Key West (12 page)

“Sonnie? You here?”

Sonnie went to the kitchen door and stood there until Billy revolved on the high heel of a gray suede Stuart Weitzman pump and saw her half-sister. “Well, there you are, Baby. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s a little early, Billy.” Sonnie held her temper in tight check. “As you can see, I wasn’t expecting visitors. Would you mind getting a hotel room and calling me later? Perhaps we can have lunch.”

“Baby?” With her chin jutting, her elegant black hair swinging, Billy approached with a wounded expression in her dark eyes. “I’ve come all the way from Denver to make sure you’re okay. My bags are in the car. Of course I’ll be staying with you.”

“You’re kind, Billy. Do you remember my asking you not to follow me here?”

“You’re still sick. You shouldn’t be alone.”

“Do you remember what I asked of you?”

“Yes, but—”

“I meant it. I know you love me, but you smother me. You always have.”

Billy’s mouth opened and remained open. A simple red cotton dress with a full, swirling skirt looked wonderful on her. “Come on in, Jim. Don’t hover out there.”

“Billy.
”

“Oh, don’t be silly. Jim’s used to seeing women in their pajamas. Here, Jim. This is my poor little sister, Sonnie.”

Α tall, blond, slender man in a pale blue tropical-weight suit entered the hall. He looked upward toward the domed skylight before he turned his attention to Sonnie. He had a handsome face, but also a kind face—a nice smile.

Sonnie wished she could spirit herself upstairs, or simply manage to cover herself with something other than silk pajamas that didn’t want to stay on her.

“Hi there, Sonnie,” Jim said, approaching with his hand extended. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jim Lesley.”

Fixing her left elbow at the waist of her pants, she shook his hand and said, “Hi, Jim.” This must be Billy’s latest significant male. They never lasted long, but there was always hope that one would stick. Billy had been married twice, both times very briefly to tennis players who weren’t much more successful in the big time than she was.

“There’s plenty of space, Baby, isn’t there?” Billy said. “I promised Jim he’d get to spend time in your lovely house. I’ll take the bedroom next to yours and he can have the one the folks use when they come down.”

Only with effort did Sonnie manage not to gape. Separate bedrooms wasn’t a concept Billy had ever embraced—not since she was a senior in high school.

“Carry in the bags, Jim; there’s a love.”

“Billy,” Sonnie said, “this is a bad time.”

“I know.
That’s why I knew I had to take matters into my own hands and look after you.”

“No, you don’t. Jim, I hate to seem inhospitable, but I’m still unpacking. I have a membership at the Sunset Golf and Tennis Club. It’s very nice. In fact it’s the nicest place around—to stay, that is. They don’t have many rooms, but at this time of the year there shouldn’t be any problem. Just drive over there; then call me when you’re settled in.” She had to make them leave. “Romano’s already there.”

“Absolutely not,” Billy said. “I can’t believe you could be so rude, or so ungrateful. I do have a life of my own, you know. The least you can do is be happy to see me and want me with you.”

“How’s the coffee comin’, darlin’ ?”

Billy, Jim, and Sonnie looked up into Chris’s smiling face. Clad in his jeans, but no shirt, and with his feet bare, he jogged down the stairs, fastening his wristwatch as he came. His wet hair curled around his ears.

How easy it would be to sit down and cover her face and pretend none of this was happening.

“Sonnie?” Billy said when some of the shock had subsided.

‘‘This is Chris Talon,” Sonnie said, and actually gave herself silent congratulations for staying calm under fire. “Chris is a good friend of mine.”

“The best,” Chris said, reaching the hall. He took Billy’s hand and shook it. “The Keiths make good-lookin’ women. Wow.” Then he turned to Jim Lesley and pumped his hand until the man winced. “Welcome to our island, Jim. It ain’t exactly tourist season. Too hot, y’know. But you’ll do well enough if you stay out of the way at the Sunset. Pretty good air-conditionin’, they tell me. Not that they let the likes of me in.” He laughed.

Appalled
didn’t cover Billy’s expression. She turned her back on Chris and mouthed
Who is he? Get rid of him,
to Sonnie.

Promptly Chris put himself between Billy and Sonnie and said, “Smells like the coffee’s ready, babe. We wouldn’t want to cook it like we did yesterday.”

Sonnie shook her head vaguely, and her gaze settled on what she hadn’t noted before: the exact nature of his tattoo. Behind Chris’s right shoulder, but with a tasteful chain trailing around the arm, lounged the image of a small but perfectly executed woman in manacles…A naked woman in manacles.

Chris gave the two latest arrivals a salute, took hold of Sonnie’s wrist, and headed for the kitchen. “Watch out for my cycle, won’t you, Jim? Never mess with a Harley man’s cycle. Just a joke. Just a joke.”
Cycle
became
sickle.
He guffawed as if he’d made a huge joke.

Pulled along, Sonnie hurried behind him.

She didn’t catch her pajama pants until they hit her knees.

Nine

Romano remembered a saying: When you get lemons, you make lemonade. There was nothing about this time in Key West that fell in easily with his plans, but he had always been a resourceful man. He would turn what threatened to be a disaster into success, his success.

First item on his agenda: find out the identity of the man who was hanging around Sonnie. They weren’t a matched pair. He was as obviously sexual as she was asexual.

Frank had never complained about being shackled to a colorless woman who, when she was naked, looked like a boy. Romano had spent enough time by her hospital bed playing the concerned brother-in-law to know how physically unappealing she was—certainly to him. He had dated her because she was rich. He liked a woman with plenty of flesh in the right places. The only thing Sonnie would be good for was curiosity. Perhaps that was what had kept Frank coming back to her from time to time—in addition to her money. Frank had been called a pretty boy all his life. Could be that all the women he fucked on the circuit were a cover for what he really was: a faggot who married someone he could pretend was a boy in the dark.

Α compact man in his late thirties approached Romano’s table in the Courts Cafe at the Sunset. He detested the third-rate club. He was accustomed to nothing but the best. The only elevated aspect of this place was its pretensions.

“Romano Giacano?” the approaching man said, grinning happily. His reddish tan went with his thick red hair, sandy brows, and freckles. The tan accentuated deep lines on his face. “As Ι live and breathe, it is you. What the hell, if this isn’t the best piece of luck that’s come my way in a hell of a long time. How the hell are you?” A large, callused hand grabbed Romano’s and squeezed. “Don’t tell me you don’t know who I am. Cory Bledsoe. Golf pro and athletics manager. It’s been a long time, but not that long.”

Romano saw an ex-athlete still looking for some of the limelight he’d never earned. “Yes. How are you?”

Cory indicated the vacant second seat at Romano’s table, and took it without being invited to do so. “Seeing you is making me feel just fine, Look, we’ve got a hell of a situation here. Our tennis pro took a hike with one of the wives—some weeks back. We’ve had no luck filling his place.”

Lucky ex-tennis pro.
Romano hoped the bitch was loaded.

Cory leaned out to slap Romano’s arm. He wiped out the grin and replaced it with a somber frown. “Can’t tell you how sorry I am about Frank. What a talent. What a loss.”

“We haven’t buried my brother yet,” Romano said.

“No, no, of course not. But the worry. It’s got to be like a nightmare that never stops.”

“It is difficult. But we will not give up hope.” In fact, Frank was really scaring him. Since he hadn’t returned, and the business was growing too dangerous to pursue in some areas, money was showing signs of drying up. Without Frank to help replenish the Giacano fortunes, Romano must become very inventive.

“Look,” Cory said, “Ι don’t expect you to want to make a career out of this, but you’re a hell of a coach. Everyone says Frank Giacano would never have made it without Romano Giacano in his corner.”

Romano barely stopped himself from saying, “True.” “My brother is an incredible talent.” He was also an undisciplined, egotistical child with an insatiable appetite for dangerous thrills.

Cory clicked his fingers, and a white jacketed waiter did an impression of a lone ballroom dancer as he slithered and feinted his way between tables. Romano was tempted to applaud when the man arrived, clicked his heels, and gave a short bow.

“A bottle of Dom Perignon, please, Godfrey,” Cory said. “Very cold. And don’t you have some beluga caviar hidden away somewhere?”

With a wink and a twitch of the mouth, Godfrey signaled that he did indeed have what Cory wanted.

When they were alone again, Cory laced his fingers together on the table and said, “Take over as pro for us, Romano. I’m not going to pretend. We need someone who can resurrect the program, and fast. Just your name would do it. If you can’t commit to more than a limited contract, we’ll understand. But you can name your price. Anything. What do you say?”

A bona fide reason to remain—and a way to make his moves on Sonnie and her money less obvious. And, despite the threadbare opulence of the Sunset, the club was the only place of its type on the island, and the reserves had to be beautifully deep.

“Romano?” Cory said. The man’s anxiety made Romano want to smile.

“Nο contract.”

The golf pro spread his hands. “That’s a tough one. We need to cover—”

“Your asses will be covered by my word. If we can agree on terms, I won’t take off with a member’s wife. How’s that?” Cory guffawed and leaned back as Godfrey arrived with the champagne and caviar. “We’ll work something out.”

“Salary, and a percentage of the fees.”

There was a slight but visible slippage in Cory Bledsoe’s bonhomie. “Surely we can come up with a salary that’ll make the other unnecessary.”

The instant they had his name to throw around, the price of instruction would escalate enough to make his salary a pittance. “I’ll want a cut. I don’t work any other way. But if that’s beyond your resources, I will understand. I did not come here intending to work. Perhaps we should forget it.”

“Νο, no.” Cory raised his champagne and waited for Romano to do the same. “Salary and a percentage.”

They clinked glasses and Romano said, “Exact terms to be agreed upon.”

His companion drank and looked at him over his champagne glass.

Romano smiled encouragingly and contemplated how much he’d screw out of this little arrangement—just until he secured more lucrative sources of funds.

He looked up and across the cafe. Speaking of screwing, coming toward him was the woman who did it the best—and demanded the most in return. Of all the foul luck. Billy Keith—as she called herself again since the last divorce—had located him in the softly chattering crowd and came toward him, the skirt of her showy red dress swinging with each undulation of those hips.

He got up rapidly, looked down into Cory’s surprised face, and said, “I see my sister-in-law’s sister looking for me. We have business to deal with. Please excuse me.”

“Of course,” Cory said, craning around to see Billy, who was also being seen by every pair of eyes in the room. “Ah, yes, I remember Billy Keith. Have fun.”

Romano spared him an expressionless glance and went to meet Billy.

When they were within hailing distance, Billy’s husky voice announced, “I couldn’t believe you were here, darling. What a wonderful surprise. Jim Lesley’s with me. You’ll have to come and meet him.”

Romano didn’t have the faintest idea who Jim Lesley was; neither did he care. He was just moving within perfume range of Ms. Keith and already his dick was sitting up and begging. He would never understand how two women who shared a common father could be so different.

They met at midroom and Billy offered a cool cheek. Romano brushed it lightly with his mouth and restrained himself from whispering any of the things she’d undoubtedly hoped to hear.

He offered her his arm and she inclined her head while she slid her hand around his elbow. Making small talk, they walked from the restaurant. They didn’t stop walking until Billy reached her room. While she locked the door to the corridor behind them, Romano looked at the enclosed courtyard and pool beyond the sliding windows. When he turned back to Billy, the brilliant smile had fled.

“She’s with a man. Why didn’t you call me the moment you knew she’d hooked up with some biker on the make?”

Romano took off his silk jacket and tossed it over the back of a rattan chair. “I arrived yesterday—but you know that. You’re the one who told me I’d better get down here.”

“When did you find out about Talon?”

“What makes you think I did?”

“You went to the house?”

“But of course. Immediately.”

“She wouldn’t let you stay there, would she?” Billy asked.

He shook his head.

“She also won’t let me stay there, or Jim—Jim Lesley owns one of the most exclusive sanitariums in the country. He also happens to want me. That may prove convenient if it becomes necessary to send my dear sister away for a long rest.”

Romano couldn’t cover his surprise. “Sonnie wouldn’t let you stay with her? She loves you, Billy. She trusts you.”

Billy kicked off her shoes and sashayed toward him. “Evidently she doesn’t trust me in the same house where she’s living with a tattooed hunk.”

“She’s not...Νο, she’s not living with him.”

Billy’s immediate response was to slip a disk into the player she never traveled without. Allen Tgussaint’s voice, and his magic fingers on the keys playing strictly New Orleans music, swung into persuasive action. Billy danced as only Billy could dance. Arms outstretched, shoulders lifting, fingers clicking, she moved parts of her body Romano doubted some people ever discovered in theirs.