Chapter 7
FRANKIE
If Sofia seems overly interested in my family, I chalk it up to nerves. She looks hot, but I’m old enough to know that women are people. She’s probably just as flustered as I am, and she’s channeling it into domestic discussions.
I don’t talk about my father. He’s specifically off limits.
There are other things I can talk about though, the Italian countryside and what kind of mischief I got up to in high school.
I made a mistake by telling her how much money my family has.
I don’t know if I thought it would impress her, or if I just let my guard down because she’s so attractive.
Either way, I hope she doesn’t get the wrong idea.
I’m not some kind of rich playboy who’s looking for an easy score. And I’m not the kind of man who will throw around my net worth just to get a date. Although if one thing leads to another and she wants to come home with me, I’m not going to say no.
It even occurs to me that she might be impressed by my family’s home.
But that’s as far as things get before my better judgment shuts them down.
Anyone who comes to the family mansion has to be vetted.
I don’t want to put Sofia through that now, and I don’t want to bother my father.
He has more important things to do than worry about the girls I date.
Besides, I’m handling things well enough on my own.
Sofia is exquisite in her hip-hugging dress. It doesn’t leave much to the imagination, but that’s okay. I can imagine it crumpled up on the floor of a hotel room, or maybe the floor of her bedroom if I make it that far.
I’m not paying attention to much else, and it takes all of my concentration to focus on our conversation.
She’s sharing a few things about her home life, but that doesn’t seem comfortable for her either.
Maybe when we get to know each other, we can be a little more honest about our upbringing.
For now, I’m happy to talk about science fiction and the best vegan dishes.
Light and happy is just about my speed, and though she seems eager to hear my backstory, I keep things surface level.
“Have you ever tried miso soup?” I ask her.
“Of course,” she replies. “That Thai place on Rochester Street has some amazing miso soup.”
“Have you ever been a vegetarian?” I pose a typical, harmless question.
“Once, when I was seventeen,” she answers. “You?”
“When I was twelve,” I say. “My father shot that down real fast.”
“Your father likes meat?” she assumes.
“Oh, he’s a carnivore,” I affirm.
I finish two glasses of wine, and I notice she’s still on her first. I slow down, not wanting to look like a lush.
I could comfortably drink a few more, but I don’t want her to think I have an alcohol problem.
Whatever she’s doing, I’m going to match it.
If she’s sipping on her glass, then I’ll do the same. All I want to do is impress her.
The dinner goes well. We even stay for dessert. We share a piece of chocolate cake with ice cream that she says is going straight to her hips. I assure her that there’s no way a single piece of cake could do anything to make her less attractive.
“In fact, I think it says a lot that you would dare eat cake with me on our first date,” I declare.
“You better watch out,” she teases. “Our second date might be all about the cake.”
I can’t tell if that’s a sexual innuendo or not. I decide not to take the bait. Better to look like I don’t understand the subtext than come off looking creepy. We finish our dessert in silence before she looks at her phone.
I watch as she texts someone. I’m hoping it’s a girlfriend and not another man. She sees me watching and puts her phone away.
“Work,” she explains.
“I didn’t know you had a job,” I stammer.
“Of course I have a job,” she says lightly. “Shall we go?”
I guess she doesn’t want to tell me what she’s doing for a living.
If she wants to be a writer, maybe that means she’s working some dead-end position in a less than glamorous industry.
I wonder briefly if she’s a fast-food worker or if there’s a similar reason, she doesn’t want to share any of the details.
It doesn’t seem like the right time to give her the third degree, so I drop it. I escort her out of the restaurant after paying the bill. Our car pulls up, and I open the door for her. She slips inside, giving me a view of her left leg from ankle to hip, before tugging her dress down to her knees.
I feel energy wash over me like a tidal wave, the sight so magnetic it draws me in.
I sit down next to her and pull the door shut, careful not to sit too close.
I want to be one hundred percent sure that she’s interested before I make any move.
It would be disastrous to get this far into the date and blow it because I’m being too enthusiastic.
“Hot night,” I say simply.
“Yeah,” she agrees.
She’s not pulling away, but she’s not climbing into my lap either.
I can’t tell what my chances are of getting a second date, so I do my best to be cheerful on the drive back to her place.
She seems a little anxious, but maybe she’s grappling with her own natural instincts the way I am with mine.
Wouldn’t that be amazing if we were both on the same page?
When we pull up to her apartment building, I get out. I open the door for her and walk her to the door. She fumbles in her bag for her keys and can’t seem to find them.
“I can wait,” I offer.
“No, it’s fine,” she says quickly. “I can just buzz my way in. Thank you for a wonderful evening.”
I lean in for the kiss, but contain myself to a quick peck on the lips. It’s a tantalizing glimpse into what might await me in the future. She does indeed smell like strawberries, something that’s either the work of her perfume or her shampoo, I can’t tell which.
I pull myself away before getting too invested. I don’t want her to think that I’m only interested in getting into her panties. And the doorman is watching us from inside the lobby. I turn around, giving her a wave before climbing back into my car.
As we drive away, I can see her standing on the curb, looking back at me. That has to be a good sign. She’s so invested in our date, she doesn’t even want to go inside. When the car turns out onto the street, I sit back.
I don’t know how the date could have gone better.
Reviewing all the data, I decide I did well.
She was engaged throughout our conversation.
She felt relaxed enough to eat cake, and she didn’t push me away at the end.
I didn’t get confirmation of a second date, and I think I’ll wait a bit before texting her.
I don’t want her to think I’m too eager, or to get the impression that I’m crowding her.
But after a few days, I’ll reach out. Maybe this is the beginning of something epic in my life. It’s about time.
I’m consumed by my thoughts as the car gets onto the freeway.
I don’t even notice the miles passing until we’re pulling up to the house.
As soon as I see those iron gates, my mood sours.
I don’t want to be home. Home is depressing.
Home is where my father rules, and where my stepmother can’t see anything but her love for her husband.
Home is full of thick-necked thieves who have been in more violent encounters than I care to know about.
I roll my eyes, sitting back until the car comes to a complete stop. Getting out, I thank Tommy for his service. He waves cheerfully at me. He’s a good kid, far too new to my father’s organization to be jaded yet.
A moment later, another car pulls up. This one is my bodyguard, and he tosses a cigarette onto the driveway before getting out. I don’t acknowledge him at all. It works better that way. He’s being paid to stand in the shadows, and there’s no reason for us to be friends.
I hightail it into the house, going straight for the stairs. Uncle Gio and my father are sitting on the couch in the living room, watching a basketball game.
“Frankie!” Gio shouts, raising a beer to me. “Come, have a seat.”
“I’m pretty tired,” I lie.
“Come on,” Gio insists.
I rack my brain for a reason to refuse. The last thing I want to do is have a drink with my father.
He’s the reason my life is so strange, the reason I have such a hard time finding women who are interested in me.
He’s probably just taking a break from whatever business he has going on in his office.
I couldn’t count the number of times our family bonding has been interrupted by some crisis on the streets. I’m not in the mood right now.
“I have some studying to do,” I say.
“Take a break,” Gio begs me.
“Let him go,” my father says. “He’s too serious.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, even though it was a backhanded compliment.
I hurry upstairs to lock my door and shut the entire criminal enterprise out. When I’m all alone, I can focus on my date with Sofia again. I remove my tie, wondering what she’s up to. Is she taking a bath? Maybe she’s sitting in bed with a good book.
I hope she’s thinking about me, and all the fun we had tonight.
If I play my cards right, I’m sure that we can have a future.
Maybe I don’t have to sit around, pitifully single while my father celebrates the birth of another child.
With any luck, I’ll have a girlfriend of my own and a life outside the family.
If only it were that easy.