Mick Sinatra: For Once In My Life (19 page)

After
placing their dinner orders, they settled down to elevator music in surround
sound and the sound of very light, very polite chatter.
 
Roz was used to Brooklyn eateries.
 
She was used to noise and lots of it.
 
But this was a welcomed change.

“Is this one
of your favorite restaurants?” she asked him.

“I’ve only
been here once.
 
But I heard it was among
the best in town.
 
Since you deserve the
best, I made a reservation.
 
Excuse
me.”
 
Mick pulled out his buzzing cell phone
and read a text message.

Roz watched
him as he read.
 
The idea that he would
say she deserved the best was sweetness to her ears.
 
Of course, he could be just saying that to
have his way with her.
 
But she agreed to
come to Philadelphia.
 
It seemed to her
that alone meant he was already having his way with her.
 
That was no longer an issue.
 
And the fact that even his house manager
acknowledged that he never allowed other females to stay inside his home, let
alone in his bedroom, was another point in his favor.
 
Although the trip started off rocky: she was
a little pissed when he was too busy to meet her plane.
 
But it was recovering nicely.
 
It was now going the way she had hoped it
would before she came.

“Sorry about
that,” Mick said, putting his phone in his suit coat pocket without bothering
to respond to the text.
 
“Where were we?”

“We were
speaking of reservations.
 
Which reminds
me.
 
I reserved a hotel room.”

Mick
frowned.
 
“What the devil for?
 
I made arrangements for you to stay with me.”

“But since
you failed to share those arrangements with me, I had to cover my ass.
 
Or head as it were.”

He
smiled.
 
“My error.”
 
Then his look changed.
 
“Cancel it,” he ordered.

Roz didn’t
particularly like the fact that he made it sound like an order, but since she’d
already canceled it, it wasn’t an issue.
 
“I did,” she said.

Mick was
relieved.
 
“Good.”

And then
their dinner orders arrived ahead of people who had been sitting far longer,
and had ordered far sooner, than they had.
 
Roz even heard a few of them point that fact out to the wait staff.
 
But since she had nothing to do with that,
she ate.
 
They both were hungry and ate
vigorously.

The Look of Love
, a Burt Bacharach/Hal David tune,
was heard as they ate.
 
And Roz felt some
kind of happy way.
 
Because it was a song
from her youth.
 
It was the kind of music
her father used to play in clubs and smoke-filled dives when she was a kid, and
he’d sneak her in backstage.
 
Her mother
used to hate him for it, but he didn’t care. He did it anyway.
 
Over and over.
 
She loved him for that.

The look of
love

Is in your
eye

The look your
smile can’t disguise.

Mick felt
some kind of happy too as he ate and listened to the melodic sound.
  
And Roz ate as vigorously as he was
eating.
 
Not as if she was some bird, the
way his previous dates would handle it.
 
She even belched, which made him laugh out loud.

Roz covered
her mouth.
 
She was mortified.
 
“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,”
he said, heartfelt.
 
“You’re a piece of
work and I like it.”

Roz smiled
too, her dimples on full display.
 
“You
aren’t exactly a masterpiece yourself, buddy,” she said, and they both laughed.

After
dinner, after their plates had been taken away and their fellow diners’ plates
were just arriving, they continued to chill and listen to the music.
 
Mick especially seemed mellow.
 
It seemed like the perfect time, Roz thought,
to talk.

“So you had
another long day,” she said.

He
nodded.
 
“Always.”

“I know
right?
 
It’s like every time you phone me
it’s ‘hey.
 
How you doing.
 
Gotta go.
 
Bye.’
 
Not that I’m
complaining.
 
I’m not.”
 
Then she looked at him.
 
“At least you phoned.”

Mick
considered her.
 
She was a woman who
demanded respect.
  
And when she didn’t
get it, she felt it.
 
He realized in that
moment that she probably felt slighted.
 
“I apologize for not meeting your plane,” he said.

She looked
at him.
 
“It was a bit of a shock, I have
to be honest.
 
You invite me to come, and
I leave my own busy life and come to spend time with you, but you aren’t at the
airport?”

“Were you
pissed?”

She couldn’t
lie to him. “A little,” she admitted.

He
smiled.
 
“Thank you for being
honest.
 
And yes, I had every intention
of being there.
 
But business, you know,
keeps me jumping about.”

Roz
laughed.
 
“Jumping about, hun?
 
Like a grasshopper.
 
But I don’t know.
 
Mick the Grasshopper just doesn’t have that
ring, you hear what I’m saying?”

Mick
laughed.
  
“Good.”

“Whereas
Mick the Tick?” Roz said, staring at him.
 
“Now that’s a nickname.”

 
Mick’s smile remained, but it was fading
fast.
 
But that was why she had come: to
see what kind of man she was getting herself involved with.

“That’s your
nickname, right?” she asked.

He
nodded.
 
“Yes.
 
Yes, it is.”

“What does
it mean?”

Mick
considered her. “What does it mean to you, Rosalind?”

She loved
the way he pronounced her name.
 
And she
would have let it slide.
 
But she
couldn’t.
 
Ever since she read that he
had such an odd nickname, it bothered her.
 
It sounded gangster.
 
Like Sammy
“The Bull” Gravano.
 
Like “Machine Gun”
Kelly.
 
This was important to her.
 
“Could it mean that you have some sort of
tic?” she asked.

Mick wanted
to smile, but he could see the concern in her eyes.
 
“No.
 
I
have no tic.”

Then it was
what she had hoped it wasn’t.
 
“Could it
mean you’re like a ticking bomb?
 
Like a
ticking time bomb, temper-wise?”

He knew she
was bright.
 
But was she tough enough to
handle it?
 
“Yes,” he said.
 
“That’s what it means.
 
If someone is loyal to me, they have no
problem with me.
 
If someone crosses me,
then yes, I explode.
 
That’s what it
means, Rosalind.”

“From when
you were a kid?
 
Or is it still
applicable today?”

“It had more
meaning when I was younger man.
 
Because
I had more rage then.
 
But I cannot lie
to you.
 
I still have my moments.”

Roz was
willing to bet that was a grand understatement.
 
She sipped from her drink.
 
Then
she considered him. “If you ever hit me,” she said, “I’ll hit you back.”

He
smiled.
 
“I understand.”

“You think
you’re a ticking time bomb.
 
Hit me.
 
I’ll show you ticking.”

He
laughed.
 
“You have nothing to worry
about I assure you.”

She
smiled.
 
And nodded.
 
“That’s alright then.”

“So my
nickname does not scare you?”

“It would
have been nice if you had a normal nickname like Biff or Skip.”

He laughed.

“But since
you’ve already warned me that you’re no angel, I wasn’t expecting angelic.”

She kept it
real.
 
He liked that.
 
He missed that.

Roz
considered him.
 
She had missed him
too.
 
“You do look exhausted, though,
Mick,” she said.

A bullet
tearing through Pomp Valance’s head suddenly flashed across Mick’s mind.
 
He quickly dismissed it.
 
“You look well rested,” he said.
 
“That’s what matters to me.”

Roz
smiled.
 
“Thanks.
 
Riding around on a private jet helps.
 
Reclining in your luxurious bedroom doesn’t
hurt either.”

The idea of
her in his bedroom was a turn on to him.
 
“Were you comfortable?”

“Very.
 
I sat on your lounger and nearly fell asleep
in a matter of minutes.
 
And I wasn’t
even tired.”

“I work very
hard.
 
When I come home, I need complete
rest.
 
That bedroom, my home, gives me
complete rest.”

Roz
nodded.
 
“That’s what a home should
do.
 
But it’s such a big place for one
person.
 
Or is there a family living in
there too that you haven’t told me about?”

“A
family?
 
No,” Mick said.
 
“I have children, but they do not live with
me.”

Roz looked
at him.
 
She was genuinely
surprised.
 
“You have children?”

“Yes.”
 
He was surprised by her surprise.
 
“Why do you look so shocked?”

“I Googled
you.
 
Everything I read, there was never
a mention of any child anywhere.”

“It’s not
something I speak about.
 
And part of the
financial agreement I have with my children, and their mothers, is that they do
not speak of it either.”

That sounded
strange to Roz.
 
“Why can’t they speak about
it?
 
You aren’t ashamed of them, are
you?”

“No.
 
I assure you it’s not that.
 
It’s for their own protection.
 
The less association they have with me, the
better.”

Roz didn’t
understand. “What does that mean?”

“Did Google
mention my past?”

“The racketeering
trial?
 
Yes.
 
But you were exonerated.”

“But that
doesn’t mean I was innocent.
 
I have
never been innocent.
 
I have a past.
 
I have enemies.”

“And these
enemies might come after your children.
 
Is that what you’re saying?”

“I doubt if
it will come to that,” Mick responded.
 
“They know me.
 
But, out of an
abundance of caution, I don’t parade my children around.
 
I keep my private life private.”
     

“How many
are we talking about?
 
How many children
do you have?”

Mick
hesitated before answering.
 
“Five,” he
said.

“Five?” Roz
was floored.
 
“My goodness.
 
That’s a lot.”

“One is not
my biological son, but I promised his father, who died, that I would look out
for him.
 
His name is Shane.
 
He’s ten.
 
But my four biological children are all grown.”

“And gone?”

“They have
never lived with me, but yes.
 
They’re
all living their own lives.”

“Does the
ten-year-old live with you?”

“No.
 
Never have.
 
He lives with his mother.”

“What’s your
relationship like with your children, Mick?” Roz asked.
 
“They say you can tell a lot about a man by
the way he treats his children.”