I wonder if he’s going to be that way with the new kid. He’s much older now, and the way he looks at Marlena, it’s as if she’s made of gold. He would never hurt her, and I suspect that he’s going to be a much more attentive father in the future. Good for the baby. I’m not jealous.
I give up trying to make conversation. If my father wants to say anything to me, he’s welcome to do it all by himself. I made it clear that I’m happy for Marlena, and that I’m interested in hearing her plans for the future. But I refuse to take responsibility for the atmosphere at the dinner table. That’s on him.
I stick it out until dessert, but instead of eating cake, I make my excuses and step away. In the privacy of my suite, I can finally relax. I tug my shirt off and toss it on the couch. Reaching into my mini fridge, I pull out a beer.
I feel like I’m trapped somewhere between being a boy and being a man. I really should live on my own, but that’s not the way my family works. I think about all the young professionals out there who have their own apartments. They’re coming home from work, cooking their own meals, and relaxing in a space that they paid for. I haven’t paid for a single thing in my life.
I wonder if it’s worth it, this big plan to help my family out by becoming a lawyer. Am I destined to be a third wheel after my father, my stepmother, and the new baby? Will I ever truly step out on my own and earn my way in the world? I hope so someday.
I’m about to go to bed when my phone lights up. Glancing down at it, I see I’ve got a text from Sofia. I’m over the moon. I didn’t think she would text so early. Yes, we exchanged numbers before she had to get on the bus, and yes, we had plans to meet up later. But I’m not one hundred percent sure she’s as into me as I am into her.
Sofia: Hey, just wanted to make sure that you’re still up for dinner.
I wait a beat before answering because I don’t want to look too desperate.
Me: Of course.
Sofia: Where are we meeting?
I guess we didn’t get that far. Thank goodness that she’s interested enough to follow up.
Me: Backstage? Tomorrow?
Sofia: Sounds great.
Backstage is a trendy little California kitchen in the middle of downtown. It’s not as upscale as some of the surrounding restaurants, but it’s definitely not a cheap franchise.
Me: 7?
She gives me a thumbs up.
I sit back and stare at the screen for a long moment before finally putting the device down. Things are looking up. I no longer care about my father, or the new baby, or my future in this sordid empire.
CHAPTER 6
SOFIA
“So how are you going to handle this?” Mr. Harlan asks.
“I asked him to pick me up at an apartment complex near my place,” I say, going over the plan in my head. I don’t want Frankie to know where I live, and I also don’t want him to know what kind of car I drive. In fact, the less Frankie knows about me, the better.
So, I’m prepared to walk a few blocks away and wait on the street corner for him to pick me up. I don’t think anyone will bother me. I look in the mirror as I’m holding the phone, talking to my boss on the other end of the line.
I’m wearing a short summer dress with a pair of killer cowgirl boots. I think I look pretty cute. For my hair, I’m going with a ponytail, with a few strands untucked to frame my face. I’m wearing minimal makeup, just some foundation and a shade of natural-looking lipstick. The whole package is designed to get under Frankie’s skin. Of course I’m not going to sleep with him. I’m notthatcommitted to a great story.
Besides, doing something like that would compromise my journalistic integrity. The story is only secondary to getting justice for my brother, but that doesn’t mean it’s not important. It could cement my career as a journalist and catapult me to the big leagues. I know there are plenty of journalists out there working in other major metropolitan cities, winning Pulitzer Prizes for their work. Maybe I’m being overly optimistic, but I can see my byline up there someday. Anyway, I’m not going to risk my professional reputation by hopping into bed with a gangster.
I’m dressed to impress, but I tell myself that I’ll slip away before the evening gets out of hand. I’ll play the, ‘I’m not ready’ card, or the ‘Let’s take it slow’ routine. He’ll fall for that, I’m sure. I don’t know him very well, but I can already tell he’s not the kind of guy to hit it and quit it. He’s looking for romance, and that’s exactly what I’m going to give him.
“I have to go,” I say.
“Keep in touch,” Mr. Harlan replies.
“I’ll be fine,” I assure him.
“I’m sure you will,” he agrees. “But keep in touch anyway. If you can’t get away by nine o’clock, text me.”
I appreciate his precautions, but I don’t think they’re necessary. “We’re going to a restaurant,” I say, “not an abandoned warehouse.”
