Romeo of the Streets (12 page)

“All he said to me was that Lou was completely distraught. It was my own decision to talk to you about it.”

Her stern expression barely faltered. “Uh-huh? Then why didn’t you tell me you’d seen Romeo last night? Why did you keep it a secret?”

I looked up at my big angry friend, looming above me, and sighed. It was time to come clean. “I guess,” I said, “well I guess, because I didn’t actually know what I was doing there myself in the first place.”

Lisa snorted laughter. “Yeah,” she said, “didn’t know. Right. Romeo Mancini. I can think of a reason or two for you to be there.” She paused, looking down at me with put-on disgust. “Slut.”

“Ugh!” I squealed, shocked at the insult, and playfully punched her on the arm. “Bitch.”

“Yeah I am,” Lisa nodded, “I’m your worst nightmare.”

We laughed for a moment and I looked up at her again. “Listen,” I said, “Romeo told me how upset Lou was and it was obvious how messed up about it you were too. You know I’ve never exactly approved of your relationship, but you and Lou are maybe the two most important people in my life so if there’s something I can do to make you both happy again I’ll do it, even if it goes against all of my better judgment.”

Smiling slightly, Lisa shook her head. “You should have been a lawyer Sandy,” she said, “because you are one silver-tongued siren.”

I shrugged. “So it’s on again?” I asked, happy to be finally off the hook.

Lisa turned pink with pride and I knew that look to mean that she had something that she couldn’t wait to tell me. “He’s taking me to
Vivaldi
on the pier tonight, can you believe that?”

“Wow,” I breathed, “lucky you!”

“I know right?” Lisa squealed.

Vivaldi
was one of the fanciest restaurants in the city, it was a wonder that he’d been able to get reservations there at all, let alone actually pay for the extortionate price of dining there.

“He says he knows a guy,” Lisa said, “one of the Matre’Ds or something.”

“Cool,” I said, hoping that my skepticism wasn’t showing. Yeah right, I thought, Lou—my crass and classless brother—just happens to know a guy connected to
Vivaldi
. So much for keeping the gangster stuff away from their relationship. God only knew how he’d manage to pull that one off.

“Tell me about it,” Lisa said, “get a load of Cinderella Sacrimoni over here, it’s going to be like a fairytale!”

“I’m really happy for you,” I said. “So does this mean we’re cool again?”

Lisa paused as she studied me for a moment, a sly grin on her black-painted lips. “Sure, we cool homie,” she said, “just do me one favor?”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Let me use your cellphone for a minute. I think I left mine back in Lou’s and I have to call him to make sure it’s there…”

Lisa’s sister Elena owned a classy boutique uptown with her husband and since Lisa was going to need something special for
Vivaldi
she left shortly after that to go pick something out from her sister’s store. I only hoped Lou wouldn’t show her up that night by not making an effort to dress well himself. I shuddered to imagine him sitting amongst all the other high-class diners in a tank top and jogging jacket with his shaved head, goatee and earing, a dumb look on his face while he wondered why everybody else was staring at him. That would be so like him it wasn’t even funny.

I got a text from Paulie asking if I was doing anything that night and I was about to reply no, not unless work counted, when I noticed a big, all-caps message to Romeo in my sent messages folder, one that I most certainly hadn’t sent myself.

“What the hell?” I muttered clicking it open. My heart dropped in an instant and a cold chill ran down my spine. “Oh no…”

“
ROMEO
,” the message read, “
TRY AS I MIGHT I CANNOT STOP THINKING ABOUT YOU. PLEASE COME OVER ASAP. I’M AT MY PLACE XX.
”

That bitch.

I was wracking my brains trying to think of a way to make him believe that it really had been Lisa who’d sent the text, when the doorbell rang and my heart started to race. Shit! If that was him then that meant he’d wasted no time getting here, which meant… what exactly? That an impassioned plea from me—real or otherwise—to come right over and ravish me had been important enough for him to drop whatever he was doing and rush over straight away. I didn’t know whether to be mortified or thrilled.

I darted to the mirror to quickly touch up my makeup and fix my hair as the doorbell rang again. Ok, it was time to face the music. I went downstairs, opened the front door and immediately froze.

The guy looked less than stellar, that was the first thing I noticed. He was staring at me with big, bleary eyes, strands of his sleek hair spilling down over his handsome forehead in a way that made me want to instinctively reach up and brush them back across his smooth, almond-colored brow. Fighting the urge as I looked him over, I quickly realized that whatever reason he had for coming here, it probably hadn’t been to ravish me after all (which was a good thing? Maybe. Maybe not—in my confusion I was undecided).

“Romeo,” I said, “well I guess you better come in.”

I stepped back to let him enter the stairway and he pushed past me, glaring dominantly around us as though to check for anybody else who might be hiding out in the hallway. In this close proximity I could tell now that he smelled strongly of alcohol—as well as his usual cool, manly fragrance—and it was clear that he was well on his way to being far past drunk. So why then, did the first thought to pop into my head have something to do with exploiting his obvious vulnerability for my own nefarious gain? Feeling slightly guilty, I pushed the thought away and tried to maintain my composure, if only on the outside at least.

“Sandy,” he said, still gazing cautiously around him, “everything alright?”

“Uh… yes,” I said, now totally confused. “What about you? Are you ok, Romeo?”

He turned shakily towards me and peered at me with blurry eyes. “Huh?” he said, “yeah, I’m fine. What was with that text? Did somebody take your phone?”

I sighed, not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. “So you knew it wasn’t me,” I said. “Lisa—she found out about your little conspiracy and I guess she wanted some payback.”

“Conspiracy?” Romeo said, raising an eyebrow at me, and I realized then just how shook up he actually was.

“You know,” I said, “about getting her back together with Lou? This little prank was her idea of revenge.”

“Oh,” Romeo said. He sighed deep and slow, finally seeming to relax a little, the contours of muscle beneath his tight white t-shirt easing off from the tension. Thankfully he was still too drunk to notice where my eyes were…

“I thought something had happened to you,” he said, “that someone was trying to use you to coax me over here.”

I stared at him. What the heck was he talking about?

“Romeo,” I said, “how much have you had to drink today?”

He shrugged. “Too much,” he said, “maybe.”

“Did you drive over here?”

“Sure. I was worried about you. I had to get here as fast as I could.”

I folded my arms. “Ok,” I said, “well first of all, I have no idea why anybody would be using
me
of all people to get to you Romeo—we barely know each other—so I only hope that this is some kind of drunken overreaction on your part, which is so not cool, by the way.”

Romeo gazed at me casually, appearing now to have regained some of his usual composure, even through the liquor. Infuriatingly, it looked like my words of criticism were going to go right over his head, just like always. Why couldn’t I get to him the way he got to me, I wondered? Regardless, it wouldn’t stop me from having my say…

“And secondly I can’t believe you drove over here in that state. Come with me. I’ll make up the couch for you and you can take an hour or two to sleep it off. I’m not letting you leave again like that.”

“Well,” Romeo said, “I am kind of tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah, no shit,” I answered, trying my best to hide my surprise that he hadn’t even protested. “Come on.”

I turned and walked back up the stairwell as Romeo closed the front door behind him and then made his way up.

I brought him out a blanket and pillow and arranged them on the couch for him. I pretended not to watch as he took off his leather jacket, unveiling a chest and abdomen that rippled beneath his tight t-shirt, before bending down to untie his boot laces.

“Do you need a hand with that?” I asked, in a deliberately sarcastic manner to mask my excitement at having him undress himself right here in front of me in my own living room.

“Yeah,” Romeo smiled, “you wish,” and I blushed despite myself.

Not exactly wanting to, I turned away as he unbuckled his jeans and then slid out of them with the lithe, dry sound of denim rubbing against flesh.

“I’ll be in my room studying if you need anything,” I said, eyes facing the back wall.

“Cool,” Romeo said, his voice already foggy from sleepiness, “hey Sandy… thanks.”

“It’s fine,” I said and then went back to my room, where try as I might I could not keep my mind on my studies. Not while he was out there in the other room, so close and yet so far away and already half-naked, sleeping like a big comfy bear on my own little couch.

It was beginning to get dark outside when I heard him rapping softly on my door. I smiled impulsively, expecting to see a slightly more sheepish side to Romeo Mancini now that he’d slept off that afternoon’s booze. No such luck.

“Hey,” he nodded as he opened the door, “thanks for the couch. I needed it.”

Because he didn’t look one bit embarrassed about the situation, I found myself acting a little more bristly than I felt inside. In retrospect, I guess maybe I just wanted a reaction from him.

“It’s nothing,” I said coldly, glancing back to my books, “just don’t let it happen again.”

“I won’t if you don’t.”

I looked up suddenly to see that wry little smile on his lips and a playful glint in his deep, intense eyes. “Um… excuse me?”

“Oh come on Sandy, you took total advantage of my drunkenness—getting me up here, putting me to sleep on your couch…
undressing me
…”

“Hey!” I said, shocked at his absolute gall, “you undressed yourself. Excuse me, but having a big smelly boy sleeping off a drunk while I try to study is not my idea of good fun.”

“Sure,” Romeo shrugged, “you say that, but I know what you’re really like.”

I clasped my hand over my mouth with outrage and then grabbed one of my books and flung it at him. He deflected with lightning reflexes and a pitying laugh that suggested that he merely felt sorry for me for even
attempting
to hurt him. I watched him with inflamed emotion and then began loading the rest of my books into my book bag. I was not getting into this with him right now—not only was
he
the one who was supposed to be embarrassed about this whole situation—but I had to be at the café to open up for Valentine’s Night and tonight of all nights I couldn’t be late.

“Well,” I said, “I think you’ve overstayed your welcome Romeo Mancini, I’d like you to leave.”

He didn’t bat an eyelid. “Sure,” he said, “but let me give you a lift to the Café to pay you back for the hospitality.”

I blinked, wondering to myself how he knew I was working that night. It wasn’t a weekend after all and I didn’t think I’d mentioned it to him in between escorting the drunken mess to the couch and throwing my book at him after he’d so rudely awoken.

Romeo smiled, obviously reading the confusion on my face. “It’s Valentine’s Day,” he said, “of course you’d be working.”

I shook my head in wonder, well aware that there was nothing I could do or say to turn him down. Now that I was getting to know him better I was beginning to see an entirely different side to Romeo Mancini than the usual veneer of silent and moody that he showed to everybody else—and I didn’t know whether I should be running a mile in the opposite direction or running straight into his arms.

Not only did he drive me to the café that evening but he insisted on helping me set up the tables while the caterer prepared the food in the kitchen. And—when he saw how daunted I must have looked by the crowds of married couples from the area who were streaming towards the café for a romantic dinner that night—he pointblank insisted on staying behind to help me serve too. It was amazing. I never could have pictured him in an apron but he really seemed to take to it, immediately having great banter and rapport with the mostly-elderly clientele.

For about an hour or so it was really chock-a-block and we barely even had a chance to talk to each other, but once we’d served up most of the diners we were able to relax and sit back a bit, enjoying the cumulative glow of a dozen different candle-lit dinners going on at once, only having to get back up again every five minutes or so to fill a drink order or bring another basket of bread to the tables. I made sure that we kept the conversation light and merely friendly—talking about movies and TV shows, sports and things like that—not least of all because this was the Orange Grove where everybody knew me and it would have been bad enough for gossip just to be seen in the company of a tall, dark and handsome stranger like Romeo, let alone actually getting close to him while I was at it. And besides, I wasn’t sure if I actually wanted to get close to him anyway. Could anything good really come from it?

By nine pm the last of the diners were finishing up their meals and me and Romeo were cleaning up the rest of the tables. Even on special nights like this one Gino’s had never been a late-night venue so I didn’t feel self-conscious about cleaning up while the last remaining diners lagged behind. They would probably go down to Charlie’s Lounge at the end of the block after this, where a big swing band was set to play for the special occasion.

“Thank you for a lovely evening Sandra,” Mrs. Campiano, who’d lived a few rows down from us growing up, said as I cleaned up the plates for her and her husband. “Tell me, how is Gino doing?”