The hunt, p.14
The Hunt, page 14
BY NINE IN the evening, the last thing I wanted to do was drink with sleazy men and their rented women. But Chris didn’t ask for me to be dropped in his life, and I owed him more than a few favors. I was determined to be a good sport. After he helped me shower, I sat in a chair facing a blank wall while he combed out my wet hair. On top of his dresser drawers was a slew of makeup and hair supplies.
“Where’d you get all this?” I asked.
“I have a makeup and hair room. The women have open access to beauty products. And don’t worry, everything here has never been used.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“But you were thinking.” I didn’t answer. He said, “Your hair is really long. I’d like to take it up about twelve, fourteen inches.”
“You mean cut it?”
“Yes, cut it. It’s very long … bordering on witch’s length.”
“It goes with my Manson girl dress.”
He ignored me. “How about a foot above your waist?”
“Fine,” I sulked.
He picked up a pair of scissors and began snipping.
I said, “Where did you learn all of this?”
“When I was first pimping girls and photographing them for my fledgling skin mag, I couldn’t afford a professional. I did hair and makeup on all my girls. It not only made sense economically, but it was a good way to create intimacy. Make a girl beautiful, she’s yours for life.”
“When was this? Before we were married?”
“Before we were living together …” He put down the scissors. “You were still in Chicago with Gabe, and I was in New York.” He started cutting again. “It was right after the trial. I wanted out. Joey eventually let me go but didn’t give me squat. Which was fine. He didn’t owe me anything. I was spending everything I had on you and Gabe. Money was going fast.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Course you didn’t. I never told you. I was just about to crawl on my hands and knees and beg him to take me back when the son of a bitch died and left me money.”
“Very convenient,” I said.
“I didn’t kill him. No one was as surprised as I was when I found out. I thought he’d written me off. And FYI, he died of a heart attack. He had a terrible diet, smoked like a coal factory, weighed about two-eighty on a five-ten frame.” He stopped cutting and examined his work. “Perfect.” He put some gel into my hair and started blow-drying it.
Warm air coursed through my tresses. My head felt like it had lost ten pounds.
“Of course, all of it was drug money and had to be laundered. I dumped about a third into my porno mag. Then the internet came along and that went bust. An epic failure. Luckily, I had bought some property near Columbia. Sold that for a profit. Plus, I had some illegal brothels upstate that were bringing in cash. Made enough off those to finally get something here and do it legally. That’s when things started taking off. But I couldn’t have done it without Joey’s money. I am grateful to the old motherfucker.” He took a section of hair with a round brush and began to straighten it out. “I know you think I’m hard on Juleen, but it’s a hard world out there.”
“She’s eleven.”
“And I was an orphan at thirteen.” I didn’t say anything. “She’s under my roof. It’s my rules. You don’t like it, you know where the door is.”
“Am I arguing?”
He took another section of hair. “What do you need to make this work—you and me?”
“A nicer attitude would be a good start.”
“Sorry, I’m tense. What do you need? Besides getting Sanjay. I know that’s the only reason you’ve agreed to marry me. And I’m okay with that. Our relationship has always been contractual. Tell me, what do you need to make this contract work?”
“What do you need?” I asked him.
“If it were up to me, I’d send Juleen back to Mumbai to live with her father and it would just be the two of us. But I know that’s not realistic.”
“Correct. I’m not sending my daughter away.”
“And I know that she can’t stay here.”
“Also correct. She cannot live in a brothel.”
He turned off the blow dryer although my hair was still damp. “This is what I need, okay?”
“I’m listening.”
“You can live anywhere you want with your children as long as it’s in the state of Nevada.”
I smiled. “Tax benefits?”
“Tax benefits, business benefits. If I start putting stuff in your name, which is very convenient from my perspective, I want you to reside in the state where your business is. Nevada is a big state. You’ve got lots of choice.”
“I’m sure I’ll find something that’s agreeable to both of us.”
“Good. I know good schools and good hospitals are in the bigger cities. Las Vegas is fine, but I’d prefer if you stayed closer. Reno is a two- to three-hour drive from me. There are some nice neighborhoods and private schools there that I think would work.”
“How big is the city? Population, I mean.”
“Reno? About a quarter million people. Vegas is twice that. We can check out both cities. I’ll go along with whatever you want.”
“Okay,” I told him. “What else do you want?”
He picked up the blow dryer and turned it back on. “Terry, I will support you. Anything you need to take care of your family. And I have no problem with you working, even if last time it led to your affair. I get why you had an affair. I was shitty to you. But even if I had been a peach, affairs are still exciting. Fucking someone new is exciting. I could probably handle another affair because I understand that. What I can’t handle is you getting knocked up again.” He yanked a little too hard on my hair. “It was completely humiliating.”
“It won’t happen again, Donatti. That much I can promise you.”
“And I believe you. But for me to be sure—a hundred percent sure that won’t happen—I want you to get your tubes tied.”
I was silent. I was forty-two and had no intention of having more children, but I didn’t want the choice ripped away from me.
Again, he yanked my hair. “Cat got your tongue?”
“Give me a minute.” He didn’t answer. Then I turned around to face him, my hair still tangled in the brush. “I don’t want any more babies, but it doesn’t mean that closing that door will be easy for me.”
“Why? What’s the problem?”
The problem was losing your biological purpose in life. But I wouldn’t dare say that to him. Instead, I said, “I will do it, but not until after we’re married. It’s something a wife does for a husband, not something a fiancée does for her fiancé.”
He thought about it for a moment. “I can live with that.” He turned me around to face the wall. “The last issue is this. If you’re living in one city and I’m living in another, there has to be some time for us without your kids.”
“Kid.” I bit my lip to prevent the tears from coming. I shook my head.
“Baby, I promise you I’ll do whatever I can to get you your son back. Nothing is a sure thing, but I will try. Even so, it’s going to take time.” And money. “But I will try.”
I wanted to ask him how … what he was going to do. But I knew it would make him angry. Instead, I nodded. “Thank you, Chris. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“You’re welcome.” He paused. “I respect your need to be a good mother, angel. But if this is going to work, you have to respect my needs.”
“What do you want?”
He put down the blow dryer. “Your hair came out beautiful.”
“Can I see?”
“After I’m done with the makeup.” He clipped the side of my hair off my face and studied me intensely. “Hmm …”
“I know. I’m a disaster.”
“No, you just look like a gorgeous woman with two black eyes.” He touched the bloody bags underneath my lower lids. “Let me try something to tighten this first.” He rubbed some cream on me. “We’ll just let that set for a minute.” He checked his watch.
“What time is it?”
“Not even ten. We’re fine.”
We didn’t talk for a moment. Then I said, “What about your needs?”
“Ah, my needs.” He paused. “My hope is that you could come here every weekend. I’d fly you over or, if you’re in Reno, I’d send the car for you. But I realize that you probably don’t want to be away from your kids every weekend.” A pause. “I’m willing to do every other week. You come in Friday night and you can leave Sunday night. That’s six days a month. Surely that’s not too much to ask.”
“Who will take care of the kids when I’m gone?”
“Obviously you’ll need a nanny. You choose, I’ll pay.” When I didn’t say anything, his expression changed. “What?”
“Can you give me a minute to think about what you’re asking?”
“What’s to think about? You should say yes and then we’re done.”
“Yes, it’s reasonable. Give me a sec.” I paused. “I imagine that Friday and Saturday are busy nights for the business.”
“Actually, it’s Thursday and Friday. By Saturday morning, everyone’s packing to leave for wifey and home.”
“Okay, then let me come Saturday night through Monday night. Same amount of time, but that way I can be home most weekends. And I can be with you when you’re not so busy.”
“That actually works better. I just thought you’d want to be with your kids Monday morning to send them off to school.”
“I can work around two days a month.”
His smile was pure white as he took the cream off my face. “That was easy, right? We can communicate, right?” His smile had turned hungry. “I’ll be very excited to see you whenever you do get here. We’re gonna have lots of fun.” He started applying foundation to my face.
“Who are we meeting tonight?”
“Yeah, I guess we should go over that. Mike Badger and George Denofrio. Mike is loud and obnoxious, but he has the money. George is the exact opposite. Quiet, but his mind is always moving. They’re both married, but this isn’t George’s thing. He’s here for Mike. George is the financial adviser, tells Mike how to spend the money. They both have been coming here for maybe six, seven years.”
“And who are the women they are with?”
“Good question.” He put down the makeup and picked up his phone. Made a call and got the answer. “Brie Tenerac and Kirstin Ellison.”
“What do they look like?”
“Gorgeous, of course. That’s why I get big bucks.” He picked up blush and a big brush. Swiped the light pink powder and blew the excess off the bristles.
“What do they look like specifically? The women.”
“Long blond hair. Big blue eyes. Great tits and firm, round asses. These guys are meat-and-potatoes men and I give them meat-and-potatoes girls. Nothing exotic. I think Brie is twenty-three. Kirstin is a little older. Maybe twenty-seven or twenty-eight.”
“Fabulous.” I shook my head.
“Don’t move.”
“You’d better introduce me as Dr. McLaughlin. I need some sort of competitive edge.”
He smiled. “True, the women are young and gorgeous.” He applied blush to my cheekbones. “But you’ll be the one wearing the ring.”
“Why go through this again, Chris?” I asked him. “We can just be together … like now.”
“No, no, no.” He took out a tube of mascara. “I want it official.”
“But why?”
“Who can explain obsession?”
“You never seemed obsessed with me in high school.”
“Of course I was obsessed with you.” He stopped working. “Terry, I lived with Joey and Donna for four years. I spoke Italian fluently. Do you really think I needed tutoring in French?”
I had never thought about that. “What about math?”
“There I needed help. But I could have hired anyone. I was totally besotted with you from the moment I saw you. But at eighteen, you can’t show your feelings. That’s pussy.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“Lady, I went to prison for you. That’s pretty obsessed.”
I had no comeback.
He said, “You’ve always been my girl. You’ll always be my girl. Look up.” He applied mascara on my lower eyelashes.
“I’m not a girl anymore. I’m forty-two.”
“I know your age.” A pause. “See, that’s the difference between women and men. You see me as a forty-four-year-old man. I still see you as a sixteen-year-old girl.” A pause. “I think you’re the most beautiful woman on the planet. But you know what is really hot about you?”
“Besides everything?”
He laughed. “Your voice. It’s whispery and low when you talk and throaty when you laugh.” He blew out air. “It is sex personified. I’d never whore you. But if I did, I wouldn’t put you in the rooms. I’d put you on the phones.” He put down the mascara brush. “Your eyelids are purple. I’m going to work with that, just soften them.”
He mixed some eyeshadow and applied it to the lids of my eyes. Then he stepped back to admire his handiwork. “Baby, those young ones have nothing on you.”
“Can I see?”
“Of course.” He took out the hair clips and wrapped a couple of tresses around his fingers. Then he helped me down from the chair.
I went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Stared at the whole woman looking back at me. My eyes started to moisten. He spoke from behind my shoulders. “Don’t do that. You’ll ruin all my hard work.”
“How did you do that?”
“I’m an artist. You’re a great canvas. I’ll touch it up right before we go.”
I turned around and faced him. “Thank you.”
He stared at me with his brilliant blue eyes. “You’re welcome, baby.” He smiled. “So when can I do your ass?”
I hit his shoulder and moved around him, walked into his living area.
He followed me. “I don’t mean at this very moment.”
I hit him again, this time with my cast.
“Ow. That’s a lethal weapon.” He said, “You know you’re gonna do it. I can talk you into anything.”
“Can we change the subject?” I was irritated. “It’s always so cold in here.”
“That reminds me. I bought you a pashmina for tonight. You want it now?”
“I’ll just use your robe. It’s warm.” When I came back, he was in his captain’s seat, monitoring the rooms on the screens.
He said, “Make me some coffee, babe.”
Like nothing happened. “Sure. I could probably use it myself.”
He didn’t answer me. His eyes were glued to the screen.
Chris was all work and all play—and never a dull boy.
CHAPTER 9
THE SPACE WAS next door to the main brothel, a three-story building that resembled residential condos done in wood and glass and befitting the environment. This structure was two stories, with the patrons’ area upstairs and a staff cafeteria downstairs that was dark. The lounge was dimly lit, woody and clubby, harkening back to a different era when men were kings and it was acceptable to pinch and grope and wink with untold freedom. There were lots of old bars and cocktail lounges around that still looked like this, but they were threadbare and worn. This was clearly the update that proprietors would do if they had the money.
A long mirrored backbar was fronted by two men in white suits, ready to pour on request. An array of spirits, glasses, and silver shakers sat on shelves cut into the mirror. The room was furnished with tables for two, four, and six, set apart from one another for privacy. On each table were several candles and several small vases of fresh flowers. Women waited on tables, and their attire was surprisingly modest. By that I mean form-fitting tuxedo jackets over black leggings and pumps with high heels. The jackets had a deep V in the front, but nothing was really hanging out. I’d seen more revealing clothing at any wine bar. The nicest part of the space was a wall of glass that probably showcased the mountains in daytime. Since it was dark, the panoramic view was basically a black blob with some landscape lighting below. But dark or light, a window always gave the appearance of freedom ahead.
It was a few minutes after eleven when Chris escorted me through the door and to a table for six situated in a corner next to the window. It was summer, but the mountain temperature always dropped at night, and I noticed a ceiling heat lamp. It was turned on, and the women, wearing sleeveless dresses, seemed quite comfortable. Which was good. I was always cold. When Chris and I started living together, the minute he would leave, I’d turn the AC off.
The men, and then the women, stood as we approached. When we reached the table, Chris went into charm mode. He shook the men’s hands and gave each woman a kiss on the lips. Then he made introductions. The girls looked as I had expected, but the men did not. I had created a picture of Mike Badger, given what Chris had told me, as a Falstaffian man—big and sanguine with a deep voice. Instead, Badger was small and slight and spoke as if he were talking through a reed. He appeared to be in his late fifties, with graying hair and bags under his brown eyes. George Denofrio was taller in height and larger in girth, but not by any means a big man. Chris was a big man. His stature usually dominated. It would be interesting to see how he acted when someone else was holding the cards.
He said, “This is my fiancée, Terry McLaughlin.” I stared at him and he grinned. “Dr. Terry McLaughlin.” He pulled out my chair and helped me take off my shawl. I sat between Chris and George Denofrio.
The women squealed out a chorus of congratulations. Badger wasn’t interested. Immediately he asked me if I was an MD.
“Excuse me?” I said.
“Are you a real doctor?” he said. “You could be a PhD.”
I remembered Chris’s words: loud and obnoxious. His brown eyes were focused on my face. “I’m an MD.”
“Where’d you go to medical school?”
Okay. We’re playing this game. “Loyola in Chicago.”
“Decent school. I went to Northwestern.”
Which is a higher-ranked university. I nodded. “Great place.”
