Men of Mayhem (52 page)

“I thought escorting you would be nicer.” I shift the flowers to my other hand, and when she sees them, Meryl lets the door open wider. She is wearing her pretty brown hair up, and a knee-length red skirt and blouse cling to her form.

“Come on in.” She waves and I hand her the flowers. “Thank you. They’re beautiful. It’s been a long time since…” She doesn’t finish her sentence. I know what she was going to say. It has been a long time since someone gave her flowers. I soak in the apartment. There isn’t a whole lot here.

Clearly, she has bought new furniture—a couch, chair, and coffee table. They seem to not have even been used. Her TV is state of the art, a huge HD flat-screen that sits over the gas fireplace against the interior wall.

“Where are we going?” she asks while she hunts around for something to put the flowers in. I glimpse at her pulling out a large plastic cup you would get at a gas station for a thirty-two-ounce soda. “Um, I didn’t bring much with me. Apparently, a vase was not in the boxes.” She tries to laugh it off but I make a mental note to buy her a gorgeous vase. There’s a store in the casino that has some fancy ones.

I continue my observation of her tiny apartment and my gaze lands on the one picture on her mantel. I step forward and as I approach I notice a picture of Meryl with a man. He is hugging her from behind and they are both smiling. They look happy. Her head is tilted toward him in a loving gesture.

“Jim?” I question.

“You know everything about me, don’t you?” She doesn’t turn my way and fiddles with the roses in the plastic cup. They are top heavy and keep threatening to fall over. She pushes the arrangement toward the backsplash on the counter to keep them upright.

I want to ask the particulars about how he died, but she’ll tell me when she’s ready.

“No,” I respond. “I didn’t know that you needed a vase.”

“Funny,” she says. She picks her purse up off the side of the couch.

At the car, I open the door for her. She slips in and as her thighs flash from under her dress I can’t help but sneak a look.
Shit!
It is going to be tough behaving around her.

Grace’s is one of the top restaurants in Chicago, and it happens to be only a block away from the casino. I use valet parking and walk around the car to help Meryl out, practically shoving the kid in the red jacket out of the way. I don’t want him touching her.
Double shit!
I place my hand on the small of her back and lead her in. The maître d’ knows me and shows us to a table for two in the back away from other tables, windows, and doors.

In the mafia, you sit with your back to a wall and where you can see the door and avoid windows whenever possible. I pull a chair out for Meryl and she sits. I sit across from her in the perfect spot to see the entire restaurant.

Meryl

Grace’s subtle lighting reminds me of the casino bar. It’s that strategic kind of lighting, the kind that makes everyone look good beneath the beams.

I’m uncomfortable in my own skin. I’m not used to this. I had been married for twelve years of my adult life to someone whom I loved and enjoyed spending time with. We had our share of bumps in the road. Everyone has. But divorce didn’t separate us, death did, and I can’t let go of that. I can’t say
well, good riddance, our marriage
was horrible
, because it wasn’t. He was the love of my life. He wasn’t a mistake. I can’t come to terms with why.
Why him?
Why did he have to die?
Shaking it off is an impossible task, though with each new day I try.

The way Alex is looking at me sends a mix of emotions. He’s nice, handsome, employed, and definitely a man in control. I wonder why he’s not in a relationship. Maybe he is and this is all a ruse for a tawdry affair.

“Have you ever been married?” I ask, trying to stave off the discomfiting air around us or switch the attention to him because it seems like it is on me. I pick up my water glass for something to do.

“No, I can’t say that I have in my twenty-five years.” He leans toward me with his forearms on the table. I choke on my water.

“Twenty-five?”

“Yeah.”

I do quick calculations in my head. “The year I was married you were only thirteen years old!”

“So?”

“So?…So?” I’m astounded. “I’m almost ten years older than you.”

“I know,” he says, unaffected, and his nose does a little wrinkle avoiding a laugh.

“Of course you do,” I concede, defeated. “Which, if I haven’t mentioned yet, is starting to scare me.”

He sees that I’m beginning to flip out.

“This was a mistake.” I am disconcerted, sorely out of place.

Alex reaches across the table and places a rough hand over mine.

“It’s fine,” he reassures me, his voice rumbling low with laughter.

“I think I would like to leave.” My eyes mist without warning and I pull my hand out from under his, leaning back in my chair away from him.

“No. Please don’t. Dinner hasn’t even shown up yet.” His eyes plead with me, his head cocks to the side, and his dark locks swing forward, sweeping past his eyes. He has the lost puppy look.

My instinct to fly out of there dissipates minutely and helps me to resolve staying in my chair. I nod my head, agreeing to stay for dinner. It’s just dinner. Unexpectedly, my stomach jolts violently.

“Uh-oh!” I jump up out of my seat.

“Seriously.” Alex stands. “Please don’t leave.”

I rush away from the table and head for where I hope the bathrooms will be. A waitress spots me and points. An ornate wooden sign hangs by a short chain reading
Restrooms
. Thank God!

I burst into the ladies’ room, zip to the first toilet, and toss absolutely everything stored in my stomach into the basin. I retch again, and more comes out, splashing out onto the expensive gray slate floor. I wipe my wrist across my forehead, dabbing the dampness.

On the bright side, at least we hadn’t had dinner yet, and I had very little to eat today. A dry heave racks my body. Sometimes it’s worse yanking at your stomach to get out something that’s not there. Another one comes, hurtling my body forward again over the toilet. A hand touches the small of my back.

“Better?”

I couldn’t be more mortified than I am right now. Some cute twenty-five-year-old security guard for a high-class casino is standing behind me watching me throw up. I continue to face the bowl. I don’t answer and wave my hand, shooing him away. I stand up straight, catching my breath with my back to him.

“Let me help you,” he offers softly. I cradle my face in my hands, still too embarrassed to look at him, then I reach out to flush the toilet.

“I don’t need help.” I shuffle him backward so the two of us can get out of the tight area. I walk over to the sinks and run the cold water. I cup my hands and splash it over my face. “You can leave now. I’m fine.”

“I’m not leaving you.” His voice carries a thick, authoritative tone. “You were sick yesterday too,” he informs me, as though telling me something I don’t already know. “I’m taking you to the doctor.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me. This happens every once in a while. My digestive track goes out of whack sometimes. It’s nothing.”

“Nerves can do it, or some kind of stomach bug,” he counters. “But I think you need to be checked out.”

“I’m not going to go sit in some
urgent care clinic
in the middle of Chicago at night.” My annoyance shoots through my voice in waves that fill up the tiny bathroom. “I can take care of myself.”

The restroom door opens and a finely dressed woman comes in, obviously not expecting the sight of us. She gives Alex and me a once-over and turns to leave, embarrassed like I am, her eyes enormous.

“I’m sorry. We’re all set in here…” My voice is clipped off because Alex leans down and scoops me up with one arm under my knees and the other behind my back. “What are you doing? Put me down!” I am cradled in his arms like a baby and I feel stupid. “Stop it!”

The poor woman who just needs to use the restroom doesn’t know what to think of our little scuffle. She probably thinks we had sex in here or something, and my mortification level reaches new heights.

Alex, ignoring my request, carries me out of the restroom toward the back of the restaurant and out the back door.

“Where are we going?” He has no intention of putting me down, and I don’t struggle. Instead, I wrap my arms around his neck, securing myself. The night air is cooling, and I immediately feel better. “I’m not sick anymore.”

He walks a whole block down a back alley; it’s dark and creepy. I realize where we’re headed. He is taking me to the casino.

“My purse!” I say.

“I’ll send someone for it. Don’t worry.”

“Really. I’m fine now,” I insist. He tips me toward him in his arms and kisses my forehead, surprising me.

We make it to a back door and he knocks. It’s not a normal knock. It has a pattern to it. After a few seconds, the door swings open and a woman in a chef’s hat and white uniform is standing there holding it open.

“What’s the matter, Alex? Did your date try to run?”

“Shut up, Jessie. Call the doc and tell him I am on my way up.”

He carries me through an enormous industrial kitchen with stainless steel everything. Others dressed like Jessie are running around preparing food, filling dishes, and the clang and ding of a kitchen rings out around us. A service elevator appears in front of us and Alex presses a button. The metal doors slide open.

“Can you stand?” he asks.

“Of course. I told you I feel fine now.” I twist my face, displeased, and fold my arms across my chest.

Alex puts me down and kisses the tip of my nose, sending tiny shocks through me. Then he retrieves a keycard from his wallet, sliding it through the mechanism near the floor buttons. He presses the number twelve. He wraps his arm around my waist as the elevator zooms upward. This whole situation is blown way out of proportion and I should’ve insisted Alex drop me at my apartment. His personality doesn’t really give anyone a chance to make a decision, though. He just seems to do whatever he wants.

The elevator opens to an opulent hallway of creams, burgundies, and golds. It is not stifling like the hallway in my apartment building; rather, this one is wide and majestic. Along the hallway are doors like in a hotel, only they are very far apart. Alex leads me down and we stop at one particular door. He opens it, and I notice it’s not locked. Without removing his hand from my waist, together we walk into the room.

It is spacious, decorated in neutral colors, cool tones like a man lives here. It makes my apartment seem miniature and unlived in.

“I’m going to take a shot in the dark here and guess that this is not a hotel room but where you live.”

“Yeah. I live here.” He leads me to a couch on the opposite side of the apartment from the kitchen. “Here, lie down. I’d let you rest on my bed, but I’m afraid you’d get the wrong idea.” The corner of his lip tips up in a half grin and I can’t help but return it. Alex has a magnetism about him that ensnares me and causes me to do what he says.

“I don’t need to lie down. I am not feeling sick anymore.” As I speak the words, I realize I’m not going to win. He’s going to have me lying on this couch. I flop down, irritated.

A knock on the door, and Alex calls out, “Come in.”

A tall man, thin and on the older side, probably late fifties, strides in carrying a black bag.

“Meryl, this is Doc Howie. He’s going to take a look you.”

I sigh. “You have a doctor on staff at a casino?”

“He’s more of a family doctor,” Alex informs me flatly.

Doc Howie approaches me and sits on the edge of the chair next to me. He pulls out the typical stethoscope and blood pressure cuff, places his fingers on my wrist, and checks my pulse. With the rip of the Velcro, he tells Alex everything seems fine. That my vitals are normal. I could have told him that without all of this.

“Doc, she’s been getting sick for the past two days.”

“It could be a number of things—food poisoning, sour stomach, a stomach flu.”