“Little” was hardly the word to describe Western Pussy. Michael was transfixed. He’d never seen anyone quite like her. It had always amazed him that men were turned on by strippers. If you couldn’t touch, what was the point of looking?
Later that night, Vito invited him to join Western and himself for dinner at his favorite steak house. Although Western was all over Vito, she couldn’t resist nudging her leg up against Michael’s thigh under the table.
Jesus! From Mamie to this. What next?
The moment he got home, he phoned Dani. Her kid answered the phone.
“Hi,” he said. “Is your mommy around?”
“She’s not back yet,” the boy said.
“This is Michael.”
He waited for the boy to say something like, Oh yeah, I know who you are. Mommy’s told me all about you.
Nothing.
“Michael, your mommy’s friend,” he said. “Has she mentioned me?”
“Nope.”
“She hasn’t? Okay, well, you and I are gonna meet. What are you into—baseball, football, or basketball? What’s your game?”
“I like ’em all.”
“Next time I come out there, we’ll get together.”
“Bye.”
Michael replaced the receiver. Why hadn’t she mentioned him to her son? They were going together, for God’s sake. Okay, so he didn’t live in the same city, but they were going together.
He got into bed, put on the TV, and fell asleep watching Johnny Carson on The Tonight Show. He dreamt about Beth. Or at least he thought it was Beth; it might have been Dani. He couldn’t remember which one it was when he woke up. Was that a good sign?
He didn’t know.
Soon Dani would be here, and he could start figuring out their future. He couldn’t wait.
Dani—1975
Whenever Dean came into town, he took Dani to dinner.
“What does your wife think of all these trips?” she asked. As far as she was concerned, they had settled into the perfect platonic relationship, which suited her fine. Only, she wasn’t sure how his wife back in Houston felt about him still seeing her.
“I have business here, Dani,” he explained. “Morgan and I run a company together.”
“I wasn’t aware of that.”
“I told you,” he said. “Obviously you weren’t listening.”
“Sorry,” she murmured.
“It’s a business we started a year ago. Something to do with cattle.”
“That’s interesting.”
“So interesting that you don’t remember.”
“I said I’m sorry.”
“More important,” he said, leaning toward her, “how are you doing?”
“Really good,” she said, sipping her wine.
“You look great. In fact, you look glowing.” He hesitated a moment, almost afraid to ask. “Don’t crush my heart and tell me you’ve met someone?”
“As a matter of fact,” she said, breaking into a helpless smile, “I have.”
Dean felt a stab of jealousy. Even though he was married to someone else, he still had feelings for Dani. She was the one who got away, and he’d always love her.
“Who is this mystery man?” he asked, trying to keep it light.
“He’s not such a mystery.”
“No? Then how come you’ve never mentioned him?”
“I don’t know,” she said vaguely. “I think I wanted to make sure it was going somewhere.”
“And is it?”
She smiled. “Be happy for me, Dean. I’m happy for you.”
“Sure, Dani. If you’ve found the right guy, that’s wonderful. But I would like to know more about him.”
“What are you—my father?” she said, laughing.
“I watch out for you, Dani. This is a tough town.”
“You’re telling me?” she said, putting down her wineglass. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Dean. How come you never bring your wife with you? I’m sure I’d enjoy meeting her.”
“You’ll meet her.”
“When?”
“Soon,” he said impatiently, anxious to resume talking about Dani’s boyfriend.
“We can all go out to dinner.”
“I saw the show last night,” he said, rapidly getting off the subject of his wife. “You looked spectacular.”
“Really? Y’know, lately I’ve been thinking of giving it up.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that the man I’m seeing wants me to spend time in New York.”
“Is he asking you to marry him?”
“Not yet, but he probably will.”
“Dani,” Dean said sternly, “take my advice—do not give up anything until he puts a ring on your finger. You have a son, responsibilities.”
“I know,” she said, nodding. “I’m flying to New York next weekend. I have a feeling we’ll be discussing our future.”
“Well,” Dean said, “in that case I wish you the best of luck.”
“I know you do, Dean,” she said warmly. “You and I—we’ll always be friends, won’t we?”
“Yes, Dani, we always will,” he said, trying to hide his dismay that Dani—his Dani—was involved with another man. “So . . . uh . . . what’s this mystery guy’s name?”
“Michael.”
“Michael who?”
“Why are you so full of questions?”
“I didn’t know it was a secret.”
“It’s not. His name is Michael Castelli.”
“Nice Italian name.”
“He’s a nice Italian boy,” she said, smiling softly.
“Boy? How old is he?”
“Thirty.”
“Uh-huh. What business is he in?”
“Investments. Dean, I know you’re trying to be helpful; however, I do not appreciate this third degree.”
“Then I’ll drop it.”
“Good.”
The moment he got back to his hotel room, Dean called his office in Houston.
“Put a search out on this name,” he said. “Michael Castelli. Find out everything you can. It’s a priority.”
If Dani was thinking of marrying someone, he needed to know everything about him.
Vincent was upset that his mother was going away without him, even though he was very fond of Reggie, their housekeeper—a cheerful Jamaican woman with children of her own.
“It’s only for a week,” Dani assured him. “You can manage without me for a week.”
“Can’t,” Vincent said stubbornly.
“Yes you can.”
“Can’t!”
“Can!”
“Can’t!”
“You impossible little monkey,” she said, wrestling him to the ground.
He giggled and fought back.
She’d made up her mind that it wasn’t fair keeping Vincent from his true, biological father. When she got to New York, she’d decided to tell Michael the truth.
“Can I come with you, Mommy?” Vincent pleaded.
“No, darling, I’m sorry you can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not a trip for little boys.”
“I’m not a little boy, I’m a big boy,” he said indignantly.
“You’re almost ten, that’s not big enough.”
“I wish Nando was here,” he said mournfully.
“I know, sweetheart. As soon as I get back I’ll call his grandfather in Colombia, see if we can arrange for him to come visit.”
“Nando’s my friend. The other boys at school are stupid.”
“Why are they stupid?” she asked patiently.
“ ’Cause they call me names.”
“Why would they call you names?”
“ ’Cause of you.”
“Me?”
“Mark Timson says you show your boobies on the stage.”
Oh God, this is exactly what she hadn’t wanted to hear.
“What did he say?” she asked.
&
nbsp; “He told everyone his parents went to your show, an’ they all saw your boobies. Do you show them, Mommy?”
“It’s not like that, darling. I wear a beautiful costume. It’s very glamorous and . . . let me put it this way—what I do is work. It’s how I make money so that we can live in this nice comfortable house and have Reggie to look after you.”
“Can I come see your show, Mommy?”
“When you’re older, of course.”
“When?”
“I just told you, when you’re older.”
“Okey-dokey,” he said, getting bored. “Can I go watch TV now?”
“No more than half an hour. Then it’s homework time.”
“Done it, Mommy.”
Of course he had. Vincent was always ahead of everyone.
Now she had the new worry of him knowing that she appeared onstage topless. She’d realized that she’d have to face up to it eventually, she simply hadn’t expected it to be so soon.
She decided to discuss it with Michael, see how he suggested she handle it. Lately she’d been talking to him about everything. She’d mentioned the magazine that had asked her to pose. He’d warned her against doing it. “They’ll use the photos out of context,” he’d said. “Don’t start appearing in those kind of magazines, ’cause one of these days you’ll regret it.”
She’d taken his advice and turned the magazine down. They’d retaliated by asking Penelope to pose.
“Guess you couldn’t cut it,” Penelope had jeered.
She’d ignored her.
She had no idea what to pack. Michael had told her it was raining in New York, and the last thing she possessed was rainy-weather clothes. She didn’t even own a raincoat.
This was the first time she’d be getting on a plane, and she was excited. Michael had offered to fly out and fetch her. “I’m a big girl, I can do it all by myself,” she’d assured him.
“Then I’ll meet you at the airport,” he’d said.
She was leaving the next morning. The company director had generously allowed her a week off. Tonight she had one more show to do before she left. Vegas was experiencing a boom, and lately she’d been getting offers from other hotels. Even though she was being tempted with more money, she was happy at the Magiriano. Who knew what her future held anyway? She suspected that Michael might possibly be planning on asking her to marry him. And if he did? Well, she was prepared to say yes.
Dean had called earlier to ask if he could take her to dinner again after the show. “I have to pack,” she’d told him. “Anyway, we had dinner two nights ago.”
“I know,” he’d said. “However, I have something important to tell you.”
She’d finally agreed, meeting him in the cozy, all-red barroom restaurant at the hotel. It was one of her favorite places, where she and Michael had enjoyed several meals together.
Dean seemed to be agitated. She wondered if something was going on in his marriage. She hoped not, because she wasn’t in the mood to start handing out advice.
“I can’t make this a late night, Dean,” she warned as soon as she sat down. “I’m leaving early tomorrow.”
“That’s why I had to talk to you tonight,” he said, ordering a bottle of wine.
“Concerning what?” she asked.
“Concerning your new friend.”
“Do you mean Michael?”
“Yes.”
She tapped her fingers on the table. “You don’t know Michael.”
“I know plenty about him.”
“What’s on your mind, Dean?” she asked, sighing.
“Dani,” he said, trying to keep his voice in neutral, “how much do you know about his past?”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” she said, beginning to get angry.
“You’re my business, Dani,” he said earnestly. “We’re best friends, remember?”
She sighed again and attempted to remain calm. Dean was only trying to do what he thought was best for her, which wasn’t such a bad thing, because at least he genuinely cared.
“If you’re talking about the time he was in jail for hijacking a truck, I know all about it,” she said. “Michael told me everything.”
“I wasn’t talking about that.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
“He has a daughter, right?”
“Yes.”
Dean cleared his throat. “Do you know what happened to the child’s mother?”
“She died.”
“Are you aware of how she died?”
“No, actually I don’t know, because Michael doesn’t like to talk about it. I assumed it was an illness.”
“You assumed?”
Now she was getting really impatient. “What exactly are you trying to tell me, Dean?”
“You’re a smart woman, Dani,” he said quickly. “However, as I’ve told you many times before, you have to think about your son as well as yourself. You cannot allow yourself to get caught in a situation that puts you and Vincent in danger.”
“Danger! Why would you say such a thing?”
“Don’t hate me for telling you this, Dani, but there is a strong possibility that Michael Castelli, or Castellino, as he was formerly known, murdered his girlfriend.”
“What?”
“Shot her in the back of the head.”
The color drained from Dani’s face. “Are you crazy?”
Dean picked up a large manila envelope. “It’s all here in black-and-white. Read it for yourself.”
“I . . . I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“You’ll know when you read the newspaper clippings. Yes, he was acquitted, but that was only because he had high-powered lawyers—paid for by his powerful mob boss in New York.” A beat. “I’m sorry to say this, Dani. There’s a strong possibility that he did it.”
“Oh . . . my . . . God,” she said, feeling faint.
“If this man has genuine feelings for you, he would have told you everything when you first got together.”
“I . . . I thought he did.”
“How long have you been seeing him?”
“Three months.”
“Three months, and he hasn’t found a moment to mention this. I think that seems highly suspect, don’t you?”
“You . . . you don’t know him. He’s—”
“He’s what, Dani? According to the newspapers, he’s a hit man for the mob, who shot his girlfriend in the back of the head because he thought she was seeing someone else. This woman was the mother of his child. Is that the kind of man you’re going to throw your life away for?”
“Give me the clippings and let me out of here,” she said, hardly able to breathe.
“I’ll drive you home.”
“Don’t bother,” she said, getting up. “I’ll take a cab.”
“Dani, I only found this out for your own good.”
“You think this is for my own good?” she said, tears filling her eyes. “Can’t you understand? I love him.”
“You must do what you see fit,” he said, following her from the restaurant. “Only I beg you, think of your son. He should come before anyone. Vincent is your priority, Dani. Do not put him or yourself in peril.”
Michael—1982
Where’s your mom?” Jamie asked. She was a cute, flaxen-haired eleven-year-old girl with a pronounced overbite.
“Asleep,” Madison replied. She was also eleven, tall and gangly, with long dark hair and an inquisitive face. “She sleeps a lot.”
“Why?”
“Dunno,” Madison replied vaguely, not that interested.
“I’m starving!” Jamie announced.
“C’mon,” Madison said. “Let’s go in the kitchen. I think the cook’s made freshly baked brownies.”
“Yum,” Jamie said. “If I stay over, are we allowed to watch Remington Steele?”
“We can do whatever we want,” Madison replied airily. “Dad’s away, and Mom doesn’t care what I do.”
“Lucky you,” Jamie said enviously.
“Yes, lucky me,” Madison agreed, although she often wished for a mother who paid her more attention.
“My mom’s all over me,” Jamie said, following Madison into the kitchen. “She hardly ever lets me watch TV.”
“That sucks,” Madison said.
“You bet,” Jamie said. “My mom thinks I should still be playing with Barbies. She doesn’t understand that boys are much cooler.”
“ ’Cept the boys in our school,” Madison remarked, pulling a face. “They suck.”
“When does your dad get home?” Jamie asked, helping herself to a warm brownie.
“Soon, I hope,” Madison said. “He always brings me a ton of presents.”
“I told you,” Jamie said enviously. “You’re the luckiest girl I know.”
“You think?” Madison said, munching on a brownie.
“Oh yes,” Jamie said.
Later that afternoon, Michael surprised his daughter and arrived home early. Just as she’d boasted to Jamie, he was loaded down with presents.
“Hey, girls,” he said, greeting Jamie too. “What are you up to?”
“Waiting for you, Daddy,” Madison said, her big green eyes staring up at him, filled with love.
“Good. ’Cause I’ve bought you plenty of stuff.”
“What have you got me this time, Daddy?”
“Well . . . ,” he said, teasing her. “I was gonna get you a lynx coat or a Cadillac. Then I thought you might prefer this Sony video recorder, and a Radio Shack color computer.”
“Daddy! That’s so cool! You are the best!” she said, throwing her arms around him.
“There’s a bunch of other things in my bag,” he said. “Records an’ books. Take your pick.”
“Oh Daddy, you always spoil me so much,” she sighed, shooting a glance at Stella, who had just emerged from her bedroom.
Stella stood in the doorway, surveyed the two girls, gave them a weak smile, waved at Michael, and retreated back to the bedroom, murmuring that she had a headache.
“Mommy’s got another headache,” Madison announced, in case he hadn’t heard.
“Yeah?” Michael said. “What else is new?”
Madison giggled. Michael grinned at his precious daughter. She was smart. As smart as any boy. He loved everything about her.