turned to leave, Dom hesitated. “I guess being the preacher’s daughter, you say grace, huh?”
“I should, but I’m the black sheep of the family, Dominic. I haven’t got it in me anymore.”
“That’s too bad,” Dom said. He began winding the spaghetti with a fork and spoon and eating it expertly, all the while watching Amelia. She ate voraciously, and he knew she was hungry.
To Amelia the spaghetti was like manna from heaven, and the freshly baked Italian bread the best she had ever tasted. She savored the red wine, knowing her parents wouldn’t approve, but she enjoyed it anyway.
“That was so good, Dom,” she said, sitting back.
“You were pretty hungry, kid.”
“Yes, I was. Not very ladylike, I’m afraid.”
“What’s happening with you?”
“Nothing is happening with me.”
A touch of defensiveness in her voice alerted Dom, however, and he said, “Having it tough? The city’s that way. People come here with big hopes and dreams, and they get shot down mighty fast—down in flames sometimes.” He studied her reaction.
“I haven’t had much luck,” Amelia admitted.
“Tell me about it. I’ve eaten too much to move for a while.”
And then Amelia found herself talking to Dom in a way she would never have thought possible. She had not quite blotted out of her mind the sight of Dom beating her brother so brutally, but now in the warmth of the café and filled with good food, she was off her guard. She sat there describing her struggles, how she had lost her roommate and could not find another one, and even how she had hocked her necklace and given all of her food money to a poor woman on the street.
Amelia’s head jerked up, and her lips tightened. “I didn’t mean to dump all that on you, Dom. Nobody wants to hear about somebody else’s troubles.”
“I guess not,” Dom said. He dropped his eyes, and Amelia thought she had offended or at least bored him. She was about to get up, thank him, and make her exit when he said abruptly, “Wait here a minute, kid.”
Amelia watched as he stood up and walked across the room. He spoke to Louie and then picked up a phone and dialed a number. She saw him wait, speak briefly, then come back and take his seat. He took a card out of his pocket, wrote something on it, and said, “Go see this guy.”
Amelia took the card and read Dom’s scrawl: Mickey Riley, the Green Dragon. Thirty-second Street.
“Who is this?”
“Riley owns a nightclub. It’s not the nicest in town, but it does a good business. I go there a lot, and he told me last time I saw him, the day before yesterday, that he needed a singer.”
Amelia fell silent and stared at the card for a long time. When she looked up, she saw that Dom’s eyes were cautious. He shrugged his beefy shoulders. “Singing in a nightclub ain’t much, but you can work nights and look for a real acting job during the days.” When she still did not answer, he said, “A bad idea, I guess. A preacher’s daughter wouldn’t want to go into a nightclub.”
Impulsively Amelia leaned over and put her hand over Dom’s. It was a big hand, strong and hard, with big knuckles.“Thank you, Dom. I guess I’m past making the easy choices. I’ll go see him.”
“If you get the job,” Dom said, very much aware of her hand on his, “you don’t have to worry about guys getting funny. Riley fancies himself a ladies’ man, but I told him I’d tear his head off if he or anybody else fooled with you. There’ll be no funny stuff.”
Amelia patted the big hand and said, “I’ll go right now, and Dom . . . thanks.”
Dominic Costello rose and paid the bill. When they got outside he doffed his hat and said, “Let me hear from you. My number’s on the other side of that card. If you need anything, let me know.”
Amelia felt so much better than she had a few hours ago. She smiled at him. “It’s good to know there’s one person in this town besides my family who cares about me. I’ll call you,
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