Chapter Nineteen
“I should do this more often.” I spoke out loud. Perhaps this would be my life now. I could become one of those eccentric New Yorkers, walking around with a drink in one hand, talking about whatever came to mind.
Head a bit fuzzy from the two cocktails I already had, I lay on my couch, sipping my third Negroni and listening to my favorite opera,Aida, playing in the background. The music rose around me, soaked into my bones.
The shock of seeing Torre atUltimatethis morning had faded, leaving me curiously empty and saddened. I cared less about the job I’d been fired from than discovering Torre—Salvatore—wasn’t who he’d said he was. I downed my drink and tried to put my spinning thoughts together as to any discussions we might’ve had about his job, and came up empty. I’d assumed he worked for Mike at the restaurant. Was he lying all along? Was I the only one he was with?Hadhe lied?
Another betrayal. Presley was wrong in thinking I was afraid to recognize and accept love. I knew what love was, what it did to a person. Love destroyed everything it touched. Look what it did to my family. I was sure my father had told all the models he’d screwed that he loved them. My mother included. They were never together long enough for me to recall ever hearing them say the words to each other.
I didn’t recall them saying it to me.
Presley’s parents knew the secret. They were always saying how much they loved each other. And Presley. They even said they loved me like I was their son. I always wished I had been.
And look where it got them, I thought savagely as I drained the last bit of my drink. Dead before their time, on a lonely road, with strangers around them and not their son, who loved them so much. Not me, who loved them as well.
I’d loved Luca, and gave him my virginity, thinking we’d be together forever. And he betrayed me in the worst way possible. Afterward, I swore I’d never let myself be that needy for another person again. Ever.
I closed my eyes to the image of Torre under me, crying out my name.
A buzzing sounded in my head, and I rolled over and fell on the floor. “Ow, shit.” My head throbbed, and I stared at the ceiling. A quick glance of my watch showed I’d fallen asleep on my sofa for about an hour, and my whole body ached. My glass lay on the floor next to me, ice cubes melting in a puddle. I yawned and rubbed my face.
The buzzing continued, like an alarm, and when I finally reoriented myself, I recognized it as the front door. I shuffled to the kitchen and hit the intercom.
“Who the fuck is it?” I croaked out.
“Lovely to talk to you too.” Presley’s annoyingly cheerful voice chirped through the box.
“Go away.”
“Frisco, let me up. I made the trip all the way downtown; the least you can do is let me in. Besides, I need to use the bathroom.”
“All right, but since when did I become a rest stop? Go to a hotel like everyone else.”
I hit the button and shuffled off to the bathroom to take a piss before he got upstairs. I decided to make some coffee, and was filling the pot and starting to wonder what took Press so long, when the doorbell rang. My head still ached, and I trudged over to the door and threw it open.
“Jesus, nothing like guilting a guy—what the fuck are you doing here?”
Torre stood on my doorstep. I pushed the door to shut it in his face, but he showed strength I hadn’t seen and shoved me backward and stepped inside. Maybe my senses were dulled from the liquor and the bang on my head. That could be the explanation for my heart slamming in hard beats, while Torre walked toward me.
“Get out.”
“No.” He stood in front of me, watchful and waiting.
“Where the fuck is Presley, or are you a ventriloquist too? Is that another facet of your sparkling personality I wasn’t made aware of?”
Despite my harsh words, I drank in the sight of him. He looked terrible and wonderful at the same time. How could I both hate and want him so desperately, my heart hurt?
Because you don’t hate him, the devil whispered.
“I went to Presley’s store and asked for his help in getting through to you since you refused to see me. He came downtown because I knew you wouldn’t open the door for me alone.”
“You went…how the hell did you know where he worked?”
Torre sauntered into my kitchen area and leaned against the center island. “That night we went to dinner and met Nate, you mentioned Presley’s store was on Amsterdam. Google is my friend.”
“I knew Press would get back at me one day for putting glitter in his shampoo,” I muttered to myself. “Well, you wasted a trip. Go home toUltimateand suck up to Webster. I’m sure you’ll go far.”
“Frisco, please, come on. Can we please talk about this? All I want to do is tell my story, and if you still don’t want to see me again, then I’ll leave for good and never contact you again. Especially after the other night…I thought we’d settled some stuff between us.”
