Big Daddy Sinatra: There Was a Ruthless Man (The Sinatras of Jericho County Book 1) (8 page)

But
nothing like this.
  

The
next morning, when she woke up in bed, she fully expected him to be long
gone.
 
It was a good night, but now it
was good riddance.
 
But although he was
fully dressed and was seated in the chair near her bed, he was still
there.
 
She continued to lay there when
she saw him.

“I
thought you said you had to take care of business this morning,” she said.

“I
do.”

She
waited for him to say more about it, but he didn’t.
  
He, instead, continued to stare at her.

“How
do you feel?” he asked her.

“I
feel . . .
 
pretty good.”

“No
aftershocks from that accident last night?”

“No.
 
No aftershocks.”

What
about the aftershocks from their mating, he wanted to ask. The kind he was
feeling.
 
The kind that caused him to
stay and stare, rather than do as he always did after one night stands, and
leave.
 
“What caused your late start,
Jenay?”

Jenay
didn’t understand his change of direction.
 
“My late start?”

“You’re
thirty-two just beginning your career.
 
That’s late.”

She
knew it too.
 
And a part of her was
unaccustomed to someone being so blunt about it.
 
But he was right.
 
“The plan,” she said, “was to get him through
law school, and then he was going to be able to support the family and send me
to school.
 
And it worked.
 
At least half of it.
 
His half,” she said with a weak smile.

But
Charles wasn’t smiling at all.
 
“How long
were you married to the guy?”

“Seven
years.”

“And
he got that seven year itch.”

“No.
 
He got a better offer.
 
A woman who could support him in the lifestyle
he wanted.
 
It had nothing to do with any
itches.”

Charles
nodded.
 
He was pleased she didn’t fall
for that cliché.
 
“You have no children
of your own?” he asked her.

She
hesitated.
 
“No,” she said.
 
“We tried, but it never happened.
 
Since he had two kids, we had no choice but
to assume I was the reason.
 
I’ll
probably never have any children.”

“You
want children?”

“I
want . . .,” she started, and then stopped.
 
Then she started again.
 
“I want
to get going, you know?
 
A career first,
because I need to be able to support myself.
 
And then I’ll see.
 
It’s too much
to think about a career and a family at this point.
 
First things first.”

“What
about your family?
 
Your parents?
 
They must be proud of you.
 
Are they coming to your graduation ceremony?”

“They
live in California.”

“So
what?”

“They
can’t get away.”

“Bullshit,”
Charles quickly said.
 
“Their daughter is
graduating college.
 
That’s a big damn
deal.”

“Not
to them.
 
I’m graduating from a two-year
trade school, in essence, when they expected me to graduate from an Ivy League
school the way they had.
 
My mother said
it best: ‘It’s not as if you’re graduating from med school or law school, or
even a real college.’”
 
Jenay then
smiled.

Charles
stared at her.
 
If the pain was there,
she was masking it well.

“I’m
afraid I’ve been a grave disappointment to my folks,” she said.
 
“Everything they wanted me to do, I did the
opposite.”

“You
sound like my sons.”

She
laughed.
 
“They told me to stay clear of
my ex-husband,” she continued, “but I wouldn’t listen.
 
They told me that if I had to have him, at
least go to college first and get a degree.
 
Do me
, was how my mother put
it.
 
But I married him and took to
raising his two girls instead.
 
They told
me to never rely on a man as long as I lived. I was twenty-two and relying
completely on a man.”
 
Then she
hesitated.
 
“I was young and dumb and
wouldn’t listen.
 
Point blank
period.
 
And I paid for it.”

There
was an eerie silence in the room.
 
Charles didn’t know how to respond.
 
It wasn’t as if he could wave a wand and her past could be erased.
 
If that were the case, he’d be waving all
kinds of wanes at himself.
 
“Econolodge,”
he finally said.

Jenay
looked at him.
 
Where did that come
from?
 
“Excuse me?”

“Go
with the Econolodge offer.
 
At least
you’ll be a manager there.
 
Motel 6 is
only offering you assistant manager.
 
Go
with the Econolodge offer.”

Jenay
smiled.
 
“I’ll see,” she said.

She
was no pushover, which he liked.
 
But
they both knew he was lingering.
 
It was
long past time for him to go.
 

He
finally stood up.
 
“I’d better go,” he
said, and placed his hands in his pockets.
 
Lingering again.
 
“You take care
of yourself, Jenay.”

She
nodded.
 
“You too, Charlie.”

“Do
you need me to drop you off somewhere?”

“No,
no thank-you, I’m fine.
 
One of my
friends will pick me up.
 
But thanks.”

He
wanted to kiss her, and hold her, but what the hell would that prove?
 
But as he turned to leave, he turned back
around.
 
Lingering yet again.
 
He couldn’t just leave!
 
“Jenay, maybe we can . . .”
 
Even he had to pull himself back.

“Take
care, Charlie,” she said.

But
he couldn’t say goodbye.
 
He couldn’t
just say goodbye.
 
“Maybe we can get
together again sometime,” he said, and suddenly felt as if he was suspended on
a hook.

Jenay
looked at him.
 
A part of her wished he
meant it.
 
He was that straightforward
kind of man she would have liked to get to know better.
 
But she had to face the truth.
 
Even if he did want to see her again, it
would more than likely be more about seeing her
body
again than seeing her.
 
And if sex, albeit great sex, was all there was to their relationship,
who needed it?
 
She could get sex
anywhere.
 
“What good would come of it?”
she asked him.
 

He
knew it too.
 
It was a question he
definitely couldn’t answer.
 

“Have
a nice day, Charlie,” she said.

Charles
actually felt relieved.
 
She got him off
the hook.
 
“You too,” he said, and meant
it.
 
And then he stopped such fanciful
thoughts, and left.

Jenay
would have liked a kiss goodbye, and to feel his big, warm arms around her
again.
 
And that magical penis of
his.
 
She would give a lot to feel that
inside of her again.
 
But she was glad he
didn’t go there.
 
They had a night.
 
A wonderful night.
 
Nothing more.
 
Nothing less.
 
Get over it,
Jenay!
 

And
she did.
 

She
got out of bed, and hopped into the shower.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Seven Weeks
Later

They
never come alone.
 
Charles stood at the
window inside his downtown office and watched Joe Mason and his small son get
out of his Mercedes and walk across the sidewalk.
 
A Mercedes, Charles thought.
 
He didn’t pay his mortgage, but he paid that
car note.
 
And that was find by
Charles.
 
But why did they always run to
him when the mortgage was due?

His
desk intercom buzzed, as he knew it would, and his secretary announced that Mr.
Mason was there to see him.

He
told her to send him in, and then he unbuttoned his suit coat, and sat behind
his desk.
 
Like the coward Charles took
him for, Mason pushed his innocent child out front, as he walked in.

Once
the two men spoke, Charles motioned for Mason and son to take a seat.
 

“You
remember my boy, don’t you, Big Daddy?”
 
Mason was smiling when he said that, as if a man like Charles would be
swayed by such buttery.

“Yes,”
Charles said.

“Say
hello to Big Daddy, Mikey,” Mason ordered his son.

“Hey,
Big Daddy,” the boy said in a way that reminded him of his own baby boy.
 

“Still
doing good in school?” Charles asked.

“Yes,
sir,” the boy replied.

“Keep
it up,” Charles said.
 
Then buzzed for his
secretary.
 
“I want you to go in the
lobby with Miss Mary, while your father and I handle some business.”

Mason’s
smile left.
 
He couldn’t take away his
trump card.
 
“I thought he’d stay, and
sit in on it.”

Charles’s
voice remained measured and clear.
 
“He’s
not sitting in,” he said, as his office door opened and Mary Stalworth, his
secretary for over a decade, walked in.

“Yes,
sir?”

“Take
this young man in the lobby with you, Mary.
 
I need to talk with his father.”

“Yes,
sir.”
 
Then she smiled.
 
“Come on, son.
 
Daddy won’t be long.”

The
boy looked at his father, but then followed Mary.
 

When
the door was closed, Charles leaned back.
 
“What can I do for you, Joe?” he asked.

“You’re
taking my house,” Mason said.

“You
didn’t pay your mortgage.
 
For the past
five months.”

“It’s
been hard finding work.
 
This economy’s a
mess.
 
Clinton and his thug
administration has this country going to hell in a hand basket!”

 
“But back to your foreclosure,” Charles
said.
 
“That’s what you need to worry
about.
 
Not the government.”

“I
have six children, Big Daddy,” Mason said, remembering his own woes.
 
“And you know Agnes is not in the best of
health.
 
They said she could lose a leg
if those clots don’t stop.
 
And my oldest
girl’s back home.”

Charles
didn’t respond to that.
 
What could he
say?
 
He never said life was easy.
 
His wasn’t a bed of roses either.
 
And he didn’t see what any of it had to do
with the fact that he didn’t pay that mortgage for the past five months.

“I
have a lot going on,” Mason said.
 
“You
can’t take my house!”

“It’s
not your house.
 
It’s the bank’s house
until you pay for it.
 
You stopped paying
for it, Joe.”

“Because
I took a hard hit!
  
Don’t you understand
that?
 
I sell feed.
 
Because of Clinton, business has been lousy
lately.
 
Nobody trust what he’s doing
with our country!
 
This country is going
to hell---”

“In a
hand basket,” Charles finished for him.
 
“I heard already.
 
But I’m also
sure President Clinton has nothing to do with why you haven’t paid that
mortgage.
 
Or why Jerichodians aren’t buying
more feed.
 
Maybe, and I’m shooting in
the dark here, but maybe they aren’t buying more feed because three other feed
stores have opened in town in the past year and you’re no longer the only game
in town.
 
And you never cut your costs
and adjusted your lavish lifestyle to fit that reality.
 
Maybe that has more to do with your business
woes than President Clinton.
 
What do you
think?”

Asshole right
, Mason thought as he stared at Big
Daddy Sinatra.
 
Big Daddy his foot!
 
Everybody told him he was wasting his
time.
 
Everybody told him Big Daddy
thought mercy was a hospital and kindness was a horse.
 
He didn’t have a clue what either was, and
Mason was wasting his time if he thought he’d get either from a man like that.

“What
can I do to make this right?” Mason asked.
 
“Can I get the loan restructured?”

“It
was restructured eight months ago.
 
And
you paid for a couple months.
 
Then you
stopped again.
 
Loan restructuring is
out.”

“Then
what am I supposed to do?” Mason asked with desperation in his voice.

“Sell
that Mercedes, catch up your mortgage, and restructure your high-flying
lifestyle to reflect the realities on the ground.
 
That’s a start.”

Charles
grabbed a pad and pen and began writing down a name and number.
 
“Call Ed, the manager at my dealership.
 
He’ll give you top dollar for that car and
pay off the remaining balance.
 
It should
be enough for you to catch up the loan.”

“You’ll
allow that?
 
You’ll pull the
foreclosure?”

“You have
until five pm today before that loan becomes due in full, as you already
understood in the countless warning letters you’ve received.
 
You sell that car or you don’t sell that car,
payment in full on that house will become due by five pm today.
 
If you catch up before then, it will be
pulled.
 
If you don’t, it won’t.
 
No ands, ifs, or buts about it.”

Mason
wasn’t satisfied.
 
“I love my car,” he
said. “Why should I have to sell it?”

“Don’t
sell it,” Charles suggested.
 
“Live in
it.
 
You and Agnes and all of the
children.”

Mason
looked at Charles with an angry glare.
 
“Have you no pity for your fellow man?
 
What good is my old house to you?
 
The last thing you need is more property in this town!”

“So
what are you saying?
 
Because I don’t
need your home, you shouldn’t have to pay for it?”

“You
should forgive the back debt, and restructure that loan again.
 
That’s how you help people.
 
That’s how you can help me.”

“I’m
not a social worker.
 
I’m not in business
to help people.
 
I’m in business to make
money.”

“So
finally we hear the truth!” Mason proclaimed as if he had just unearthed
something major.
 
“The truth has come to
light!
 
That’s all it’s about for you.
 
Money.”

Charles
didn’t respond to that because there was nothing to respond to.
 
Of course he was in business to make money!

“At
least the truth is out,” Mason continued.
 
“At least now I know that all of those horror stories I heard about you
have been confirmed.
 
It’s all about
money with you.
 
Not love.
 
Not compassion.
 
Money.”

“You
own a feed store?” Charles asked calmly.

“You
know I do,” Mason responded.

“If I
go into your store to make a purchase, do you expect me to pay you with
money?
 
Or will love and compassion do
the trick?”

Mason
stared at Charles.
 
“That’s not the same
thing, and you know it!”

“How
much of your inventory,” Charles continued, “do you give away for free?
 
How much love and compassion do you show to
these struggling families around here and let them go into your store and have
the run of the place?
 
And when it’s time
for them to pay, do you simply forgive the debt with love and compassion?”

Mason
stood up.
 
“I will not be insulted this
way,” he said.
 
“It’s not the same and
you know it!
 
I’m leaving,” he said, and
he turned to leave.
 
Then he turned back,
grabbed that name and number Charles had written on a pad on his desk, and
left.

Charles
leaned back and ran his hands across his face.
 
He needed a break.
 
A nice break
away from this madness.
 
But it didn’t
happen.
 
He didn’t even get a chance to
so much as reflect on Joe Mason’s hypocrisy before his cell phone buzzed.
 
It was Tony.
 
They had a problem.

Charles
sped his Jaguar through the streets of Jericho as if there was no speed limit,
negotiating turns along the mountainous roads like a downhill racer, until the
final turn turned into the driveway of Donald Sinatra’s suburban home: a
wedding gift from his father.
 
And it was
his father who got out of the Jaguar and walked steadily across the lawn to the
front door.
 
His next-oldest son Tony,
who had phoned him with the news, opened the door.

“You
got here fast enough,” he said as he opened it.
 
“A plane could not have gotten you here faster.”

“Where
are they?” Charles asked as he entered the home.

“She’s
in the bathroom.
 
I made Donnie go in the
guestroom.”

Charles
walked swiftly down the narrow hallway that led to the bathroom, with Tony
closing the door and following close behind.

When
they entered the sizeable bathroom, they saw a blond-haired young man sitting
on the side of the tub, with Donald’s pregnant wife Susan standing over
him.
 
She had a compress in her hands and
was nursing the young man’s numerous facial bruises.
 
He had been in a fight, it was obvious to
Charles, and had lost.
 
They both looked
at Charles when he walked in.

“It
wasn’t my fault, Big Daddy,” Susan quickly said.

“That’s
what you heard?” Charles asked her. “That’s not what I heard.”

“But
it’s not the truth!” Susan insisted.
 
“Donnie beat up Paul for no reason.
 
I begged him to stop, but he wouldn’t.
 
He could have killed him, Big Daddy!”

Charles
ignored her histrionics.
 
“What was he
doing here?” he asked her.

Susan
and the bruised man exchanged a glance.
 
“He was visiting me,” she ultimately said.
 
“But Donnie came home and took it the wrong
way.”

“You
and Blondie here,” Tony pointed out, “were in the bedroom.
 
In fact, you were in the bed.
 
I don’t know what way you expected him to
take it.”

“Paul
wasn’t feeling well, and I let him lie down.
 
That’s all I did.
 
He came over to
say hi, and then he started feeling really bad.
 
I didn’t know what else to do, so I let him lie down.”
 

She
had one of those grating voices that annoyed the shit out of Charles.
 
But he maintained his cool.
 
He never wasted his energy on idiocy, and he
wasn’t about to start now.

“I
wasn’t in that bed with him,” Susan continued her nerve-grating tirade.
 
“I was just sitting there talking to
him.
 
We were talking.
 
I was just sitting on that bed, that’s all I
was doing.
 
I was sitting.
 
But Donnie took it the wrong way!
 
I was just sitting.”

Charles
knew exactly what kind of sitting she was doing, and it was more on that man’s
face than on any bed, but that was what happened when children played grown-up
games.
 
He moved over to the young man
who, like Susan and Donald, weren’t even twenty yet.
 
The young man flinched when Charles reached
for his chin, but then he relaxed as Charles lifted the chin to check out the
extent of his bruises.
 
They were
extensive, and bad.