Mick Sinatra: For Once In My Life (23 page)

Mick
realized quickly that she wasn’t toying with anybody.
 
She was dead serious.

“You’re
going to have to explain this to me, Mick,” she continued.
 
“You’re going to have to tell me something
here.
 
Because I didn’t see a businessman
in there.
 
I didn’t see the man I’ve been
seeing over the last three weeks.
 
I saw
a straight-up gangster.
 
A thug.
 
Talk to me, Mick.”

Mick felt
the intensity of her concern as if it was his intensity and concern.
 
But the fact that she did not leave his
office in tears, or run upstairs and pack her bags, was telling to him.
 
But he couldn’t underestimate what she was
getting herself into if she stayed.
 
He
had to keep it real.

“What you
saw,” he said, “is who I am.
 
I’m a
businessman, yes I’m that.
 
What you see
in my businesses, at the Carson, at my office, is the truth.
 
But the thug you saw is also me.
 
Is also truth.
 
I’m a thug too.
 
I’ve been a thug all my life.
 
It’s so deeply ingrained in me I don’t think
it can come out of me.”

Roz needed
more clarity.
 
“What you’re telling me is
that a man says something you don’t like, the way that man in your office did,
and you’re take him to within an inch of his life?
 
Are you telling me you’re that kind of man?”

“I’m telling
you I am what I am.
 
It’s not simple,
Rosalind.”

“That was
simple.
 
What I saw in your office was
simple.
 
You didn’t like what that guy
said and you nearly killed him!
 
Who does
that?
 
What kind of rational human being
does something like that?”

“What the
fuck is that supposed to mean?” he blared out.
 
“What the fuck would you know about it?
 
You never lived your life as a hunted man.
 
You never had men stronger than strength
itself depending on you because they see you as even stronger!
 
And as soon as they see weakness; as soon as
they see that slither of opening that they can slither through, you’re
dead.
 
Because the mystique is gone.
 
Because they realize you’re no stronger than
they are.
 
You’re vulnerable.
 
And vulnerable people never survive. Not in
my world.
 
Not ever.”

Mick said
this with such feeling in his voice that Roz was mesmerized by the depth of
those feelings.
 
She continued to listen
to him, to stare at him.

“Those were
words to you,” Mick continued.
 
“All you
heard were words.
 
But all I saw was that
slither opening.
 
All I saw was my
absolute authority being questioned.
 
All
I saw was my own demise.
 
I have to do it
to them before they do it to me.”

On the one
hand, this kind of talk was as foreign to Roz as a walk on the moon.
 
You annihilate somebody on the off chance
they might annihilate you?
 
But on the
other hand, on the hand that Mick held with tenderness, she understood every
word.
 
He undoubtedly came up on the
rough side of that mountain.
 
He had to
kill or be killed.
 
She couldn’t begin to
know what that was like.
 
But if she
stood any chance whatsoever of making this work, she had to begin to find
out.
 
She had to get this highly
intelligent, highly successful man to come out of his emotional hiding place,
and tell her something.
  
“Where does it
come from?” she asked him.
 
“Where does
this sense of survival come from?”

Mick looked
at her.
 
She could see the pain in his
eyes.
 
But she also knew he wasn’t going
to start telling his life story that easily.
 
He was not that kind of man.
 
The
only way he was going to talk was if he had already reached the conclusion that
having her in his life was worth it.
 
Otherwise, Roz was convinced, he was going to shut this down now.

But he
didn’t.
 
He apparently wanted her around
enough to answer her question.
 
And
answer it in that methodical, reasonable, intelligent way she was beginning to
see as his way.

“To say I
came from a dysfunctional family,” Mick said, “would be like saying Jeffrey
Dahmer, to use the example I used when we first met, enjoyed a good meal.
 
Because it wasn’t in the dysfunction, or in
Dahmer enjoying a good meal, that proved the problem.
 
It was in the kind of dysfunction, the kind
of meal Dahmer enjoyed
eating, that
broke it wide
open.
 
That’s what creates the
chasm.
 
That’s what creates the belief
that your life is so fucked up you may as well fuck up everybody else’s.”

Mick paused
again, as if he could see that fucked up life as clearly as his bright eyes saw
the day.
 
“I was born in Maine,” he
said.
 
“Jericho, Maine.
 
We weren’t what anybody would consider poor
back then.
 
We weren’t rich either, but
we survived alright.
 
My father was a
drunk.
 
My mother was a whore.
 
But so what, right?
 
No parents are perfect.
 
Besides, my sister Sprig and I had
Charles.
 
He’s my big brother.
 
He was everything our folks were not.”

Mick paused
again.
 
Roz could still see the
difficulty he was having in going there with her.
 
They had only known each other for a little
less than a month.
 
Who was she for him
to confide in?

But
apparently she was someone, because Mick continued to confide in her.
 
“If my father was just a drunk, then that
would be one thing.
 
If my mother was
just a whore who slept around, that would be one thing.
 
But my mother was the town whore.
 
She didn’t just sleep around, around slept
with her.
 
Every fucker from Jericho to
Van Buren got a taste of that ass.
 
Even
my brother’s friends, my father’s friends, got their taste.”

He
paused.
 
“My father didn’t just drink, he
raped my sister when he drank.
 
He kicked
my brother’s ass when he drank.
 
And my
brother?
 
He could have kicked our old
man’s ass easily.
 
But he wouldn’t do
it.
 
Not Charles.
 
He had too much respect for authority.
 
He honored his mother and father.
 
He was the toughest
sonafabitch
I’ve ever met.”

Another
pause.
 
“But I didn’t have that sense of
loyalty.
 
I hated my father.
 
I blamed him for why my mother turned to the
town for love and affection.
 
And unlike
Charles, whenever he tried to kick my ass, I didn’t lay there and take it.
 
I kicked his ass back.
 
I was only five years old when I first tried,
and if he would have caught me, he would have killed me.
 
But I fought back.
 
He didn’t like it.
 
He hated me as much as I hated him.
 
One night, he tried to burn me in my
bed.
 
He said it was an accident.
 
He said the cigarette slipped from his hand
while he was in one of his drunken stupors.
 
I had no proof, but after that he started smiling at me whenever he saw
me.
 
But I knew I was going to get my
retribution.
 
It wasn’t going to be
then.
 
But one day, I was going to get
him back.
 
And I did.”

Yet another
pause, as his look turned more tragic than sinister.
 
Roz could barely breathe.

“One night
he killed her,” Mick said so calmly that it confused Roz.
 
Surely he couldn’t be talking about who she
suspected he was talking about.
 
Not that
calmly.

“Killed
who?” she asked.

“My
mother.
 
My father killed my mother right
in front of myself, Sprig, and Charles.”

“
Oh my God
,” Roz said, horrified.
 
“And you saw it too?
 
Oh my God, Mick!”

“Yeah, talk
about dysfunctional, right?
 
But Charles,
being the honorable man he is, held my father to account, and at gunpoint until
the Sheriff could arrive.”

“Was your
father convicted?”

“Yeah.
 
He got convicted.
 
Thirty-plus years later, my brother’s son
Brent had this special prosecutor of a girlfriend who got him out.
 
But that didn’t last a full day.”
 
He looked at Roz.
 
He couldn’t utter the words that he had his
father killed that day.
 
That, he knew,
would be too much for her to take right now.
 
Besides, those words wouldn’t be true anyway.
 
He didn’t have him killed. He did it himself.

“I was only
six when my parents were snatched from us, so Charles, who was only thirteen
himself, raised us.
 
But he raised me too
late.
 
I had too much within me and he
never allowed me to explode.
 
He forced
me to keep that rage so tucked inside of myself that I couldn’t bear it.
 
I couldn’t bear anything about that life,
that town, those people.
 
By the time I
became a teenager, I was a walking time bomb.
 
Before I exploded, before I tore down everything my brother was trying
to build up for us, I got the fuck out.
 
My sister got out too and became an alcoholic and general fuck up like
our father.
 
But I made a name for myself
right away.
 
Nobody fucked with Mick the
Tick and everybody understood that.”

He looked at
Roz.
 
He was surprised she was still
there.
 
But she was.
 
“That’s me,” he said.
 
“That will always be me.
 
You might think I can change.
 
You might think you can change me.
 
I say don’t hold your breath.
 
You saw the real me in my office today,
Rosalind.
 
Mick Sinatra, the businessman,
the man you can do business with, I’m that person, yes.
 
That’s the real me.
 
Mick the Tick.
 
The one they don’t want to fuck with?
 
That’s the real me too.”

Roz’s heart
was pounding as she listened to him speak so freely.
 
He didn’t have to tell her she was at a
crossroad.
 
She knew she was there.
 
She’d known bad boys before, but Mick was a
bad man.
 
He was also a kind, generous,
loving man too.
 
She also had feelings
for him.
 
Or she wouldn’t be there.

She sat there
for a few moments longer, then she headed upstairs.
 
She appreciated the fact that he didn’t try
to follow her.

Not only did
Mick not come upstairs, but he left the house altogether.
 
He left and stayed away all night.
 
When he returned, early that next morning, he
was as shocked by what he saw, as what he didn’t see.

He saw Roz
lying in his bed, wide awake, in one of his dress shirts.
 
What he didn’t see were packed bags
anywhere.
 
He had been certain she was
going to leave him.
 
He had been certain
she was going to decide he was too fucked up for her to have to deal with, and
take off.
 
He thought happiness was going
to elude him once and for all and he would have to keep bringing different
women to his bed whenever he needed sexual gratification, and live the rest of
his life without love.
 
Because he knew a
profound truth.
 
He knew that if Roz gave
up on him, he wasn’t ever again going to give another woman the chance.

But Roz was
still there.
 
He was too shocked to be
happy.
 
It was too soon to be glad.

He stood
there, his hands in his pockets, his eyes trained on her beautiful eyes.
 
The fact that she was there soothed his
troubled soul.
 

He sat on
the edge of the bed.
 
She noticed he was
in the same suit from yesterday.
 
He was
a very elegant man.
 
Sleeping in his
clothes was not his style.
 
But
apparently, she thought, it was his style last night.

“I didn’t
expect you to still be here,” he said after he sat down.

“I didn’t expect
to be here either,” she admitted.

Mick
considered her.
 
“Why did you stay,
Rosalind?”

Roz looked
away from him.
 
She was lying on her
back, and was covered by all-silk bedding, but she had never felt more
vulnerable.
 
But she garnered the courage
to look at him again.
 
“You’ve had a
rough life, Mick,” she said.
 
“And the
fact that you rose to such prominence in the business world speaks volumes
about your ability, and resiliency.
 
But
your life has also tainted you.”

Mick’s heart
dropped, because he knew she spoke the truth.

“You’re
rough and tough and refuse to take crap from anybody.”

“I wouldn’t
mistreat you,” Mick said suddenly, and he was astounded that he had blurted
such weak words out of his mouth.
 
He
felt like a drowning man and Roz held the life jacket.
 
All she had to do was give it to him, like
giving a dog a bone.
 
He didn’t like that
feeling.

“But that’s
the thing,” Roz said, going with his so-called weak words.
 
“That’s why I stayed,” she continued.
 
“I don’t believe you’ll mistreat me.
 
I think we’ll have our moments, but I believe
you will respect me and I will respect you even in the midst of those moments.”

Then she
frowned, and looked away.
 
“I wish you
didn’t have that other part of you.
 
I
wish to God you didn’t have to go through what you’ve gone through in your
life.”
 
She looked at him again.
 
“But I can’t change any of that.
 
And strangely enough, I don’t want to change
you.”

Mick’s heart
began to soar.
 
“Not even my warts?” he
asked.

“Without
those warts, it wouldn’t be Mick.”
 
She
rubbed his crumpled coat lapel.
 
“Just an
empty guy in an empty, slept-in suit.”

Mick
laughed.
 
He loved her quick wit.
 
“So true,” he said.

But then his
look turned serious.
 
“That is why I
wanted you to come to my world, Rosalind.
 
I needed you to see its beauty, and its ugliness.
 
I needed you to see what you would be getting
yourself into.”

“Before we
got in too deep, as you said,” she said.

He
nodded.
 
“Before hearts get broken, yes.”

Roz placed
her hand on the side of his gorgeous face.
 
He was in a lot of ways a very lonely, scared, vulnerable man.
 
She would never tell him any of that to his
face.
 
He wouldn’t be able to take
it.
 
But that was what she felt when she
looked into his eyes.
 
Others saw
coldness.
 
She saw pain.
 
“I think we’re worth giving it a try,” she
said.

Mick could
feel a swell of emotion.
 
He was so
overcome that he lifted her out of bed, causing her to laugh, and swept her up
into his big arms.
 
But when they became
eyeball to eyeball, and he could feel her sweet breath, her bare ass beneath
his shirt she wore, could see the smoothness of her brown skin, the levity was
gone.
 
This was serious and sensual all
at once.
 
And Mick kissed her.

“I know
you’ve had your bathe,” he said.
 
“You’re
always freshly bathed.
 
But would you care
to join me in the shower?”

Roz knew
what he meant.
 
They would shower some,
fuck a lot.
 
“Yes,” she said.
 
“I’d love to.”

Mick smiled
again, kissed her again, and carried her into his room-sized master bath.

After
sitting her on the elongated marble countertop, he turned on the shower.
 
By the time he had the shower water running,
Roz had unbuttoned his oversized shirt, but had not removed it yet.
 
When Mick saw her sitting there, with the
shirt half open, revealing her big brown breasts, and her hair undone and
falling half in her face, his throbbing dick began to pulsate.

He removed
his suit coat, and unbuttoned and removed his shirt.
 
And then he removed his shoes, unzipped and
unbuttoned his pants, and removed his remaining clothes.
 
Because it felt different this time. It felt
more intense.
 
It felt as if he was about
to make love to, not just a beautiful woman, but
his
beautiful woman.
 
That
pride of ownership was beginning to take hold.
 
The fact that she stayed, that she didn’t allow his life to scare her
away, changed the dynamic in ways neither one of them could have expected.

Especially
Mick.
 
He was looking for somebody to
love him.
 
That was what he thought was
going to be the most wonderful thing for him.
 
But now he realized, as he stared into the eyes of this wonderful lady,
that it just might have flipped on him.
 
And instead of somebody loving him, he just might have somebody to
love.
 
And that felt even more powerful.

Roz felt the
fire as it walked to her.
 
She felt his
heat as if it had already burned her.
 
And when his smoldering eyes locked onto hers, she felt his heart.

She wrapped
her arms around him as he began kissing her on her mouth.
 
She lifted her head as he kissed her neck and
sucked her nipples.
 
She drew up her legs
as his fingers fondled the deepest recesses of her vagina, and came up as wet
as if he had released inside of her.
 
Which meant to Mick that she was ready.
 
Not for his dick yet.
 
But for
him.

He leaned
down, opened her legs, and began licking her and eating her and going down on
her in ways that had her not only leaned back on the huge vanity counter, but
had her halfway in the sink.

It felt so
good, it felt so intense that she was pushing on his head, to make him stop,
when they both knew stopping was the last thing she wanted.
 
He lifted her as he ate her, carried her into
the shower stall, and continued to eat her as the water poured on both of them.

The water
felt like calming acupuncture needles to Mick, as he went down so hard on Roz
that he needed that calm to balance his heightened sensual appetite.
 
Because he couldn’t get enough of Roz.
 
He held her beneath her thighs, and she held
onto him, as he pushed her back against the hot stall and couldn’t stop
mouth-fucking her.

But just
when she was on the edge of cum, and just when she was about to scream with
joy, he wanted to feel it when it happened.
 
He moved her slightly down, and guided his fully aroused cock inside of
her.

She jerked
upward as it shoved inside with one hard thrust and kept going, deep, deeper
and nearly to her deepest point. But he reserved that for last.
 
Because he would cum too soon if he took it
all.

He fucked
her.
 
He fucked her against that shower
stall and watched her bounce up and down every time his cock shoved into
her.
 
He moved his ass around and around
as his cock did magic tricks inside of her.
 
He was giving her the best that he had.
 
And she was cumming as he gave it to her, over and over, as if neither
one of them wanted this to end.

Until Mick
was cumming too.
 
Until he was releasing
so much beauty inside of her that all they could do was hold onto each other
and experience the joy together.
 
Because
it was different now.
 
She made a decision.
 
They were at the sensitive beginning of what
they both hoped would be a long-lasting, committed relationship.
 
It was exciting.
 
It was sobering.
 
It was beautiful.

Over the
next several days, Mick did something he’d never done before in his life: he
took time off from his work.
 
A complete
break.
 
And spent it all with Rosalind.
 
He wined and dined her, made long, passionate
love to her, and treated her like his queen.

Until it was
time to leave.

He flew back
to New York with her, just to see her safely home, and that fact alone endured
him even more to her.
 
They sat on his private
jet, sipping wine, as they made the short trek back to her territory.

Oddly
enough, Mick always felt so comfortable around Roz that he always found himself
restful.
 
Around everybody else he was
restless.
 
But not around Roz.
 
He was so restful, in fact, that he was lying
down, on one sofa-styled leather seat, while Roz sat up across from him.
 
She was going through his things.
 
Not his business things, but his personal things.
 
All in a side pocket by her seat.
 
Things such as his discarded reading glasses,
a pair of socks, a shoe horn.
 
Just odd
things like that.
 
And then a CD.
 
She pulled it out.
 
“
Stevie
Wonder: The Definitive Collection
.”
 
She looked at Mick.
 
Because of
her father, she had an affinity for music too.
 
“You bought this?”

Mick looked
at what she was talking about.
 
“I did.”

“When?”

Since I met
you, he could have said.
 
But he wasn’t
about to.
 
“Not that long ago.”

“What, you
ordered it online or?”

“No,
actually, I went to a music store and purchased it.”

Roz
smiled.
 
“You walked into a music store
for the sole purpose of buying an old Stevie Wonder CD?”

“That’s
right.”

Roz shook
her head.
 
He never ceased to surprise
her.
 
“I didn’t know you were a Stevie
Wonder fan.”

“Neither did
I.
 
Until I heard one of his songs.”

“Which one?”
Roz asked excitedly.

Mick reached
for the CD.
 
Roz handed it to him. He
popped it into the stereo above his lounger and pressed number five.
 
The song,
For
Once In My Life
, came on.

Roz and Mick
both listened to the entire recording, staring at each other.
 
When the song ended, they both were
bright-eyed with unshed tears.
 
Tears of
joy.

Roz went to
Mick, and he pulled her into his arms.
 
And held her there until the plane touched down, and they were back on
her turf.