A Bookie's Odds (17 page)

After a minute, Nicholas gave up trying to force the images in his mind. Instead, he took care of his needs while thinking of the woman he could not have. He reasoned that as long as he kept his hands—and all other body parts—off her, there was no harm in dreaming.

Once he found the release he had sought, he slumped against the wall. Something told him it would not be enough. Like an addict, he was going to need more and more to get him through the day.

When he finally stepped out of the shower, he realized he once again had failed to get a change of clothes. Sighing, he wrapped a towel around his waist and cracked open the bathroom door.

The aroma of coffee drifted down the hall. Pots clanged on the stove.

“I told you I was going to cook.”

“I just put on the coffee,” Georgia called back. “I’ve never had any complaints about that.”

“Just don’t touch anything else.” He opened the door wider. “And don’t come out of the kitchen.”

He wasn’t surprised when the brat’s head popped out of the kitchen. Her gaze slowly moved from his damp hair and down his bare chest and finally stopped at the towel. “Then what do you want me to do?” With a lecherous grin, she leered at him as if she was waiting for the towel to fall.

He adjusted his grip on the terrycloth covering to prevent her from getting her wish. “Stay there and drink your coffee.” He waved her back with his free hand.

After a heartbeat, she shrugged her shoulders, then retreated into the kitchen. He waited until he heard her rummaging through a cabinet before he stepped into the hall. He rushed to the bedroom and closed the door.

The bed was made and the pajamas she had worn were neatly folded on the edge. Despite the torture her presence caused him, he would always leave the welcome mat out for her. Anyone willing to straighten up behind herself would never be turned away by him.

Nicholas threw on a T-shirt and jeans, then headed for the kitchen before Georgia disobeyed his order not to touch anything. To his relief, she sat in the chair near the window, scanning through a newspaper. The table was set, the necessary pots were on the stove, and all the ingredients he needed were lined up on the counter.

“Where’d you get that?” He pointed to the newspaper.

“The newsstand,” she replied as she neatly folded the rag. “I went out while you were in the shower.”

“You must’ve run. I didn’t know you were gone.”

“Or you could’ve been in the shower that long. Sheesh, I take less time in the bathroom…even when I wash my hair and shave my legs.” She dropped the paper next to her plate. “What were you doing in there?”

“None of your business.” He silently groaned as the image of her legs popped into his mind.

She sucked her teeth. “Drink your coffee.” She pointed to the mug in front of his plate. “Maybe it’ll help your disposition.”

Spending the next three hours locked in the bedroom with her was the only thing that would help him. However, as that was not an option, he picked up the mug and gulped down his coffee.

The liquid burned his throat and brought tears to his eyes. It also did a wonderful job of taking his mind away from an activity he could not engage in.

He slammed the mug onto the counter. Georgia shook her head as she raised her own mug and took a normal sip. He was certain she was one step away from calling someone to lock him up. Who knew, maybe what his grandmother told him when he was growing up was true…masturbation caused insanity.

Nicholas poured another cup of coffee. Following Georgia’s example, he took a normal sip before setting the mug aside. As he reached for the butter, he blocked out everything around him. Whenever he stepped into the kitchen, he focused on the task at hand. His grandmother had taught him that a meal will come out half-assed if he only gave it half his attention. It was a lesson he took to heart, and he was well rewarded whenever he sat at his two-chair table.

Fifteen minutes later, Georgia’s mouth dropped open when he turned from the stove with the pan in his hand and spooned cheese eggs onto their plates. After placing the pan in the sink, he added a platter of toast and pancetta to the center of the table.

“Help yourself.”

Georgia spooned a forkful of eggs into her mouth. Her eyes widened as she tasted the food, and he swore she groaned as she swallowed.

“Where’d you learn how to cook like this?” she asked as she reached for a slice of toast.

“Nonna.”

“But your father’s always complaining that you and Celeste don’t know your way around the kitchen.”

Nicholas slid into the chair across from her. “Celeste doesn’t, but I do.”

“Why didn’t you tell him?”

“’Cause he’d insist I work at the club.” He swept half the pancetta off the platter onto his plate and grabbed four slices of toast.

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“That was his dream. Not mine.”

She nodded in understanding as she grabbed two slices of toast.

Nicholas held out his hand, and she passed him the newspaper. He opened to the first page. His hand froze with the forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth as his gaze landed on an article in the lower right-hand corner.

“What’s wrong?” Georgia asked, her voice filled with concern.

“The police found a body in a dumpster three blocks from your father’s bar.”

“Oh, that.” The concern switched to indifference.

Nicholas looked up from the picture of the severely beaten man. Carl…Earl…whatever the hood’s name was…hung out on the same corner where they found his body. On more than one occasion Nicholas had witnessed a transaction between him and someone who obviously needed his next fix.

Nicholas had taken an instant dislike to the young man because of his chosen profession. He came to loathe the dealer after the man called Georgia out of her name due to her association with the Santianos.

During one confrontation, Nicholas had slammed on the brake and shifted his car into park in the middle of the street before he jumped out and went after the other man. He had been prepared to make him swallow every tooth in his mouth, but Georgia ran to his side and begged him not to resort to violence. He allowed her to pull him back to the car. As he drove away, he fumed about her passive beliefs.

Yet this morning she sat across from Nicholas, eating as if nothing was amiss. Her eyes showed no emotion for the young man or the horrific beating he had sustained.

Nicholas remembered the interaction between Georgia and his father the previous afternoon in the hospital room. Showing off was the quickest way to get caught when taking matters into his own hands. Though witnesses would spread the word of the consequences of messing with family, they would also tattle when confronted by the authorities. Therefore, whenever there was a confrontation it was best to limit the number of people involved and never discuss what transpired.

It was for that reason he knew neither his father nor Georgia would talk about the young man’s death. However, he had no need for them to confirm his suspicions. He knew his father had a hand in the dealer’s demise and that not only was Georgia aware of the role he’d played but she approved.

Nicholas closed the paper and dropped it into the garbage behind him. He was disgusted that someone could be so evil that his death would elicit no emotions from the most peace-loving person he knew.

Once they finished breakfast, Georgia insisted on doing the dishes. The chore did not take long, since Nicholas always cleaned as he prepared food, to minimize the mess he had to work around. Also, if there was one thing he did not enjoy, it was tackling a sink full of dishes on a full stomach, when all he wanted to do was lounge around in front of the television.

Georgia strolled into the bedroom as he was brushing his hair. He watched her reflection in the mirror. Her face was brighter than it had been the previous day, and her eyes were more alert. She stood tall, with her shoulders back, capable of taking on the world.

“You ready?”

She nodded.

Nicholas tossed the brush on the dresser. He took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze before leading her out of the apartment.

****

Georgia’s shoulders slumped. She did not know where to begin.

The damage to the bar was worse than what she remembered. The majority of the furniture appeared beyond repair. And she did not think there was a bottle of liquor left intact.

Nicholas patted her shoulder. She was grateful for his presence. Without him, she did not think she would be able to stand there. Yes, the previous night she had talked about cleaning up and opening back up, but talk was cheap. Action was what mattered most, and if she had been by herself, she was certain she would have followed her instinct to curl up in the middle of the room and cry.

“Go upstairs and change. I’ll get everything we’ll need.”

Georgia headed upstairs. She first called Joey to apologize for not showing up for work the previous day. It did not come as a surprise that he had already heard about the attack on her father. The Santianos were quick to pass on news regarding family and friends.

After her employer gave her his best wishes, she changed into a pair of denim capris and one of her father’s old shirts. Though her father insisted ladies did not wear pants, she owned two pairs. She preferred them over dresses when she helped with the quarterly cleaning and maintenance of the bar.

When she returned to the bar, Elvis Presley’s “That’s All Right” drifted from an old radio her father had stored in the back room after he purchased the newer model. Leave it to Nicholas to turn to music her father called noise.

A mop and broom leaned against one end of the bar. Several rags lay on top. The salvageable bottles of liquor were lined up on the other end.

Nicholas stood behind the bar, pouring a shot of whiskey.

“You know Daddy wouldn’t like you drinking his liquor.”

Nicholas reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He dropped a twenty on the bar and shoved the billfold back into place.

“That’s too much.”

“He’ll owe me a couple.” He raised the glass to her, then downed the liquor.

Shaking her head, she walked behind the bar to ring up the sale. She pressed a button and the register dinged and the drawer slid open.

Georgia gasped.

“What’s up?”

Nicholas glanced over her shoulder at the full drawer. She was sure that if she counted the money there would be more than her father usually took in on a Thursday night.

“Your father shouldn’t have.”

“What makes you think Pops is behind this?”

Georgia glanced back. Like father, like son. Reveal nothing, play innocent, but be there for a friend in a time of need.

Before she could reply, the bell over the door tinkled. Georgia glanced past Nicholas at the young man entering. His lips were turned down in a frown, worry lines marred his olive complexion, and tears hovered at the brim of his downcast eyes.

“I’m sorry, Georgia.” His voice cracked.

She rushed from behind the bar to the young man who was two years her junior. “It’s all right, Ray,” she said, embracing him.

She felt his head shake against hers. “No, it’s my fault.”

Georgia pulled back and stared into his hazel eyes. “Why’s that?”

“I shouldn’t have left him.”

“You were here?”

He nodded. “I came in early on Thursday and was sweeping when Earl walked in with his shadows. Your father said he needed me to run an errand and once I was finished, I was to call it a night. Something told me to stay, but he insisted.”

“I’m glad you listened to him. If not, you’d be lying in a hospital bed next to him.”

“Still—”

“Stop beating yourself up. You know there’s no way he’d have let you stay, even if he had to toss you out of here himself.”

The stubborn set in his jaw said Raymond would continue to blame himself. “What are you going to do?” He glanced around the room.

“Exactly what Daddy would’ve done. I’m going to clean this place and open up.”

“You’ll need help.” He reached for the broom and nodded toward Nicholas. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Been busy,” Nicholas replied. He looked at Georgia before adding, “But I’ve put things into perspective.”

The two men stared at each other. Though they did not say a word, she felt like they had made plans about her life without consulting her.

Georgia opened her mouth to give both men a piece of her mind. A quick glance at the task ahead of her forced her mouth shut; she swallowed her complaint. Better to have them stick around and help while thinking they had some say in her life than to have them walk out and force her to deal with the mess on her own. With a huff, she righted the chair next to her and inspected the damage.

****

“Here’s another one.”

Georgia set the chair on top of a table to the right of the door, where they were placing the furniture in need of repairs. The stack to the left was the furniture that was beyond repair and slated for the junkyard. Unfortunately, the pile on the left was larger than the one on the right, and together they were far more than the usable stack in the back.

The damage had been more extensive than Nicholas had originally anticipated. With only a half dozen chairs sturdy enough to hold a body and two tables undamaged, there was next to no place other than the bar for people to sit while they enjoyed their drinks. If it wouldn’t have taken the paperwork so long to get through, he would have suggested they apply for a cabaret license and turn the center of the room into a dance floor.

Georgia’s shoulders drooped again. Nicholas knew she was beginning to feel overwhelmed at the task ahead of her. Not only did she have to take care of the bar, but her father would need care, too, once he was released from the hospital.

Feeling the need to lighten the mood, Nicholas turned up the volume on the radio as the first beats of Eddie Cochran’s “C’mon Everybody” played. He strutted back to Georgia, took her hands, and led her toward the center of the room.

“What are you doing?”

“Granted, I’m not an expert, but I think most people would call this dancing.” He slipped one hand around her waist and bopped in time to the music.