15. Elizabeth
FIFTEEN
ELIZABETH
TODAY IS TURNING INTO A full-blown crash course in Roman 101. I've learned that five minutes in Roman's world really means exactly that. It was five minutes on the dot when Owen handed over my security deposit in cash and the key to the storage garage. It shocked me that he even had that much cash in his possession. Who does that? Oh, wait ... I used to ( baha! ). Anyway, after he handed over the cash and the key, he went inside his apartment without another word and locked the door.
After Roman and I loaded my four plastic containers of treasures (photos, journals, sweaters and other trinkets) in the back of his Rover, we decide to stop for lunch. I suggest that we eat at Brown's Diner, one of Philadelphia's legendary last remaining family-owned diners and one of my favorite places on earth.
"You've eaten here before I take it?" he asks, noticing my excitement.
"All the time. Best five dollar lunch in the area."
"What the hell can you get for five dollars?"
"Don't be such a snob, rich boy. You're about to have the best turkey burger and fries EVER." I smile. "My treat. Since I'm rich now too."
I fan a little of my money in his face when I notice an incoming text on my phone.
Roman chuckles and pauses before he asks his next question, ”Who's that, moneybags?"
"It's Owen."
Roman's face turns icy.
"What the fuck does he want?"
"For me and my crazy ass cousin to never come around there again or he'll call the police."
"Is that right."
I laugh. "Well, you've got to admit. You were kind of over the top with him."
"I was fixing a very fucked up situation. He was trying to keep your money, and you were allowing him to speak to you like a piece of shit."
I gasp in mock shock. "Tell me how you really feel."
"I really feel like you have a horrible taste in landlords and definitely in men."
"I guess so. My last boyfriend was apparently a druggie, and I think I came pretty damn close to making out with my cousin in front of our entire family." I chortle a little at my attempt at a joke.
Roman is stock still.
I'm guessing he doesn't think my joke was that funny.
"So what else is on the agenda for today?" I ask, hoping to steer the conversation in another direction.
"I need to make a stop, then we're going home to change, and then out to The Lotus."
"The Lotus? Why would we go there?"
"I'm running it now."
"You're running it! I thought you were a business consultant."
"I am. I consult employees on how to run their clubs, among other things."
I shake my head no. "I don't want to go back to that nightmare on Elm Street."
"Nothing will happen to you as long as I'm there." He says confidently.
"And who pays you to run this club? No offense, but it doesn't look like your type of crowd."
"No offense taken, but it's not your crowd either, and the owner pays me."
I roll my eyes at his inferred insult.
"And who's the owner?"
"A silent investor. Any more questions about my business, Inspector Clouseau?"
"Nope." I cut my sloppy turkey burger into quarters and then pop a French fry into my mouth and chew. "Pass the ketchup."
"I don't know how you keep your girlish figure."
"Not used to eating with girls who eat real food, I take it?"
"Are you used to it? Your girlfriend doesn't look like she eats much."
"Sloan?" Of course he paid attention to Sloan's body. Every man does. Pervert.
"Yeah, her. I noticed her scrawny little ass on the floor of the club that night."
"So, it was Sloan you were looking at when you found us?" I try to ask nonchalantly as I dip a fry in my small pool of ketchup.
Roman takes a large bite of his burger. Chewing it while silently observing me. He licks a bit of juice from the corner of his mouth, swallows, then smiles.
"I noticed only you the moment you entered the club, Duchess."
Our eyes lock.
"What do you mean? You saw me before the pepper spray?"
"Yep,” he says simply.
I'm not sure what to say in response to this bit of new information. I don't know if I should say anything. We're supposed to be having friendly conversations. Distant cousins getting to know each other. I'm pretty sure that's what Juliette and Joseph had in mind by forcing Roman to babysit me, but I feel like almost every exchange between us is laced in subtle sexual subtext. I don't know. Maybe it's all in my head.
"So tell me about the stop you need to make today. Is it for your job?"
"Pretty much."
"About the club?"
"No, this is a different job. I have a client that's being blackballed by MTV. She wants to present at the awards show, but they're freezing her out."
"Wow, that sounds so interesting. So what can you do about it?"
"Well, it's my job to convince the powers that be to change their minds about her."
"Who is it, Roman? Tell me!"
"Absolutely not." He smiles and tweaks my nose. "You wouldn't want me to lose my job now, would you?"
"I thought MTV was in New York?"
"The person I need to speak with is here for a few days."
"And you're going to let me tag along?" I ask excitedly.
"Not inside, Duchess. You'll sit in the car like a good girl and wait for me." He gives me one of those signature panty-dropping smirks of his, and honestly, I think my crotch is on fire ... in a good way.
In the best way possible.
* * *
IT DOESN'T TAKE LONG FOR US to leave the diner and arrive to our next destination. We're in front of a mammoth but beautifully designed slate concrete building with lots of glass and stainless steel on the lobby floor. There's no name on the building, just an address in large, polished stainless letters, which rests above the set of double glass doors.
1907.
There's an older man with a paunch belly standing in front of the building dressed in a maroon short coat with brass buttons who seems to stand at his post as the doorman with pride. I notice that he recognizes Roman and am surprised that he addresses my tatted up cousin with nothing but respect instead of revulsion or fear.
"Going in, Mr. Masterson?"
"What's up, Tyson. I need to run upstairs for a minute. Floor 15. Also, I have a young lady in the car who I need you to keep an eye on."
He lowers his head to look inside the car and gives me a thousand-watt smile.
"Pleasure."
"Hello,” I respond brightly.
"You'll stay in the car?" Roman grins.
"What's with you and making me stay in cars? Just hurry up, Masterson."
It's the first time I've called him something other than his name. Not quite a nickname like the one he's given me, but something other than Roman. I think he likes it, because he smirks as he exits the car. As the man Tyson opens the door for him, he runs back to the car and signals for me to roll down the window.
"I forgot something."
He reaches into the middle compartment and grabs a couple of M and there will be decisions you are going to need to make in order for it to work out long term."
"Okay."
"He will be one of those decisions."
"Who?"
"The man outside."
"Are you sure?"
What does Roman have to do with my business? This is where she's starting to lose me, because I think she assumes that he's my boyfriend or something. An obvious mistake to make, but a mistake nonetheless.
She lifts her head from my palms and looks directly into my eyes. "I am sure."
"What about my love life?" I wonder if she sees anything about Ethan.
She pauses for a moment as she holds my hands, then looks at me curiously.
"He will be the love of your life."
"Who?"
"The man outside."
I almost laugh.
"Not likely,” I mutter under my breath.
"But be careful, because the passion between you two may consume you."
I tune much of what she says out after that. I've been successfully rattled. I don't think the reader is a complete fraud, because I feel (or at least hope) she was spot on about my business, but her comments about Roman have thrown me off kilter.
She instructs me to leave my offering, instead of a payment, in the bowl at the base of the waterfall. Then she recommends that I purchase a homemade candle to burn for further reflection. I've got the money in my pocket, so I say what the hell and purchase a vanilla and lavender soy candle for twenty bucks.
Roman stands as I exit the room, and he looks relieved that it's over.
"How was it?"
"Interesting."
"How much did you spend?"
"Thirty dollars."
"For a ten-dollar reading?"
He throws a friendly hook arm around my neck as we walk to the car, and it feels so frackin' good. I pray that my attraction towards him doesn't grow any stronger than it already is, but I think I already know the answer to that.
"Did the hustler tell you something life shattering behind the curtain?" he asks smugly.
It's complicated.