on notice that I could play with Vinny but there were risks. Real risks. I had never met anyone like him in all my years of casual dating in New York.
We passed over the Brooklyn Bridge, and in less time than it took me to reapply lip gloss, a parking attendant was trying to help me gracefully down from my seat in such a way as to prevent my dress from sliding up to my waist. I made a mental note to take my car the next time—if there was a next time.
The hour was late and the dining room was only sparsely filled. Vinny knew the manager, who rushed over when he saw us.
“Frankie, sweetheart! How are you?”
Vinny and Frankie actually kissed each other on the cheek. My imagination expected men in sunglasses and black clothes to appearand stand by with one hand in their armpit in case they had to defend Vinny’s life. What a thought!
“Why don’t you two sit by the window—sit anywhere you want—and I’ll send you over something special.”
“Great idea,” Vinny said, and took my elbow to lead me to the table. “Thanks, Frankie.”
It was a perfect summer night and the light show of Manhattan’s twinkling skyscrapers opposite us was spectacular. The occasional boat floated by and I had to admit it was a terribly romantic spot.
“Beautiful here, isn’t it?” he said.
“Yes, it is.”
A waiter appeared with an ice bucket on a tray and two wineglasses. In the bucket was a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. Apparently, Vinny wanted to please me by ordering a wine that I liked. I took that as a good sign.
“Know what, Betts?”
“What’s that?”
“You shouldn’t be getting in cars with strangers. I mean, you don’t even know who I am.”
“I’ve got a pretty good idea who you are.”
“Yeah? Well, I know more about you than you think.”
The waiter poured out two glasses of wine; we touched the rims and took a sip.
“Like what?”
“Like you live at 540 Park in a classic six, that you have a teenage son, that there’s never been a husband, and that you drive a beat-up old car. You work for ARC, you are well respected, and there’s not much happening in your private life. How’s that?”
I was flabbergasted. And completely unnerved.
“How do you know all that?”
It was hard to believe those gorgeous eyes belonged to someone from the world of organized crime.
“Google,” he said, and laughed. “And a couple of lucky guesses.”
I smiled, not knowing whether to believe him or not.
“Oh, and by the way, you lied about Atlanta. You’re from Charleston.”
He winked.
CHAPTER SIX
J.D.’s Gone Fishing
D awn. I was wide-awake. Wide-awake like it was three o’clock in the afternoon. I went to the window of our bedroom and looked outside to see what kind of a day it would become. Steam was rising from the grass. The brown patches on the lawn seemed to have spread overnight like a virus, slowly but surely devouring everything in its lethal path. The day would be brutal, but long ago I had learned how to navigate the heat. Dress light, drink a lot of water, stay inside during the middle of the day. How about just stay indoors in general? It was August in the Lowcountry of South Carolina. Of course it was hot. And with the kind of work I did, I didn’t have the luxury of staying indoors all the time. To tell you the truth, heat was like anything else—you just got used to it.
I glanced at Valerie curled up in the bed in her pale blue eye mask and pale blue negligee and wondered if she was happy with her pale blue fluff of a life. She could not have been. Not at any deep level,anyway. Valerie had probably stopped thinking about happiness a long time ago. She would never have admitted it, but I thought she lived in a constant state of stress and worry that if my mother could do so, she would vote her out of the family, or that I would run away with a girl who could give me children. I wasn’t going anywhere. That’s not how we Langleys were wired.
I dressed quietly and went downstairs
We passed over the Brooklyn Bridge, and in less time than it took me to reapply lip gloss, a parking attendant was trying to help me gracefully down from my seat in such a way as to prevent my dress from sliding up to my waist. I made a mental note to take my car the next time—if there was a next time.
The hour was late and the dining room was only sparsely filled. Vinny knew the manager, who rushed over when he saw us.
“Frankie, sweetheart! How are you?”
Vinny and Frankie actually kissed each other on the cheek. My imagination expected men in sunglasses and black clothes to appearand stand by with one hand in their armpit in case they had to defend Vinny’s life. What a thought!
“Why don’t you two sit by the window—sit anywhere you want—and I’ll send you over something special.”
“Great idea,” Vinny said, and took my elbow to lead me to the table. “Thanks, Frankie.”
It was a perfect summer night and the light show of Manhattan’s twinkling skyscrapers opposite us was spectacular. The occasional boat floated by and I had to admit it was a terribly romantic spot.
“Beautiful here, isn’t it?” he said.
“Yes, it is.”
A waiter appeared with an ice bucket on a tray and two wineglasses. In the bucket was a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. Apparently, Vinny wanted to please me by ordering a wine that I liked. I took that as a good sign.
“Know what, Betts?”
“What’s that?”
“You shouldn’t be getting in cars with strangers. I mean, you don’t even know who I am.”
“I’ve got a pretty good idea who you are.”
“Yeah? Well, I know more about you than you think.”
The waiter poured out two glasses of wine; we touched the rims and took a sip.
“Like what?”
“Like you live at 540 Park in a classic six, that you have a teenage son, that there’s never been a husband, and that you drive a beat-up old car. You work for ARC, you are well respected, and there’s not much happening in your private life. How’s that?”
I was flabbergasted. And completely unnerved.
“How do you know all that?”
It was hard to believe those gorgeous eyes belonged to someone from the world of organized crime.
“Google,” he said, and laughed. “And a couple of lucky guesses.”
I smiled, not knowing whether to believe him or not.
“Oh, and by the way, you lied about Atlanta. You’re from Charleston.”
He winked.
CHAPTER SIX
J.D.’s Gone Fishing
D awn. I was wide-awake. Wide-awake like it was three o’clock in the afternoon. I went to the window of our bedroom and looked outside to see what kind of a day it would become. Steam was rising from the grass. The brown patches on the lawn seemed to have spread overnight like a virus, slowly but surely devouring everything in its lethal path. The day would be brutal, but long ago I had learned how to navigate the heat. Dress light, drink a lot of water, stay inside during the middle of the day. How about just stay indoors in general? It was August in the Lowcountry of South Carolina. Of course it was hot. And with the kind of work I did, I didn’t have the luxury of staying indoors all the time. To tell you the truth, heat was like anything else—you just got used to it.
I glanced at Valerie curled up in the bed in her pale blue eye mask and pale blue negligee and wondered if she was happy with her pale blue fluff of a life. She could not have been. Not at any deep level,anyway. Valerie had probably stopped thinking about happiness a long time ago. She would never have admitted it, but I thought she lived in a constant state of stress and worry that if my mother could do so, she would vote her out of the family, or that I would run away with a girl who could give me children. I wasn’t going anywhere. That’s not how we Langleys were wired.
I dressed quietly and went downstairs
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