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But we don’t talk about this. There are a number of things we never discuss, like how he takes multiple showers when he comes home. How his hours of work coincide with times that Marjory’s is closed. How I sometimes still crawl into bed with him when I have the odd nightmare. Or how he never, ever has brought a girl home.
“He’s here,” Leka says.
Mary comes over. She runs a finger over the table, toes the ground. It’s clean. I lift my chin. I do good work.
“Go,” she orders.
I heft the bucket up and walk to the backroom. As I’m leaving, the front door opens and in walks Arturo’s entourage. My feet stop moving as I take in the spectacle. Four dark-suited, sunglasses-wearing, gun-toting goons precede the man who controls half the east coast and six of them trail behind. All he’s missing is the tricorn hat and the double-breasted suit coat and he’d be a ringer for Napoleon Bonaparte. Arturo can’t be taller than me. He looks like he needs a booster seat to see over the table. I guess he likes Mary because he’s at eye level with her chest.
She runs over, darting between the guards to press those titties up against Napoleon’s arm. “Arturo, you handsome devil. Why have you stayed away so long? Come over. We have your table all set, and Gerry is making your special dish.”
She rattles on, but the doors swing closed behind me. Gerry is stirring his pasta, a couple plates set up behind him under a warming lamp.
“Grab the raspberry dressing, will ya?” he hollers at me.
“No problem.” I drop the water bucket near the sink, wash my hands and open the walk-in cooler. When I emerge, I find the kitchen filled up with Mary and a couple of guards.
“Why isn’t the food done yet?” she huffs.
“Because genius takes time,” Gerry replies, not bothering to look up from the ingredients he’s stirring.
“I don’t see any genius. I see a smartass who wants to get the side of his head beaten by a crowbar,” Mary snipes. “He’s hungry, so finish up.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Gerry salutes.
She looks like she’s going to mete out that beating before Ger can even plate the food.
I rush over and hold out the dressing. “Here it is.”
“Thanks,” he grumbles and points his spatula at the stainless steel prep counter with two plates of salad. “Set it there and don’t pour it on. You’ll add too much.”
This is the way of the world, I think. Mary punches at Gerry, who punches at me because he can’t hit back at the one he really wants. I sigh and set the dressing down and back away. This is one of those times where it’s best to stay out of the fray.
“This doesn’t look like the extra-spicy sausage.” Mary peers over Gerry’s shoulder.
“It is.”
“Where’s the red pepper? I don’t see any of it.”
“It’s there,” he huffs.
She bumps his arm. “Where? I don’t see it.”
“It’s there!” Gerry explodes. “Are you blind? It’s there and there.” He jabs his finger down into the pan.
Mary jostles him again, I guess to get a better look. “It’s on your head if he doesn’t like the dish.” She straightens, dusts off her hands against the front of her pretty yellow dress and then flounces away.
“For Christ’s sake, I’ve made this every time he’s come and he fucking loves it,” Gerry says. “It’s better than the sex she’s giving him.”
I’m glad he waited until Mary left to add that part or she’d probably have one of Arturo’s guards pistol-whip him for the after-dinner entertainment.
I turn to dump out the bucket of water when I feel a hand at my elbow. I look up to see one of the guards breathing down my neck, a look of interest in his eye.
He rakes me from head to toe. “Who are you?” he asks, the tone slightly insolent.
“Eh, you might want to take a step back. She’s Leka’s kid,” Gerry calls over. He’s finished cooking and is now plating all the food.
The guard releases my elbow and does shuffle back a bit. I try hard to keep the surprise off my face, but I’m not sure I entirely succeed when Gerry winks at me.
“Leka’s well known.”
I don’t ask for what. Instead, I say to the guard, “You need something?”
“Just making conversation,” he lies. The interest in his eyes is still there, but it’s a lot more respectful.
“She’s also fifteen. If you want to hang on to your dick for longer than a day, I’d suggest you lay off. Leka wouldn’t be happy,” Ger advises. “Come over here and help me carry the food out.”
I slip past the guard, who doesn’t lose the gleam in his eyes. The only attention I’ve garnered from males in the past has always been in the form of mockery, so this guard’s light flirtation should be flattering. Instead, it makes me uneasy. Like Ger said, I’m Leka’s girl. No one should be looking at me like this guard but Leka.
