Fourth Down Baby: A May-December Romance (45 page)

“
I
’ve been informed
that the couple has written their own vows. Troy, if you would go first?"

It's an extravagant wedding—at least part of me says so—but after getting to the Pro Bowl and signing a new contract with Jacksonville that makes Troy one of the highest paid linebackers in the game, I'm not all that averse to splurging on this momentous occasion. I'm wearing a white Vera Wang knee-length dress, and the sand is warm between my toes on the beach in the Bahamas that Troy rented for our wedding and reception. Behind me are Dani and Mom, who are acting as my bridesmaids, wearing blue Wang dresses of their own, bought and not rented, a gift to them from Troy. I'd been tempted as a joke to put Dani in the same horrible taffeta-style monstrosity that she had for her wedding, but I know the choice hadn't been hers, but Pete's mother’s.

Speaking of Pete, he and Cory have been gawking the whole time as they find themselves surrounded by professional football players, their wives and girlfriends. Troy didn't invite the whole team, but at least six members of the starting defense and a few other players he's formed friendships with made the trip, and I think the caterer finally understands why our wedding party of forty-six ordered a sixty-person buffet. Even I'm still shocked at the massive size of some of Troy's teammates, who have accepted me and Laurie with generally open arms, especially the ones here today.

I actually feel bad for Cory. He's still a manwhore, at least in his mind, but he works too much to actually be one. He's not too sure who he can approach around the wedding without possibly incurring the wrath of very large, athletic men who could inflict serious harm on him. Troy told me last night that he would make sure that Cory was introduced to some of the single ladies at the reception, just to be on the safe side. Cory's trying to calm down, and I think if he can find the right lady, he'll be a good man someday.

Cory and Pete are not the best man, though, as next to Troy is the man who had, through his own love of Troy, brought us back together. When I'd gone to his house, in tears and begging, Coach Steve Jackson had not only immediately agreed, but booked our reservations right away, and he even promised to not tell Troy about it. Thankfully, Troy's diligence on financial matters didn't ruin the surprise.

So it’s only appropriate, I guess, to have 'Coach' as Troy's best man while Dani is my maid of honor. After all, who else has done more to bring the two of us together? The man who is Troy's
de facto
father and the woman who is my soul sister could have no other place in our wedding than as the people who stand by our side during this important moment.

Troy clears his throat, and I have to restrain myself from reaching up to kiss him already—he looks so handsome, and yes, a little nervous in his tuxedo. "There are some couples, some situations that are just fated. Whitney, we've been through a lot, but at each step of the way, my heart has belonged to you. I know that with you by my side, life is going to be a wonderful adventure, and I love you for that. I can't promise you that every day is going to be easy, but I do promise you, forever and always, that I’ll love you, respect you, and honor you. This I vow."

The minister turns his head to me and nods. "Whitney?"

"I've so many times in our relationship been just about the stupidest, most hard-headed, self-destructive woman that I can think of. But each time, there have been three things that have saved me. First," I say, turning my head to glance at Dani and Mom before returning my gaze to Troy, "some very good people whom I love and who love me enough to have helped me, even if it meant being firm with me. Second, a good dose of luck. But third, and most importantly, your unfailing, never wavering, infinite love. Troy, you've told me so many times in our relationship that I saved you from going down a dark path, but what you never realize is that you saved me too. It’s because of this that I promise you my love, my heart and soul, my everything . . . forever. This I vow."

When it’s time for the rings, Laurie is nearly so nervous as the ring bearer that she has to get a gentle nudge from Mom to come up with her little pillow with the rings, earning a chuckle from the crowd. Still, she’s fascinated to be right there as her mama and daddy slide the rings on each other's finger, and she’s cheering louder than even the adults when we exchange our kiss.

The reception takes place at the same resort as the ceremony, where we dance and feast as the June sun descends into the Caribbean. Troy and I share a laugh when Cory comes over to our table, red-faced. "What's up, Cory?"

"Uhm, Whitney . . . would you be too upset if I asked your Mom to dance with me?"

It takes me a second to realize what he's saying, and when I realize what he’s asking, I laugh so hard and give him a kiss on the cheek. "With my blessing. Just be careful."

"I know. I don't want Troy mad at me."

Troy shakes his head and points at Mom, who’s currently chatting with Coach Jackson's wife, while Laurie and Gregory Jackson, Coach's son, both share some cake. Greg is just about ready to go to junior high school, and I can tell he's torn between wanting to hang out with Laurie, where he can at least feel safe and have fun, and wanting to hang out with the adults, especially the women who are suddenly becoming more enticing to him. Still, Laurie's fun to hang out with, and they're content for now.

Troy looks at Cory. "I won't sugarcoat it, Cory. She might be more woman than you can handle. And don't let the fact that she's forty-two fool you. She's got more energy than half the guys I play with."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks," Cory says, turning and walking away. Troy and I follow him with our eyes, and Troy leans over, whispering in my ear and putting on a horrible accent—trying to mimic one of those national geographic voices, probably something he picked up from Dani.

"The young buck, not at all aware of the possibilities and potential danger before him, goes into the territory of the cougar, who eyes the buck with interest. It’ll be interesting if—yes, the cougar has decided to toy with the young buck, to see if it’s as delicious a meal as it appears."

"You're terrible," I say with a smile, giving Troy a kiss on the lips, one of a thousand it feels like so far today, and still, I'm not satiated. "My Mom is hardly a cougar."

“You’re right, but she is beautiful, much like her daughter," Troy replies, kissing me again. "And as for the rest, well, Cory could do a lot worse."

"Hmm, Mom could do a lot worse. Say, how about you and I get out of here? There's a beachside bungalow that’s calling our names."

"And Laurie?"

I point to Dani and Pete, who are dancing together and still looking like they're on their own honeymoon after a year of marriage. It's cute and heartwarming. After our honeymoon, we're going to go back to Silver Lake Falls for a month before Troy starts offseason workouts, and it'll be nice to spend some time back home. "Dani already agreed to take Laurie with her. She says she and Pete need the practice anyway. They're planning, now that she's on track for her PhD and has a good job lined up too, that maybe they can look at becoming parents."

Troy smiles and leans in, whispering in my ear. "I was thinking the same thing."

I shiver as Troy runs his hand up my thigh, his hand so warm and reaching higher, higher . . . "You want another baby?"

Troy nods and his eyes are deep blue with desire. "Don't you?"

I nod, smiling. "Why do you think I stopped the pills a month ago?"

Troy takes my hand and pulls me to my feet, but before we can fully escape, Dani intervenes, getting on the mike and announcing a couple's dance. She’s laughing as I give her a dirty look, and I know that she's already anticipated Troy and me making an early exit. "One dance, that's all," she says, holding up a finger. "Please?"

The music starts, and I notice that it’s a song I hadn't heard before, at least one I hadn't danced to before. "What’s this?"

Troy smiles and takes me in his arms. "When I went to the Winter Formal stag, Dani danced with me one time. She knew she was standing in for you, though, as I had your letter in my jacket pocket."

We're moving in time with the music, a few other couples joining us, and Troy kisses my forehead and continues. "This song was what we danced to. I guess Dani remembered it after all these years and felt it was time to right that wrong.”

The music continues, and when it is over, nobody stops us as Troy takes my hand and we disappear into the darkness, heading back to our private bungalow, where our future as man and wife awaits.

I
slammed
my fist on the dash of my car, wishing the damn thing would start up. I was already paying through my nose for the ten year old used Mercedes though, and when you had the finances I did, sometimes things had to be delayed, things like a new battery for a car that already had a hundred thousand miles on the odometer. Sighing, I twisted the key savagely in the ignition until it finally turned over and caught. I sighed again, knowing that for the rest of the night I'd have to leave the air conditioning off and drive with the windows down in order to maybe,
just maybe,
have enough battery charge in order to not look like a complete idiot having to call a fucking taxi to get home.

That night, my work was pretty easy, even if it was frustrating to have to be nothing more than a glorified errand boy. In the trunk of my car were seven modified AK-47's, cheap Yugoslavian knock-offs, but after what the Bertolis had done to them, you most likely couldn't have noticed until you tried to shoot the damn things. The old wood stocks had been replaced with synthetics, and there were a few more purely cosmetic changes. They still fired the old Russian caliber cartridges, and being the Yugoslavian reproductions, would most likely jam if they were fired a lot without cleaning. It didn't concern me really, as I doubted the gang I'd be delivering them too would be taking good care of them anyway, nor would they have a reason to fire them all that often.

I headed out towards Tacoma, where I was supposed to be making my delivery. Tacoma is part of the Bertoli territory, even though they are based in Seattle, but as with any situation, there were groups that were able to operate underneath the Bertoli umbrella, as long as they paid their dues and didn't raise too much hell otherwise. This group what just that, they paid their dues on time, and kept their operations out of the public eye, which made them both prime Bertoli customers and the most difficult delivery of the jobs I did.

In all honesty, I hated the Vietnamese gang that was based in Tacoma's International District. It wasn't that they raised hell, I didn't really care about that. From everything I knew, they were relatively quiet, doing most of their work through intimidation and behind the scenes work. I knew if they made any problems, Carlo Bertoli would send his men, unfortunately not me, and they'd be wiped out in a hail of gunfire that would make the Tet Offensive look like a minor dust-up. The Vietnamese knew how to keep their territory on lock, and they knew how to use their cultural differences within the community to maximum effectiveness. And they were pretty good customers too, from what I knew.

No, what pissed me off about the them was their mouths. Now, I understand that Vietnamese is one of those languages that only a tiny percent of the population speaks, and that they could exploit that fact to their advantage in communicating while other people were around. But you have to be a total idiot to have a group of people call you the same thing over and over each time you come by and not take the time to at least try and figure out what the hell they're calling you. In my case, I was being called
âm hộ lớn
, or "The Big Pussy." It wasn't the worst nickname I'd been called in the years I'd worked for the Bertolis, but it was the most persistent.

Pulling up in back of Huynh's Lucky Star Restaurant, I left the engine running as I got out. Sure, it was a neighborhood that I shouldn't have, but I'd already been spotted by a dishwasher who was taking a smoke break out back, and the Vietnamese knew me well enough to not risk the wrath of my employer.

"Hey
âm hộ lớn
, long time no see," the first gangster to come out, Danny Huong, said. "Not long enough though."

"You want the fucking product or not?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

"You tryin' to step to me, boy?" Danny asked with a smirk. I knew why the Vietnamese called me Big Pussy, and it had nothing to do with
The Sopranos
. When I was sixteen I had gotten into a fight in high school, and quite honestly, got my ass kicked. I allowed myself to be pulled into a fight with one of the biggest brawlers in my high school after he said a few things about my Dad. Chalk it up to another in a long line of mistakes I had to atone for, and since then, I'd been called a pussy in varying degrees by lots of different people. I’m not that same guy anymore though. One day, someone’s going to find out.

"If I was trying to step to you, you’d know it, Danny," I replied, sighing. I really didn't need this tonight. "I'm just saying, you want to see your delivery or do you want to talk shit?"

He considered it for a second, then shrugged. "Fine, whatever. Show me the goods."

"You got the money?" I asked, heading around to my trunk. Yes, I was riding dirty as hell, but that was the risk I was willing to take. Besides, I wasn't on anyone's radar, the cops probably wouldn't have cared if I'd had the guns sitting openly in the back seat of my car I was so low. "The Don won't like it if I come back without the cash."

Danny said something in liquid, nearly unintelligible Vietnamese, and another one of his boys came out, carrying a briefcase. Setting it on the trunk of my car, he opened the lid, and I saw the stacks of cash inside. Ten thousand dollars, not too bad a deal really. "They're fully modified, right?"

"Yeah," I said, closing the case and setting it on the ground. "Just like you asked, nine pieces."

"And ammo?" Danny asked. I didn't want to tell him he was being retarded, as you can get AK-47 ammunition off the Internet cheap, but it didn't matter to me. "My boys can't do nothing without ammo."

Your boys can't do nothing with ammo either, not without the Don's permission,
I thought, but nodded. "Each comes with one full clip, a gift from the Don. He says that if you want more, get in contact with us, and he'll make the arrangements."

"In other words, I get to see you again,” Danny commented, shaking his head. "Fuck, I should get a discount just dealing with your ass."

I wanted to slam his head into the trunk of my car. But I know better — there’s too many of them, and even after they kick my ass, the Don would do it all over again. He doesn’t want trouble unless he says so. In the end, I just shrugged. "Price of doing business, Danny. The Don likes the way I do things out here in Tacoma. I'm not a fan of pho myself, so there's tradeoffs either way."

Danny shook his head again and pointed to his boys, snapping his fingers. The AKs disappeared inside the restaurant in a flash, and I put the briefcase of cash into the trunk of my car. Slamming the lid, I looked at Danny. "Anything else? I can take a message to the Don tonight if you want."

"You'd probably forget,
âm hộ lớn
. If you were smart enough to take messages too, you'd be doing more than this bitch work. Get the fuck outta here."

I stewed some more getting into my car, and driving out of the Vietnamese area and heading back towards Seattle, I let loose a stream of curses and yells that would have certainly gotten me into a fight if Danny had heard them. But it helped. I still had another delivery to make, and I needed time to calm down.

As I got on the Interstate heading back north towards Seattle, I fumed about the unfairness of it all. One fuckup as a teenager and now I have to deal with this shit. I'd learned my lesson well from that though, and now nobody got to see the real me. Sometimes I wondered if the real me even existed any more.

Reaching Seattle, I went to my pickup point, a bar that if anything was another slap in the face. The Lucky Clover was the place that the Bertolis would meet only with the least trustworthy men in their employ, most often the men being associates instead of actual Bertoli men. Associates like myself. Sighing, I shut off the engine, sending up a small prayer to the heavens that I'd be able to start up my car when it was time to go.

Inside, the patrons were about what you'd expect for a Wednesday night at a semi-Irish pub. I looked around and saw Julius Forze, the man who was my connection to the Bertoli family, sipping at a whiskey while listening to the music, which was at least wasn't a bunch of Paddy-rock.

"You made your delivery?" Julius asked when he saw me, all business. I knew Julius didn't like me, but more than that he didn't trust me. But at least he was professional enough to not let his dislike show when he was working. He wasn't the highest ranked of the Bertoli men, however he was part of the inner circle, and he was exactly where I wanted, and I was sure I deserved to be. "How was the bahn mi?"

"Didn't have a chance to sample the wares tonight," I said, sitting up straight. I wanted Julius to know I was a true professional, regardless of what all these assholes thing of me. "And the briefcase is in the trunk of my car. You want it now?"

"After my drink," Julius replied, sipping at his whiskey. "In the meantime, I have another job for you."

"Whatever the Don needs, I'm there," I said, trying but failing to keep the eagerness out of my voice. I needed the work, not just for the money, but knowing that each job I did gave me another chance to prove myself, and to maybe, just maybe, get noticed the way I deserved.

Julius' face gave a quick clench of disapproval at the subservient tone I was unable to keep out of my voice, and I kicked myself, knowing I'd fucked up yet again. Still, he hadn't gotten up, so maybe there was still a chance. "All right, here's the deal. You know Mrs. Bertoli, right?"

"I've never met her, no," I said, trying to relax and be nonchalant. Margaret Bertoli was literally a member of the Bertoli household, living in the mansion along with the Don himself. Doing something for her would be the biggest chance I'd ever had to try and reestablish myself in the family. "But I know of her, of course. What's up?"

"Her birthday is coming up next Friday night, and the Don would like to throw her a party. After all, the family has many things to celebrate over the past few years."

"They have," I said, thinking that if luck had smiled on any Mafia family over the past few years, it had been the Bertolis. "What am I to do?"

"The Don needs people to work the party," Julius said simply. "Now, most of the Bertoli men are going to be in attendance, so the Don has agreed to let some... lower ranked men work the party."

“I’d be happy to,” I replied formally. "What time should I be there?"

"I'll send you a text message, but most likely around six. Tomasso is in charge of planning it, and he didn't give me a hard start time yet. This won't interfere with your regular work, will it?"

"Doesn't matter if it does or not," I said, thinking of my part-time job I had to take to keep ends met. “Nothing’s as important as Mrs. Bertoli's birthday. I'll call off sick if necessary."

Julius looked at me carefully for a minute, then nodded. "Okay. You know Degrassi, this isn't the sort of job that comes around every week. There's going to be a lot of the right people there."

"I know," I said carefully, trying to balance a certain expected nonchalance with a measured seriousness. “I’ll get the job done.”

Julius nodded and threw back the rest of his whiskey. "Okay then. Well, you've got another delivery to make tonight, right?"

"Yes sir. I need to stop by the docks and get a package to take over to the airport. They're expecting me in an hour or so."

Julius nodded and got up. "Okay then. Let's make sure your trunk is clear then. Come on."

Outside, I felt sweat pop out on my forehead as the warm night air smacked me in the face after the bar's air conditioning. I didn't want to wear a suit for work on hot nights like this, but I didn't have a choice. Bertoli men wore suits for work, and if mine happened to come from JC Penney instead of being custom tailored, well, that would change. I just had to keep working and give it time.

"Here you are," I said, handing Julius the case. "You want to count?"

"Do I need to?" Julius asked quietly, then shook his head. "You know what happens if you come up short."

"I haven't touched a bit of it," I promised, trying to suppress my anger at being questioned. I wasn't a cheat, no matter what Julius may have thought of me. "I'm an honest man."

"There are no honest men in our line of work, Dante. Here, here's your pay for tonight," Julius said, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out an envelope.

I tucked the envelope into the inner pocket of my suit coat. "Thanks, Julius. Well, I better get going, if I'm going to complete my work for the night. Thank you again for the word about the party."

I got into my car and said a quick prayer before putting the keys in the ignition. I didn't want to look like an idiot in front of Julius. Thankfully, my car started without too much of a problem.

As I drove, I couldn't help but feel both excitement and anger at Julius' offer. Yes, it was an offer to at least go onto the Bertoli property, something I hadn't been allowed to do since I was seven years old. On the other hand, despite the fact that I was allowed on, I knew I'd be kept isolated, and probably wouldn't get any closer than seeing Don Bertoli at a distance that night. My pride told me that I should have told Julius to take his offer and to shove it up his ass.