“Out all night, dear?” Mrs. Flynn said with a saucy wink. “Have a good time, did you?”
“I had a lousy time.”
“Was he cute?”
“No,” Sofia said.
“You do know you’re a week late on your rent,” Mrs. Flynn reminded her. “I’ll need something today.”
“Do you mind if I use your phone?” Sofia asked. She was suddenly experiencing a strong desire to speak to her mother. Maybe Gianni was right. Maybe it was time she went home.
“Go ahead, I’ll add the charge to your rent,” Mrs. Flynn said obligingly.
I bet you will, Sofia thought. You’re a mean old cow.
She picked up the phone and called Vegas, even though it was probably midnight there. Dani answered immediately.
“Hi, Mom,” Sofia said, as if they’d spoken yesterday. “Hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Thank God!” Dani exclaimed. “We’ve been trying to track you down.”
“Who’s ‘we’?” Sofia asked, fiddling with the phone cord.
“Your father and Vincent.”
“Why?”
“There’s an ongoing emergency concerning your father. You must come home immediately.”
“Can’t do that, I’m broke.”
“You have no money at all?”
“Nada.”
“Go to the local American Express office. I’ll arrange for a plane ticket to be waiting for you.”
“You can do that?”
“Of course I can.”
“Is Daddy okay?”
“It’s not something I can discuss on the phone.”
“Sounds ominous,” Sofia said, adding a vague “Actually, I was thinking I might fly to Rome.”
“Listen to me,” Dani said sternly. “I know you don’t like being told what to do, but this is important. Come home immediately. You could be in danger.”
“Wow!” Sofia said, quite intrigued. “You’re making this sound like a James Bond movie.”
“Pick up the ticket, Sofia, I’ll arrange it now.”
“Okay, Mom, I’m on my way.”
“Hit the next exit,” the gunman instructed.
Madison had no idea where they were. She knew that they’d been driving for almost half an hour, and the helicopter had not been in evidence for a good twenty minutes. That didn’t mean it wasn’t out there somewhere—trailing them without lights.
“Where are we heading when we get off the freeway?” Cole asked.
“Keep drivin’.”
“You okay, Nat?” Madison said, stretching her head to see in the back.
“I’m doing okay,” Natalie replied. “You?”
“Oh, we’re having a wonderful time,” Madison said.
“Did I say you could have a fuckin’ conversation?” the gunman said, switching on the radio and pressing the buttons until he tuned in to a rap station. He turned the volume up high and began drumming his fingers on the dashboard. “Move this mothafucker!” he yelled, as Cole began to slow down. “Gettin’ off the freeway don’t mean you gotta drive like an old lady. Fuck it!” he crowed. “I’m the king—the fuckin’ king!”
And he laughed. A crazy, stoned laugh.
Michael and Madison—1987
Get packed, we’re going to Miami for the weekend.”
“Are you serious?” Madison said, her emerald green eyes sparkling with excitement at the thought.
“Yup,” Michael responded, grinning at his long-legged sixteen-year-old daughter, whom he rarely saw anymore. “We’re doin’ it.”
“Wow! Is Stella coming?”
“Stella’s not feeling great,” Michael explained. “She’ll stay in New York.”
“Wow!” Madison repeated. “You mean it’s just you and me?”
“Hey—kid. You got any objections?”
“No way!”
Madison was especially excited because she was away at boarding school for most of the year, and vacations were usually spent at summer camp. Michael was always traveling so much and Stella’s health was somewhat delicate. Stella suffered from bad migraines, especially when her husband was out of town.
Madison had learned to survive on her own. Early on she’d figured out that was the way it was. Stella had Michael. Michael had Stella. She was just around occasionally. The kid. The daughter.
Not that they didn’t love her—she was sure that they did, especially Michael, who was the best father a girl could have. She adored him, so the thought of spending the weekend in Miami with him was quite thrilling.
Last week she’d celebrated her sixteenth birthday. No big deal. Stella had booked a table at Tavern on the Green and sent her there with a few of her girlfriends. After an early dinner they’d gone to the theater and seen Starlight Express. It was all very uneventful. Michael was away on a business trip, which was disappointing, because she would’ve loved to have spent such a special day with him. He’d sent her a gold watch from Tiffany’s, engraved with a meaningful message.
Now this surprise—a weekend in Miami with her father. How radical was that!
Michael was pleased to see his daughter so cheerful. Although Stella assured him Madison was doing well in school, he’d noticed there were times she seemed quite melancholy, and although her grades were always high, he wondered if she was really happy being away from home.
“Don’t be silly,” Stella had told him when he’d questioned her. “Madison loves school. She’s an extremely well adjusted young lady.”
Michael traveled a lot. He didn’t have to, but spending time away from home had become a habit.
And then there was his other habit—Dani and his second family. Meeting up with Dani again in 1982 and discovering that he had a son had turned out to be one of the high points of his life. He loved Vincent—he saw much of himself in the boy. Although, Vincent was no longer a boy—he was a very handsome, clever twenty-two-year-old man who knew exactly what he wanted.
Michael’s opinion had prevailed with Dani, so instead of going to college, Vincent had taken a trip around the world with Nando. When the two of them got back to America, they’d immediately set to work trying to put something together. Nando had his inheritance, and Vincent was catching up fast. Unbeknownst to Michael, his son was a world-class gambler, the kind casinos eventually banned from playing in their establishments. Before that happened, Vincent had made a killing. Like Michael, he was a genius with numbers. And smartly, he’d invested his winnings.
With a little financial help from his father, Vincent had formed a partnership with Nando—who’d moved permanently back to Vegas—and they’d opened a restaurant and bar on the Strip called The Place. It was a big success with the young hip crowd.
Michael saw Dani all the time. Every few weeks he flew to Vegas to be with her. He loved her, and she loved him. He had another reason for spending so much time with her. Six weeks after they’d gotten together in New York, Dani had informed him that they were pregnant. “You and your magic bullet,” she’d said, laughing. “What is it with you and me?”
“Huh?” he’d said, not quite sure what she was getting at.
“We’re pregnant, Michael,” she’d said, beaming. “And this time we’re doing it together.”
Rather than responding with shock and horror, he’d been delighted, because not only did he want to spend time with Dani and Vincent, he definitely planned on being a big presence in his new child’s life too.
Dani gave birth to a daughter in 1983. They named her Sofia.
Dani understood that Michael couldn’t marry her. He’d explained at great length that there was no way he would ever disrupt Madison’s life. “When she’s grown, I’ll leave Stella. Then you and I can be together,” he’d promised.
“I’m not sure it’s what I want,” Dani had said with a lazy smile. “I kind of like being the mistress.”
“You do, huh?”
“Yes, I get treated better that way.”
She’d given up work, and Michael paid for every
thing, including a luxurious new house in a gated community and a gleaming silver Mercedes.
Recently he’d arranged for her and Sofia, who was now four, to take a week’s vacation in Miami. Then he’d thought about flying down there with Madison.
Not that he planned on introductions, but at least he’d be near them.
Madison couldn’t have been happier. She was a great kid, with a high IQ and a passion for writing. When Michael thought about his own humble beginnings, he was filled with pride to see how his offspring were turning out—Vincent with his successful restaurant and Madison brimming with so much ambition. It gave him a very satisfying sense of having done something right.
Jamie came over to the apartment with the sole purpose of helping Madison pack. She was a natural blond, tall and willowy. “Wish I was coming with you,” she sighed enviously, sorting through a pile of skirts, jeans, and T-shirts.
“So do I,” Madison said, more exotic looking with her smooth olive skin, green eyes, and long dark hair. “What’s going on at school?”
“The same old crap,” Jamie said. “Boys, boys, and more boys.”
“That can’t be all bad.”
“It is! They’re so gross,” Jamie said, making a face. “And stupid. I dig older men—not dumb-ass adolescents.”
“I know,” Madison agreed. “So do I.”
“You’ll have a great time with Michael,” Jamie said wistfully. “I wish I could call my dad by his first name.”
“You’re lucky, you’ve got terrific parents,” Madison said. “They never sent you off to boarding school.”
“Agreed. Only, look at all the freedom you get. I don’t get any. You can do whatever you want.”
“I think my dad was kind of a wild kid himself,” Madison said thoughtfully. “So he doesn’t believe in discipline.”
“What about your mom?”
“Stella doesn’t care, as long as I stay out of her way. She’s much too busy getting her legs or pubes waxed. That’s if she’s not having silicone pumped into her face.”
“Sounds painful!”
“Our apartment is more like a beauty salon than a home. I’m kind of glad I’m never there.”
“It’s so cool the way you get to call them Michael and Stella.”
“That was her idea,” Madison said. “She thinks being called Mom makes her sound old.”
“Ego alert!” Jamie giggled. “She is old.”
Madison nodded. “In her thirties.”
“How old’s your dad?”
“Forty-something.”
“Ancient!”
“Ha!” Madison said. “Bet you wouldn’t turn him down.”
“That’s so rude!” Jamie giggled, blushing.
“You’ve always had a crush on him. Fess up.”
“He’s your father, Maddy.”
“I could definitely go for an older man.”
“Like who?”
“Michael Douglas. Kevin Costner.”
“Wow! Cool! They’re both sooo sexy.”
“Even Clint Eastwood.”
“Too old,” Jamie said, wrinkling her nose.
“Not for me,” Madison said. “I dig older men.”
“I was so jealous of you when we were little,” Jamie sighed.
“You still are,” Madison teased.
“I suppose I am,” Jamie admitted. “You’ve got to tell me all about Miami. Maybe you’ll get laid.”
“Oooh, exciting!” Madison said. “I don’t think!”
Madison talked nonstop on the flight to Miami. She told Michael about her teachers, the thesis she was working on, a journalism course she was planning to take, and how much she was looking forward to college.
“I really want to be a writer, Michael,” she said earnestly. “What do you think?”
“I think I’d be the proudest dad in the world,” he said. “You have no idea where I come from, sweetheart. To have a writer in the family—well, that’d really be something.”
“Yes?”
“Oh yeah.”
“You’ll see, I will make you proud. That’s a promise.”
“It is, huh?”
“Yes, Michael,” she said determinedly. “It is.”
He picked up a Time magazine and began reading. Madison gazed out the window, imagining herself as a published author along the lines of a Tom Wolfe or a Mario Puzo. She loved their books. The Godfather was her all-time favorite, and she’d just finished reading The Bonfire of the Vanities, which she’d devoured over two nights. Then again, she wouldn’t mind being a journalist—covering wars and world events.
I can do anything, she told herself. Anything I set my mind to.
Michael had taught her that. Michael had instilled in her a confidence that achievement started in the mind.
She adored her father. He was the best.
Dani and Vincent—1987
Shortly before Dani left for Miami, Dean dropped by her house. “You’re insane, you know that?” he said, trailing her into the kitchen.
“I’m insane?” she replied. “You’re the one who’s been married twice, and I understand you’re about to embark on your second divorce.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“Word gets around, Dean,” she said, pouring him a cup of coffee.
“Why you ever got back together with Michael Castelli is a mystery to me,” he grumbled, reaching for the cream and sugar. “And then to have another baby. Wasn’t one enough?”
“I don’t need a lecture,” she said, walking into the living room. “I’m extremely happy.”
“Happy because he won’t marry you?” Dean said, following her.
“Don’t go there, Dean,” she warned. “I’ve told you many times, it’s none of your business.”
“You’re my business, Dani. And as much as you fight it, you always will be.”
“Why?”
“Because I love you,” he said simply. “And nothing you do or say can ever change that.”
He didn’t have to tell her, she was well aware how much he loved her. And over the years she had to admit that it was quite comforting to know he was always there—ready to catch her if she fell. Dean was her safety net, and they both knew it. So did Michael, who, although the two men had never met, hated Dean. “That loser just wants to get into your pants,” Michael often informed her. “Why do you still see him?”
“He’s not a loser. He’s my friend.”
“Some friend,” Michael usually muttered. He had never forgiven Dean for showing her the press clippings regarding his arrest for Beth’s murder—thereby separating them for seven long years.
Dean put down his coffee and began pacing around the living room. “You’re throwing your life away, Dani,” he said.
“Why?” she responded crisply. “I’m with a wonderful man who loves me. I have two great children. I live in a beautiful house. So tell me—exactly how am I throwing my life away?”
“You’re with a married man who only sees you when it suits him. He has a wife, and whatever you think—he’ll always put her first.”
“Not necessarily,” she said, a defensive thrust to her chin.
“He uses you. Surely you know it?”
“Our relationship isn’t like that.”
“I think it is.”
“Quite frankly, Dean, I couldn’t care less what you think. I’m happy, and that’s it. So, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready for my trip.”
Sofia toddled into the room, all curly hair, dimpled cheeks, and enormous eyes. “Hi, Uncle Dean,” the little girl said, flirting outrageously.
“Hi, Crunchie,” he said—his nickname for her.
“Wanna play dolls?”
“Not right now.”
“Blow bubbles?”
“Next week.”
Sofia wandered off.
“Things weren’t meant to turn out this way,” Dean said. “It should’ve been you and me.”
Where had she heard that before? From M
ichael. Only, Dean was always proposing marriage, and Michael wasn’t.
She understood. Michael had explained it to her enough times. He’d made an irrevocable pact with himself to stay with Stella for Madison’s sake, and there was nothing she could do about it.
She pretended not to care. Only, sometimes, late at night, when she hadn’t seen him in a while, she cried herself to sleep, because maybe Dean was right—perhaps he was using her.
Anyway, he certainly kept them in great style, never denying her anything she wanted.
She couldn’t help it, she loved him with every fiber of her being. What was so bad about that?
Later, Vincent came by to wish them a safe trip to Miami. Vincent. So tall, dark, and handsome, exactly like Michael.
He picked up his baby sister and began tossing her in the air. Sofia squealed with delight.
“Careful, you’ll drop her,” Dani warned.
“Yeah, yeah, like I’m gonna drop her!” Vincent said, throwing Sofia even higher.
“Enough!” Dani said.
“More!” Sofia begged.
“Are you staying for dinner?” Dani asked, hoping his answer would be yes, because she did not get to spend enough time with her handsome son.
“Can’t,” he said apologetically. “Got a date.”
“Who is she this time?”
Vincent grinned; he had Michael’s grin along with everything else. “You know you don’t want to know.”
“That’s true,” she sighed. “I wish you could meet a nice girl.”
“They’re nice enough for me.”
“That’s the problem.”
“You’re beginning to sound like a mother.”
“I am a mother.”
“Gotta go,” he said, tickling Sofia until she screamed for mercy. “Have a great trip.”
“I wish you were coming with us,” Dani said wistfully.
“Too busy.”
“I know.”
She watched from the window as Vincent jumped into his black Corvette—a twenty-first-birthday present from his father—and roared off.
He drove too fast. He’d inherited that particular skill from Nando, who was into race cars and often encouraged Vincent to join him on the practice track.