Elsa
“This is the day I die,” Gabrielle says finally, pouring himself a glass of amber liquid. “Why are you doing this to me?” He drinks it all in one gulp.
“Oh, Gabrielle. I’m not doing this to you. I’m doing this to him. You are his right hand so he needs you too much. He couldn’t kill you. Besides, I think I look very stylish and sexy.”
Gabrielle helps himself to another drink and pours the third. He looks especially dapper this evening in light-gray pants, similarly colored shoes, and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. There is a beautiful golden Rolex shining from his wrist, paired with a set of bracelets-some wooden, some gold, and the other made of platinum.
“Sexy, that’s for sure, but stylish? I sincerely doubt that Marcello will appreciate this particular brand of elegance.”
***
Eclisse reflects Marcello’s personality perfectly. Two tall bouncers stand guard at the red-carpeted entrance. A flight of stairs leads down, straight to the elegant, dark interior. Tables are nestled in alcoves divided with dark, heavy drapes. Walls of ebony and the dim light of candles give the impression of sensuality, eroticism, and luscious appeal. There are two platforms, where scantily dressed women in masks writhe to the rhythm of the music.
The bartenders standing behind a long black bar covered in quilted leather are women. They are all dressed in tight-fitting bodysuits and high heels. Their wrists are adorned with leather straps imitating manacles. Yes, everything is unmistakably Marcello’s idea.
We pass the bar and the crowd of bodies lazily moving to the rhythm of the music. A massive bouncer who is making way for us draws another drape open, revealing another room-a cavernous hall. Massive dark wood sculptures shaped in the form of conjoined bodies dominated the space. I am awed by their sheer size rather than by what they depict.
In the corner, on a pedestal, obscured by semitransparent curtains, is an alcove where we are led. It is decidedly larger than the other ones. I can only speculate as to what normally happens here-there is a dancing pole in the middle.
We sit down, and before he touches the satin lining of the sofa, alcohol, appetizers, and a tray covered with a silver dome are brought into the alcove. On instinct, I reach out for the tray, but Gabrielle catches my hand before it touches the metal surface, shaking his head. He passes me a glass of champagne.
“We won’t be alone today,” he says cautiously, as if afraid of what he has to say. “We’ll be joined by several people with whom we have to tend to some business.”
I nodded and repeated after him, “Some people, some business. Right. You boys will play gangsters.” I pour the contents of the glass down my throat and stick my hand out so Gabrielle can refill it.
“We’ll be doing business. Best get used to it.” Suddenly, his eyes bulge.
He is staring into the distance, at something behind me.
“Shit is going to hit the fan now,” he breathes, running his hand through his hair.
I turn around and notice several men entering our alcove. Marcello is among them. Seeing me, he stops and freezes in perfect stillness. He stares at me coldly.
I swallow hard, and suddenly my plan to dress like a hooker doesn’t seem like such a good idea. Marcello’s companions pass me on their way to greet Gabrielle, while the head of the family keeps his distance. His fury is clear and apparent.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” he growls, grabbing me by the elbow.
“Only what you picked for me,” I reply, freeing my arm.
My retort isn’t to his liking. I can see the red-hot rage boiling over in him, wondering why he hasn’t started spewing steam from his ears yet. That’s when one of the men shouts something to Marcello, who replies, keeping his eyes aimed at me.
I sit at the table and reach for yet another glass of champagne. If I am to play a piece of decor, I might as well be a very drunk piece of decor.
It is a good day to drink. Bored witless, I observe the room, listening in on the conversation. When Marcello speaks, he is really sexy. Suddenly, Gabrielle broke my reverie by lifting the dome from the silver platter. I shoot a glance at what is on it and nearly choke-it is cocaine. The drug, divided into several dozen neat little lines, covered the entire platter. I can’t stand the sight of it. I exhale slowly and leave the alcove, but I don’t even manage to turn my head to take a look around, as the gigantic bouncer materializes in front of me. I shoot Marcello a look. The man is keeping his eyes trained on me, standing right behind me. I bend over, pretending to scratch my leg, but really to show him how short my dress is before I leave. I straightened up and met his predatory glare.
“Don’t provoke me, Elsa,” Marcello says.
“Why? Are you afraid I’m doing it well?” I ask, trailing my tongue along my lower lip. Alcohol always has that effect on me-I feel bolder-but with Marcello, when I got drunk it seemed to always bring out the demon in me.
“Alberto will keep you company.”
“You’re changing the subject,” I purr, clutching the lapels of his suit and inhaling the scent of his cologne. “My dress is so short you could enter me without even taking it off.” I grab his hand and lead it down my waist and then under the fabric of the dress. “White lace, just the way you like it,” I breathe. “Alberto!” I called out suddenly and headed toward the dance floor.
I took a look back, shooting a glance at Marcello, who was standing propped against one of the pillars with his hands in his pockets and a wide smile on his face. He is into that stuff.