Emotion. Too much emotion. Fight it.
Something inside disintegrated and Irene took the first tentative step towards acceptance.
Calm down.
Breathe, now. Deeply.
Let it go…
It doesn’t matter anymore.
Irene felt the pressure ease. She would do this because she had no choice. And lifting an arm, she reached behind for the zipper.
Jordan’s sexy silk cocktail dress slid the length of Irene’s legs and puddled about her ankles. When she reached down for it, her bell-like breasts swung forward, swaying like pendulums. Irene ignored Scirocco’s satisfied chuckle.
When she stood with the silk in her hands, her gaze met Joey’s. A look of sadness clouded the girl’s eyes and Irene knew the two of them were now unavoidably entwined; would share this moment, together, for the rest of their lives. Irene tossed the dress onto a chair and slipped her thumbs into the elastic of her underpants.
“No,” Joey cried and twisted away from Scirocco’s grasp. “No– no– no… ” And she made a dash for the door. But Scirocco was quick and got a hand in her hair. Joey screamed but he hauled her back and forced her to her knees.
“You watch,” he seethed, holding her face just inches from Irene’s crotch. “You watch and when she’s ready, you lick it. Understand? You can’t fool me. I know you’ve been thinking of it.”
Joey raised tearful eyes.
“Understand?” Scirocco underscored his threat. He still had a fistful of hair and rattled her by the roots.
“Yes sir,” Joey whimpered and twisting her head, she turned her eyes to the front of Irene’s lace panties.
“Good,” Scirocco confirmed and looking up, he sneered at Irene. “Do it.”
Irene didn’t acknowledge him. She bent forward and pulled her underpants down.
“I’m sorry he put you through that.”
Irene was standing nude in front of Steve Mosca, the nice guy from Philadelphia. Nice because he was the only man in the room who seemed to be able to keep his eyes focused above her neck. But then the guy had a house-full of daughters. A naked girl was probably a regular occurrence in his bathroom.
“Thanks.” Irene was grateful for the support. “It’s been hellish.”
“Well for what it’s worth, and please, take this in the context for which it is intended, you’re quite lovely.”
Irene felt the heat rise in her chest. “I appreciate that, thank you,” she said with honesty.
It was his turn to blush. “So you’re okay?”
Irene took a hard swallow of her brandy. “I’m not sure I’d call it okay, but I’ll survive. I’m more concerned for Joey. She’s just a kid. Is there anything you can do for her?”
Mosca looked over Irene’s shoulder. Scirocco was discussing business with Johnny Pecora while his hand roamed freely beneath the front of Joey’s shirt.
“Yeah, I can try I guess. Scirocco’s a showoff. Nothing makes him happier than to share stuff around with his buddies. It makes him feel like a big shot, if he can provide you with a favor.”
“So…?” Irene questioned.
“So I’ll tell him I’ve taken a fancy to Joey. That I want to take her back to my room. I know Scirocco. He’ll fall for it and gladly hand her over to me. At least it will get Joey out of his apartment for tonight.”
Irene thought it over. She felt a qualm in the pit of her stomach. There had been a certain feeling of allegiance, knowing that she wasn’t alone; not that it had done neither her nor Joey much good. But in a very real way, she hated to see Joey go. And leave with the only man she trusted.
Irene looked over her shoulder, saw Joey looking like a beaten kitten and felt her heart hurt. “Do it, if you think it will work. Get Joey the hell outta here before something happens.”
Steve set his brandy down. “I’ll do my best.”
As soon as Steve stepped away, Angelo Roselli took his place; just like she’d called out his number at the meat-market. She took him by the arm and spun him so she could watch Steve Mosca move in on Scirocco. C’mon, Scirocco, she prayed, give her away.
“Irene. You’ve got great legs,” Angelo said.
She looked down on the little man. “So I’ve heard. Anything else strike your fancy?”
“Well sure. All of it, I guess. You’re one of the nicest looking broa… nicest women I ever met. You ever get to Chicago?”
Irene looked into his watery gray eyes. “I used to fly into Chicago, all the time; until I crashed my plane.”
His jaw went slack “You’re that Ross? Captain Irene Ross?”
Irene smiled. “So it says on my birth certificate.”
“Damn, I remember. Last year. They crucified you in court. It was a joke. You were set up. Made the fall-guy for the airlines and that manufacturer. It was so obvious a grade-schooler could see it. I wrote letters to the paper.”
“You did? But why?”
Roselli eased a breath. “Because I was aboard Flight 232 the day you set us down in Sioux Falls. I survived. I owe you my life, Captain Ross.”
“My God,” she exclaimed.
He was already reaching into his jacket pocket. He came out with a snakeskin wallet and produced a business card with a decisive flash. “This is my card, my personal card.” He passed the embossed parchment across. “You call that number and you get me, direct. Not some bimbo. You need anything, you call that number, understand? Protection, money, a job, a favor? You call that number and Angelo Roselli will look out for you. That’s how I work. It’s a matter of honor.”
“My God,” she repeated. “Angelo, I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say nothin’. Not necessary. Now, I’m gonna gather the guys together and we’re blowing this fun-house. You want, you grab your dress and come with us.”
Irene swooned at the thought. “I can’t, Angelo. Scirocco has a contract for me to sign. After everyone leaves.”
Angelo lifted a meaty hand. “Okay. You know what’s best for you, but let me tell you something, here. Scirocco’s a small-time deal, next to the rest of the men in this room. A flunky. And unstable at that. You watch yourself, Irene. But take this to heart. Charlie Scirocco has outlived his usefulness. He’s on his way down. Now, if you’re sure you won’t come with us, I’ll say goodnight.”
Irene was stunned. She dropped into a chair and watched Angelo moving across the room. He tapped the other men and they gathered themselves. She was so overwhelmed she didn’t notice Steve Mosca disappear into the foyer with a struggling Joey clinging to his arm.
Irene picked up her dress and trailed after Scirocco when he walked his guests to the front door. She obediently stood with him as he shook hands and when he nudged her, she stepped forward to briefly hug each man before they stepped out to the hallway where the elevator was waiting. She let each one of them hold her nude body for a moment. When the door finally closed, Irene felt dirty and used up. And was acutely aware that she was all alone with Scirocco.
“Can I get dressed now?” Irene asked.
He swirled a brandy snifter and took a sip while watching her breasts move. “I like you the way you are. You’ve got a good body…”
“Yeah. For a woman my age.” Irene finished his sentence. “I believe you have a contract for me to sign?”
Scirocco finally looked into her face, a line forming up between his brows. “Of course. You want a drink to celebrate?” He led the way into his study.
“What I want is to get dressed.”
Scirocco went straight to his desk and searched about for a pen. “Sit. You need to read this before you sign.”
Irene sighed. She draped Jordan’s dress carefully across the back of the armchair, got herself settled on the cushion and accepted the sheet of paper. Irene pulled the hair from her eyes and gave the document a quick read. It appeared straight forward, outlining her job description, duties, her salary, plus there was a list of benefits that included her accommodations. Her accommodations. She paused a moment, thinking, but let the notion pass. She noted he had already signed at the bottom in a showy sprawling stroke that said a lot about the man’s feelings of self-importance.
Irene was just picking up the pen when she was startled by the scrambling sound of claws rasping on the stone tile outside the door. A large black dog bolted in, bound for Scirocco, but came to a clambering halt when it detected Irene sitting motionless in the chair. The dog immediately dropped into a defense crouch and sensing Irene’s fear, pulled back its lips into a dreadful grin. Irene saw all those teeth and heard a rumble deep from within the animal’s chest.
“Brutus. No.” Scirocco blurted out. “Friend.”
The doberman immediately uncoiled, looked up at Scirocco and yawned. “Friend,” Scirocco repeated.
The dog ambled over to the desk and sat, eyeing Irene carefully.
“It’s okay. He likes women, actually,” Scirocco said reassuringly.
Irene, thinking of the photograph she had seen on Ditz’s bedside table, just nodded. She placed her own mundane signature under his and handed the paper back.
“Good.” Scirocco ran his eyes across the page. “I have special instructions for you.”
“Special instructions?” Irene was still watching the dog, her senses pricked.
“Yes. You fly out day after tomorrow with the guests, but not directly to Miami this time. Your destination will be the Cayman Islands. It’s all set up. Once you land in George Town, stay on the aircraft. Wait ’til everyone, including your crew leaves the plane. Understand? A Mr. Silvers will come aboard and introduce himself.”
“Mr. Silvers,” Irene repeated and took a sharp breath as the dog got to its feet.
“Yes. He’s my banker. You will escort him forward, onto the flight-deck. There will be a suitcase strapped behind the pilot’s seat. The case is for him and he’ll have the key that opens it. Once you see that his key fits the lock, leave it with him. Take a cab to the hotel. Relax, enjoy your afternoon on the beach. The food and drinks are on me. Try the conch fritters at the luncheon buffet. The best ever. And the calamari. You fly out at eight that same evening and deliver the guests to Miami.”
“Your dog is acting weird.”
Brutus was ambling in circles his stub of a tail stiffly wagging.
Scirocco looked at his dog. “Brutus can smell your sex,” he said blandly. “He’s horny.”
“For me?”
“Sure. He’s not fussy. Are you boy?”
The dog came up on its hind legs and pawed the air.
“Want it Brutus?” Scirocco teased his animal. “Get some.”