it's over."
"I hire a fuckin' dishwasher an' all of a sudden he's tellin' me what
to do."
"I ain't a dishwasher no more."
"What are you then?"
"Your assistant."
"If you say so.
Q.J. was too cheap to hire a disc jockey, and too nervous to risk
losing customers by firing the strippers, so he'd compromised by making
Nick the disc jockey and persuading Erna to stop strippingputting her
in charge of two new girls he hired. Business had picked up
immediately.
Nick was triumphant. "I told ya," he'd said.
"Yeah, yeah, you told me," Q.J. had replied. "Like I didn't already
know."
Nick really got into the music. It was a kick hanging out at the
record stores listening to all the new sounds and picking out the
latest hits.
The sound system Q.J. elected to put in was shit, but he quickly
learned how to work the room, mixing the old with the new-a little bit
of Elvis, followed by Al Green, throw in some Bobby Womack, then calm
them down with Dionne Warwick and Smokey Robinson.
When he wasn't working the turntables he was behind the bar.
The regular bartender didn't like it. "Get that ratty kid away from
me," he'd complained, "or I'm outta here."
There was nothing Q.J. liked better than a threat. Plus he could get
away with paying Nick half the money he was paying the old man.
"So quit," he'd said.
The bartender did, and Nick had found himself in charge of the bar
too.
"We gotta hire somebody else," he'd complained. "I can't play records
and run the bar."
"Jesus Christ, you're gonna break me," Q.J. complained.
"No," he'd corrected. "I'm gonna make you."
Erna was his biggest supporter. Even Len got into the spirit of things
by hiring an assistant chef who could actually cook. Q.J."s really
took off.
Not that anybody had ever thanked him. He didn't need thanksa steady
job was enough.
He considered the situation. He'd walked in off the street five years
ago with exactly nothing, and now he was the son Q.J. never had.
Not bad. Not good. He'd come to Chicago hoping to be an actor and
done nothing about it. He was twenty-two years old-if he didn't start
soon he never would. While he stayed at Q.J."s there was no time for
anything else, not even acting class. He'd managed to save a couple of
thousand dollars over the years, and now California beckoned. The
letter from Cyndra was a sign. If he didn't make a move he'd be stuck
at Q.J."s forever, wearing cerise shirts and shooting his cufflinks
just like Q.J. himselœ A frightening thought!
DeVille bounced out of the bathroom. She was pretty, sexy and
amiable.
It was over. Six months was his limit. Besides, he couldn't take her
with him, excess baggage was never a good idea.
"Are we going to the movie?" she asked.
"Sure."
God, she had a great mouth.
It would be tough kissing it goodbye.
excuse me, Miss Roberts."
"Yes, Mr. Larden?"
"I notice that it's raining outside, and I wondered if I might offer
you a lift home."
"That's very nice of you, Mr. Larden, but my cousin is meeting me.
"Oh." Mr. Larden stared at her. He was a man of medium height in his
thirties with thinning hair and a drooping mouth. He was also a
married man with two children, one dog and several hamsters. He was
her boss.
"Are you sure, Miss Roberts?" he asked hopefully.
"Yes, I'm sure, Mr. Larden."
They played this game all the time. He pretended to be the concerned
boss always looking out for his secretary's welfare. She pretended
that he really did want to give her a lift out of the kindness of his
heart because it was raining outside. They both knew this was a lie.
He wanted to get her into bed any way he could.
Lauren had worked for him as his personal secretary for two years now,
and she knew she had to leave or go completely crazy.
"Well," he said, collecting his briefcase, "I'll see you tomorrow
then."
"Yes, Mr. Larden."
She waited until he'd left before picking up the phone. "Brad," she
said in a low voice, "I can't see you tonight."
"What do you mean you can't see me?" he spluttered.
"It's difficult to explain now. Let's talk tomorrow." She put the
phone down quickly before he could argue.
Bradford Deene, her cousin. Good old Brad. Without him she probably
couldn't have gotten through the last five years. But their
relationship was sick, it had to stop, and she was the one who was
going to end it.
Five years ago she'd arrived in Philadelphia a shivering wreck. Her
mother's brother, Will, along with his wife, Margo, had met her at the
airport.
"W&re so sorry, dear, so very very sorry," Margo had said, but she
hadn't shed a tear.
Will seemed more sincere. "Your mother was a wonderful woman -always a
good sister to me. We shall miss her."
The Deenes had taken her to their house on Roosevelt Boulevard.
It was a nice house, but it certainly wasn't home. Brad, her
nineteenyear-old cousin, was away at college and they allowed her to
stay in his room. At night she overheard them whispering, Margo
saying, "What are we going to do with her? We can't keep her here."
And Will answering, "Lauren is my sister's daughter, Margo. She has no
other relatives. We have to take her in. After all, she's only
sixteen."
"I know, I know. But for how long?"
Jane and Phil Roberts had both perished in the deadly tornado that had
practically totaled Bosewell. Lauren remembered very little of the
nightmare. She'd arrived in Philadelphia still numb with shock. And
shortly after arriving she'd had to tell Margo she was pregnant.
Her aunt had gone completely crazy. "How did this happen? Were you
raped?" she'd demanded.
"It just . . . happened . .
"Was it that boy you were engaged to? Stock? Because if it was we can
force him to marry you.
"No, it wasn't Stock."
"Who was it then?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Your poor parents. They'd be so. . . so disappointed in you.
"I want to have the baby," Lauren had said quietly.
Margo had shaken her head. "Absolutely out of the question. It's
enough that you're here-we cannot look after a baby too."
"There is no choice in this matter," her uncle had said. "You'll have
to have an abortion."
She remembered the termination as if it were yesterday. Margo had
taken her to the gynecologist, a bald man with sleepy eyes and
rubbergloved hands. "What have you been up to, young lady?" he'd said
with a jovial wink as she lay on the cold hard examining table, feeling
naked and vulnerable beneath the paper garment the nurse instructed her
to wear.
"Come along, put your legs in the stirrups, dear."
He'd probed and poked until she could stand it no more.
"I don't want to lose my baby," she'd whispered.
&
nbsp; "It's nothing," he'd said. "Don't worry about it. Next time you open
your legs be a little more careful, that's all."
Then they'd given her an injection, and she remembered nothing much at
all except the harsh feel of cold steel between her legs.
After that there was no more baby, no more Nick.
At the time she'd thought about him every second of the day, but now
she'd forced herself to stop. Nick Angelo had left her, run out of
town without so much as a goodbye, and she'd never heard from him
again-not even after the tragedy.
In a way she hated him. He'd used her for his own selfish reasons and
then dumped her-leaving her pregnant and alone. She was shocked that
he'd left. No note, no word, no nothing. She hardened her heart
against him, but for some inexplicable reason she still didn't want to
lose his baby.
Margo and Will insisted she go back to school. She did so reluctantly
because she had no choice.
One night Margo and Will had called her into their living room and
given her the bad news. "Your father's estate left nothing. Death
taxes took what little there was. He was heavily in debt."
"I'm sorry, Lauren," Margo said. "There's no money to send you to
college. You must understand that we can't afford it. We've worked
hard all our lives to allow Bradford all the advantages he's had, and
now we're entitled to enjoy what's left."
"I don't want to go to college," she said. "As soon as I graduate from
high school I'll find a job."
"You could always try for a scholarship," Will ventured, feeling
guilty. "After all, you're a smart girl."
They didn't understand that she meant it when she said she had no wish
to attend college.
For several years she'd had nightmares about the tornado. In her mind
she could see it sweeping down on the trailer-and sometimes in her
dreams the tornado would turn into Primo. He would be part of
it-leering at her . . . touching her . . . saying lewd things-until
he forced her to raise the knife and strike.
She'd killed Primo.
Or had she?
The uncertainty drove her crazy.
As soon as she graduated from high school she'd taken a job at the
local bank and started saving money. The moment she had enough she
planned to move out of the Deene household.
Since coming home from college Brad was always around. He was
good-looking with curly brown hair and a ready smile. He was taller
than Nick, more muscular. She still compared every man she met to
Nick, it was a habit she couldn't break.
By the time she was nineteen she'd saved enough money to move out. She
had good secretarial skills and immediately found a better job at
Larden and Scopers, a law firm. Mr. Larden himself had interviewed
her and informed her she was perfect-exactly what he was looking for.
Her life was simple until Brad complicated it. He'd dropped by her
apartment one night, stayed too long and drunk too much. Then he'd
confessed he thought he loved her, and somehow or other they'd ended up
in bed even though they both knew it was wrong. She'd tried to make it
one time only, but he wouldn't let her. He'd talked her into it, and
once in she couldn't get out. Besides, it felt good to be with someone
who cared.
Their affair had been going on for several months and she was
suffocated with guilt. She wanted out. All she had to do was tell
him.
She left the office and took the bus to her apartment, running the last
few hundred yards to her building, getting soaked.
Brad was inside, sitting on her couch, his feet up on her table
watching her television.
"I told you I couldn't see you," she said, removing her raincoat.
"You didn't mean it," he replied.
"I want my key back," she said, clicking off the TV.
He frowned. "What's with you lately?"
"Brad, you know this isn't right. It has to end."
"No way, baby." He settled back, totally at ease.
The way he said "baby" made her stomach turn. She knew for sure she
wasn't the only girl he was sleeping with.
"Please," she said. "I want it to be over."
He held out his arms. "Come over here."
"Are we playing hard to get?" He wouldn't leave and she couldn't make
him.
"What if I told your parents," she threatened.
"You wouldn't do that."
"I might."
"They'd blame you."
"Do you think I care? They never wanted me to come and live with them
anyway.
He considered her threat. He wouldn't put it past her. "What is it,
the wrong time of the month?" he asked, clicking the television back
on.
She had a plan. If he wouldn't go, she would.
A week later at the office Christmas party, a drunken Mr. Larden
grabbed her in his office, trapping her up against his desk.
She knew exactly how to deal with men who tried to force her to do
something she didn't want to do. She grabbed a letter opener and
stabbed him in the arm.
Mr. Larden yelled out his surprise and pain. "Are you insane?" he
shouted.
"Try taking no for an answer," she said, making it to the door.
"You're fired," he said.
"Good."
By the time Christmas arrived she had every detail of her departure
planned. On Christmas day she went to Margo and Will's for lunch
-they'd been a lot nicer to her since she'd moved out and they weren't
obliged to support her. Brad was there with a girl named Jennie. The
two of them spent the entire day giggling and necking.
"I think they might get engaged," Margo confided in the kitchen.
"That's nice," Lauren said. If he'd brought his girlfriend to make her
jealous it wasn't working.
Sitting at the dining table she noticed Brad's hand creep under the
table and up Jennie's thigh.
"You know," Margo said, turning to Lauren, obviously unaware of her
son's furtive adventure, "you're perfectly welcome to bring a date
here. Are you seeing anyone?"
Lauren shook her head. "No."
"A pretty girl like you," Will said cheerfully. "You should have
dozens of boyfriends."
"She's probably hiding them from us," Brad said, laughing confidently
as his fingers played with the elastic on the panties guarding his
girlfriend's moist crotch.
Lauren sighed. He was good in bed and he knew it. He played her like
an expert, touching everything in just the right way.
Later that night when he'd gotten rid of Jennie, he arrived unannounced
at her apartment. She allowed him to make love to her for the last
time, only he didn't know it was the last time, he was under the
misguided impression she was going to be available for him whenever he
felt like it.
As soon as he left she hurried to the shower, washing him away
forever.
Then she packed, and early the next morning she took a cab to the bus
station and boarded a Greyhound bound for New York.
She left no forwarding address. As far as she was concerned she'd been
in
mourning long enough.
Lauren Roberts was about to start a new life.
Several things convinced Nick it was time to move on, not the least
being the Carmello Rose incident. Carmello was a short grizzly man in
his fifties with a beak nose, dark skin and a raspy menacing voice.
He was a rumored Chicago hit man who visited Q.J."s from time to time,
always with several nubile young girls in tow, always wiffi an eye to
picking up more.
This particular night he arrived with only one woman-a tall redhead in
her late thirties with large breasts and a sour expression.
"Fuck!" Q.J. said agitatedly. "That broad's his wife."
"So," Nick asked, "what's the big deal?"