Romancing Sal Gabrini 2: A Woman's Touch (13 page)

“That
could take months,” Tommy reminded him.
 
“The guy broke out of prison, for crying out loud.
 
The authorities aren’t about to forget about
him.”

“I
know.
 
But that’s the best I can do right
now.”

“But
if your people found him, what’s to stop the cops from finding him?”

“Don’t
insult me like that, Tommy,” Sal said.
 
“Those cops couldn’t find Shaquille fucking O’Neal if he was to be
standing right in front of them.
 
There’s
no comparison.”

“Okay,
you, a former cop, hate cops.
 
What else
is new?”

Sal
exhaled.
 
Closed his eyes.
 
“I’m just tired, I guess.
 
Tonight didn’t go so well.”

“What
happened?” Tommy asked.

“Gemma
happened.
 
Kira was hanging around and
motioned for me to come outside to talk.
 
Gem saw it and followed us out there.”

“Kira’s
ass should be fired for even approaching you like that.”

“If
she wasn’t so good and valuable, don’t worry, she would have been.
 
But she’s good.”

“So
what happened?” Tommy asked. “Gemma assumed it was a love affair?”

“Yeah.
 
The only way I could convince her that it
wasn’t was for Kira to tell her what we were talking about.”

“Ah,”
Tommy said.
 
“Not good.”

“Not
good at all.
 
Now she’s got to be
wondering if I’m worth all this shit.
 
She’s got to be thinking hard about that!
 
And tomorrow we head to Indiana to meet her
folks.
 
This is getting to be too
much.
 
I don’t know how to handle it.”

“The
only way you can handle it,” Tommy said.
 
“Slowly.”

“I am
taking it slow.”

“Take
it slower,” Tommy said.
 
“You don’t want
to scare her away.
 
See how it goes this
weekend.
 
Then you’ll know if there’s any
hope.”

Sal’s
tired blue eyes opened.
 
“You talk like
there might not be any hope.”

“You
have to face facts, Sal.
 
You have a lot
going on in your life.
 
A lot of
positive, but a lot of negative too.
 
Would you blame her if she doesn’t want to take all of that on?”

Sal
frowned.
 
The truth hurt him to his
core.
 
“No,” he said truthfully.
 
“I wouldn’t blame her.”

“Then
hope for the best,” Tommy said, “but please be prepared for the worse.”

Sal
said that he would be, talked a few minutes longer with his brother, and then
hung up the phone.
 
But after he hung up,
he didn’t get up.
 
He got down, on his
knees, and found himself doing something he rarely ever did.
 

He
prayed.

NINE

The plane
landed in Indianapolis and Sal and Gemma un-boarded and walked across the
tarmac to the waiting sports Mercedes.
 
Although Gemma chose to dress casually, in a pair of jeans, tennis
shoes, and a Gap t-shirt, Sal wore a double-breasted suit.
 
This was a matter of business for him.
 
He felt he needed to make the best impression
he could.

Gemma’s
parents lived forty miles out of Indianapolis, in a bedroom community called
Rosemont, and Sal drove fast all the way there.
 
Gemma was certain he was worrying about absolutely nothing, her parents,
in her eyes, were the sweetest people on the planet.
 
But like Sal, she didn’t take any chances
either.
 
She silently prayed too, as they
drove.

Sal
eventually glanced at her as the hay fields and long, winding roads began to
resemble the previous hayfields and long, winding roads they’d already
traveled.
 
“Any pointers?” he asked her.

Gemma
smiled.
 
“Just be yourself, Sal.”

“Ah,
come on, Gem.
 
You know your folks.
 
What is it that I need to avoid, at least
tell me that?”

There
was one thing.
 
But Gemma didn’t quite
know how to say it.

“Just
tell me,” Sal insisted.

Gemma
looked at him.
 
“Legit,” she said.

Sal
frowned.
 
“Legit?”

“Avoid
the word at all costs.
 
My father is a
banker.
 
Anybody who goes around talking
about how legitimate their business interests are, the more suspicious a man
like him will become.
 
A legitimate
businessman will never have to say they’re legit.
 
So avoid it.”

“Legit,
I got it.”
 
Then Sal smiled.
 
“Now that wasn’t hard, was it?
 
I tell you I’m a quick study.”

Gemma
smiled, Sal returned his attention back to the road ahead and his own internal
thoughts, and silence ensued.

Until
they turned onto Destin Drive, where the Joneses lived.
 

“What
the,” Sal started, when he saw the big, upscale, split-level houses that seemed
remarkably similar to one another.

Gemma
looked at him, surprised by his language.
 
“What the what?” she asked him.

“This
is nuts.
 
They all look the same!”

“What
look the same?”

“These
houses!
 
They all look the same!”

Gemma
looked at the houses, realized what he meant, and then she laughed.
 
“They do not, Sal.”

“They
do!
 
You can go to the wrong house
easily!”

Gemma
couldn’t stop laughing.
 
She’d never
heard such an idiotic thing before in her life.
 
“I doubt that, but okay.”

“They’re
nice houses, though,” Sal said.
 
“Don’t
get me wrong.
 
Very whatta you call
American-looking.
 
Very suburban.”

Gemma
was glad that he was pleased.
 
Besides,
it wasn’t a bad compliment, she thought, from a man who owned the luxury
apartment building he lived in.

But
then Sal said “wow” and Gemma looked at him again.
 
“What’s amazing you now?” she asked.

“Are
those your folks?”

Gemma
looked as they turned into her parents’ driveway.
 
Her mother and father were standing outside,
on the wraparound front porch of their big brick, colonial-styled home.
 
“Yes.”

“They
look like a Normal Rockwell painting.
 
Give your old man a pitch fork and they got it down pat.”
 

Although
Gemma laughed, it only disheartened Sal.
 
How in the world, he wondered, were salt of the earth people like this
going to take to a crude man like him?

Then,
to make matters worse, as soon as the car stopped rolling on the driveway and
parked behind a big, black SUV, Gemma abandoned him.
 
She jumped from his car and ran to greet her
parents, her slender body making that run effortless.
 

By
the time Sal got his big self out of the car and made his way up to them, the
daddy had already hugged and lifted her off the ground, and the mother had
already given her a kiss and a hug as well.
 
Now they were all eyeballing Sal.

But
Sal was no stranger to stares.
 
He knew
how to show strength. His eyes stayed on the father.
 
On Rodney Jones.
 
He was the leader of this family, and the one
Gemma talked about the most.
 
As the
father went, Sal figured, the family went.
 
He wiped his hand on his suit, and then extended it.
 
“Mr. Jones,” he said as they shook, “I’m
Salvatore Gabrini.
 
It is an honor to
meet you, sir.”

Rodney
Jones, Gemma’s fifty-year-old father, returned the compliment.
 
“Honor to meet you,” he said as they shook.

“Gemma
has told me so much about you.”

“And
Gemmanette has told us a lot about you, too,” Rodney said, his eyes glued on
Sal as well.
 

Sal
smiled when he heard Gemma’s full name.
 
She told him that name once, when they were in bed one night, but it
sounded strange hearing it on somebody else’s lips.
 
Gemma-nette.
 
He smiled.

“And
nice to meet you, Mrs. Jones,” he said, extending his hand to the mother when
he and Rodney concluded their handshake.
 

But
her mother would have none of that. “I’m a hugger,” she said with a wry smile
and wrapped Sal into her small arms.
 
Gemma smiled.
 
So did Sal.

“Come
on in,” Rodney said, hugging his daughter again, and they all began heading
inside.
 
The first thing Sal noticed
about the parents was their beauty.
 
He
immediately saw where Gemma got her good looks from.
 
The mother was a dark-skinned stunner too,
and the father, though of a lighter complexion, would not be confused as
anything but attractive himself.
 
Both
were small of frame, although the mother was very petite.
   

Not
that Sal would get to know her much because, after they all settled into the
living room and Rodney provided drinks for everyone, she immediately excused
herself into the kitchen to check on dinner.
 
She asked Gemma to come along.

They
weren’t in the kitchen five minutes, both with freshly washed hands as they
chopped a huge cabbage into bite-sized pieces, before Gemma couldn’t resist.

“So,
mom,” she said as they stood at the center island and chopped away, “what do
you think?”
 

Cassie
didn’t stop chopping.
 
She knew exactly
what her daughter meant.
 
“He’s very
handsome.
 
Oooh-la-la,” she added with a
twirl of one of her hands.
 
“Very.”

Gemma
smiled.
 
“And?”

Cassie
hesitated.
 
“And very Italian.”
 
She glanced at her daughter.

Gemma
nodded.
 
“Yes.
 
He’s Italian.
 
You don’t have an issue with that.
 
Do you?”

“No.
 
Not if you don’t.”

“I
don’t.”

Cassie
smiled.
 
“Good.”

But
Gemma wasn’t satisfied.
 
Surely her
mother had more to say than this!
 
She
was beginning to wonder if Sal’s concerns weren’t misplaced after all.
 
“But what do you think about him?
 
Your first impression I mean?”

Cassie
stopped chopping and looked at Gemma.
 
“I
think that he’s . . .”
 
Gemma knew her
mother was a thoughtful person and was giving her answer some thought.
 
“He’s older than you,” she finally said.

Again,
it wasn’t quite what Gemma was expecting.
 
“He is, yes,” she replied.
 
“And?”

“And
I don’t know what you want me to say, Gemmanette.
 
I just met him.
 
My first impression is that he seem so . . .”

“So
what, Ma?”

“So .
. .So . . . So Tony Soprano.”

Gemma
smiled and then laughed.
 
“He looks
nothing like Tony Soprano!”

“Not
in looks.
 
I know it’s ridiculous, but
that’s my first impression.
 
Has he ever
been married before?”

Gemma
shook her head.
 
“No.
 
Never.”

“For
a man his age, don’t you find that rather startling?”

Gemma
hesitated.
 
“No,” she said.
 
“Not really.”

“What
about children?
 
Does he have any kids?”

Gemma
shook her head on that one too.
 
“None.
 
Thank God.”

“Does
he want children?”

“My
goodness, Mother, we haven’t spoken about
that
yet.”

“But
I thought you said you’ve been dating him for several months.”

“I
have.
 
But I also told you it’s a long
distance affair.
 
He lives in Seattle and
I’m in Vegas.
 
If you count up all the
times we’ve actually been together in those several months, it hasn’t been that
long.”

Cassie
was still staring at her daughter.
 
“Do
you think you love him, Gemmanette?”

Gemma
nodded her head.
 
“Yes, ma’am.
 
I think I do.
 
Very much.”

Cassie
still looked worried to Gemma, but she managed to smile.
 
“All I know is that I raised a smart, strong,
sensible woman.
 
If you’ve taken the
measure of this man and you’ve determined that you love him, and that’s he’s
worthy of your love, then I’m satisfied.
 
He can’t possibly be anything but wonderful.”
 

Gemma
laughed, and hugged her mother.
 
She knew
she could always count on her.

Back
in the living room, however, the hug-fest wasn’t exactly on display.
 
And, in Sal’s mind, what could have been
considered inquisitive questions by Gemma’s mother, was more like an
inquisition by Gemma’s father.

He
was seated on the sofa opposite the one Sal was seated on, leaned back, his
legs crossed, and his bespectacled eyes trained on Sal.
 

“Who’s
Paulo Gabrini?” he asked him.

The
question was unexpected.
 
Sal found
himself hesitating, something he hated doing.
 
In his experience, hesitation usually showed guilt or weakness.
 
“He’s dead now.”

“While
he was alive, who was he?”

Rodney
had to already know, Sal thought, or he would not have brought him up.
 
“He was my uncle.”

“Your
uncle.
 
Your father’s brother, right?”

“Yeah,
so?”
 
Sal didn’t mean to sound defensive,
but he knew he did.

“So,
this uncle of yours was one of the most brutal, notorious crime bosses to ever
grace the east coast.”

“
Yeah, so?
 
What does that have to do with
me?”

“I
looked you up,” Rodney admitted, “as I’m sure you expected me to.”

“I
did.”

“Every
time your name came up, his name was mentioned.
 
In article after article.
 
It was
never Salvatore Gabrini, the owner of this or that.
 
It was always Salvatore Gabrini, the nephew
of reputed mob boss Paulo Gabrini and the owner of this or that.”

“So
what are you getting at?
 
You want me to
be responsible for how some fu . . . for how some reporters decided to write
their articles?
 
Is that my fault now?”

Rodney
smiled, but Sal wasn’t fooled.
 
He was
smiling the smile of a man who knew he was winning.
 
“It’s not a question of fault, Mr. Gabrini.”