I give him a nod of understanding. In the back, I grab a couple of rubber gloves, fill a bucket of water, and head for the corner booth where Arturo conducts his business while in town. While I’m scrubbing down Arturo’s table, Leka is watching the door. One of his hands is resting on his belt loop not far from the gun that’s holstered inside his blazer.
Arturo is the head of the crime syndicate that Leka works for. I don’t know exactly what duties Leka carries out for Arturo, but all I know is that it has to do with guns and blood and that it’s not legal. I can’t really pinpoint the exact moment I figured that out.
Maybe it was when he first took me home with him and we had to hide on the fire escape while the realtor showed the apartment to prospective renters. Or maybe it was the time I found the gun in his room, tucked under the mattress. Or maybe it was when I figured out that no stock boy at a steakhouse can earn enough money to afford a two-bedroom apartment in this city.
