The Suite Life (4 page)

“You a fan of Broadway, Sam?” he asked, and I must have looked puzzled because he added, “That song, it's from
The King and I
.”

“Oh, yes, I remember. I just heard the gang on
Cheers
sing it.”

“I love that show.” Alec beamed.

Loves his job, loves
Cheers.
Two down, and countless more to go. Everything about this guy is probably over-the-top.

“I usually end up at the theater a couple of times a month,” Alec said. “I'll get us seats for any show you want. You free after work next week sometime?” he asked before draining his glass.

“You move fast.”

Alec laughed. “You should have seen me in my football days.”

“Really?”

“The Jets had their scouts on me before I busted up a knee. Took three surgeries before I could walk straight.”

“That's too bad.”

“Probably worked out for the best. Got me started sooner on my career.”

“Trading stocks?”

“Slaying dragons, Sam,” Alec quipped just as the first dishes arrived. “Slaying dragons.” He looked up at our waiter. “I'll serve, Jason. And tell Carl he can fire up the angry lobster now.”

“Yes, sir,” Jason said, topping off my flute and refilling Alec's before he slipped away.

“Angry?” I asked.

Alec laughed and said, “Wouldn't you be if you were swimming in a four-by-four-foot tank all day long and knew you were about to be thrown into boiling water and seasoned, only to be eaten by a guy like me?”

Alec palmed the serving spoon, which looked like a teaspoon in his hand, scooped up a hefty portion of rigatoni, and picked up my plate.

“Just a taste, please,” I said. “I have to save some room.”

It looked and smelled delicious.

“This pasta is fabulous, Alec,” I gushed after a couple of bites.

“Wait until you taste the cheese bread,” he said, polishing off his rigatoni. “And the risotto is sublime.”

I nibbled a corner of the warm bread and picked up a forkful of risotto, just as plates of eggs Benedict and French toast dripping with maple syrup appeared.

“So how did you end up on Wall Street?” I asked.

“That was natural, too, because my dad, who owned his own brokerage firm, had already made something of a name for himself there. I'm part of the next generation taking over.”

Just like the Young Turks, Tony Kroon, and the Boys who were in line to take over for the mafia dons in Brooklyn.
“Is your dad retired?”

“Semi. He still has his hand in a few things. I want you to meet him. I know you'll love him.”

There's the family again.
“What about the rest of the DeMarcos?” I asked, suddenly curious to know more about where this guy came from.

“My older brother, Franco, is a hotshot plastic surgeon on Park Avenue. Married with two kids. Only the inner circle calls him Franco; it's Frank or Dr. DeMarco for everyone else. My sister, Gianna, is about your age,” he went on, spearing three
rigatonis at once and popping them in his mouth. “Looks a little like you, too.” He leaned toward me then and touched my hand gently. “Not as beautiful, though, I might add.”

I blushed yet again.

Alec palmed another brioche, broke off a chunk, and wiped his plate clean with the bread. “Hmmm,” he sighed contentedly, “I never get tired of Carl's sauces . . . Just like I know I'll never get tired of being with you,” he went on, as if reading my mind.

“What about your mother?” I asked.

“Employed full-time as the mistress of two homes and the family event planner. She fills in any gaps with shopping and decorating. But what about your family, Sam? Tell me about them.”

Before I could answer his question, Jason showed up with two portions of the so-called angry lobster, so I got a bit of a reprieve before having to answer his question. “Would you like some butter, miss?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” I said, my mouth already watering in anticipation.
I could feed myself for a few days with what will be left over in this bowl.

As Jason dashed my serving and then covered Alec's with the herbal buttery blend, I considered just how much to tell Alec about my mother. I would have preferred to avoid the topic of my family altogether. But clearly family was important to him—and I liked that about him.

“I think Samantha here has got me off my game, Jason,” Alec said. “Can you get us a bottle of that New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc? I should have remembered to ask for it sooner.”

“Right away, Mr. DeMarco,” Jason said, dashing off.

Jason set two glasses of white wine before us and made fast work of popping the cork.

“Before I forget again, Jason,” Alec said, as the waiter filled
the glasses, “you can pop the cork on an '82 Barbera, too. We'll be having the osso buco.”

“Here's to you again, Sam.”

“Likewise, Alec,” I said, clinking his glass.

“It's still your turn, Samantha Bonti,” Alec said, massive palms on the edge of the table.

He didn't need his size to command a scene, as his voice alone could get the job done. I squeezed my purse on the banquette and felt the rosary beads inside, giving me the courage to speak. “My mother died almost ten years ago, just a couple of months after my grandma passed on.”

For the first time since we sat down, Alec stopped eating and drinking, and it was the first time I saw him without any trace of a smile on his face or a gleam in his eye. “I'm sorry to hear that, Sam,” he said quietly.

“Probably for the better,” I replied without thinking.
In for a penny, in for a pound.
“They loved each other and God knows they both worshipped me, each in her own way, but there was always some kind of
tumult
in our lives—or, as my grandma would say,
tsuris.
”

Alec filled the pregnant pause. “I'm familiar with the term.”

“If it wasn't my Jewish grandmother versus my Catholic convert mother, it was my mother versus my choices in everything from hairstyle to boyfriends. Grandma always backed me up and encouraged me to write more, while Mom would never read a word. She would pump me up by telling me I was pretty and then make sure to follow it up with ‘too bad you're not taller,' just to deflate me. I think in her heart she knew I would manage to find a way out, which she never did, and I think that pissed her off. Her only escape added to drugs was men.”

“Sounds like your life should have come with a scorecard.” Alec chuckled, lightening the mood. “But then again, Italian family gatherings are never exactly prayer meetings, and I speak
from experience on that!” Then he leaned forward and resumed his assault on his food.

I seized the opportunity for another nibble, and Alec refilled his glass, giving mine a splash that wasn't necessary. “So what about those boyfriends?” he asked.

“Nothing special except for one Brooklyn boy I met when I was sixteen.”

“There's plenty of them around.”

“Maybe, but they're not all mobbed up like mine was.”

That must really have gotten his attention because he put down his fork and his glass.

“Still doing time somewhere,” I continued.

“I'm sorry to hear that, too, Sam.”

“I'm not,” I said, taking a slug of my wine that could have rivaled one of Alec's. “I'm glad to be rid of him.”

“I can only imagine what you went through.”

“It was all downhill after the first couple of months. You wouldn't believe the crap that happened to me—I can still barely get a grip on it. But I survived and it happened for a reason.” I reached for my wine again.

“We can change the subject if you want, Sam.”

“There really isn't much more to say, Alec, other than I had to break up with him three times before I was finally free of him.”

“The persistent type.”

“You don't know the half of it. Tony had me followed while he was in prison, and any boyfriend I had got a visit from one of his associates. He had me looking over my shoulder all the time, day and night.”

“I don't care who he was ‘with,' I would have had someone take care of him.”

I knew he meant well and was also flexing his muscles to impress me, but, truthfully, Alec was sounding a bit too much like Tony at that point to make me entirely comfortable. And
furthermore, I wasn't really looking for someone to “take care of” anything for me. For better or worse, I'd already been taking care of myself for a very long time. But all I said was “Thanks, Alec, but I'm at peace with all of it now. Past is prologue and all that.”

“And speaking of the present, my lovely date,” Alec said as he tipped his glass in my direction, “you won't be able to forgive yourself if you don't have some of that osso buco right now.”

“Is the rest of your family as big on food as you are, Alec?” I asked as I obediently separated a sliver of veal from the bone with a touch of my fork.

“They give me a run for my money. Food is an important part of our lives. It brings us together.”

I couldn't help thinking of Mom and Grandma, and how food—or not having enough of it—always tore us apart. I longed to be a part of the kind of family that enjoyed spending time together—cooking, eating, talking, laughing. And there was something about Alec that promised the whole package. “You'll meet them soon,” Alec said between forkfuls.

“You
do
move fast, don't you?” I said.

“Sam,” he said, “I only play one way—all in.”

He wasn't smiling, but his face wasn't entirely blank, either.
I suppose that's the look he uses on competitors sitting across his desk.
I took a bite of my osso buco and rolled my eyes in delight—it was delicious. “You were right, Alec. I wouldn't have forgiven
you
if you let me get out of here without tasting the veal. It practically melted in my mouth.”

Alec placed a hand on mine, gazed into my eyes, and said with all sincerity, “That's not the only melting going on here, Sam.” He paused then, as if he needed to get a business matter out of the way, and continued, “Listen. I want to be straight with you. About my past. A guy would have to be stone cold dead not to succumb to the temptations put in front of him in my line of
work. I've been with models, aspiring actresses, daughters and sisters of movers and shakers. You name it.” He paused again, hands resting on the edge of the table, and my antenna went up. “I've even been around, how shall I say . . . professional women.”
Now there's a bulletin—hookers on Wall Street! I'm not the only one here who's had an abnormal normal life.
“A lot,” he added. “From strippers to ten-thousand-dollar-a-night escorts, porn stars, and world-class madams who work out of thousand-year-old castles.”

I swallowed.

He paused, taking in my expression.

“It's Business 101 in the financial world, Sam,” Alec continued. “But truthfully, there have been times when those pursuits had nothing to do with any deal . . .” Alec looked down at his hands, clearly wrestling with just how much more to say. “And while I'm in confession mode . . . I've even been married once. Katie was my high school girlfriend and everyone just assumed we'd get married, so we did. However, she was more a Maserati without the engine, if you know what I mean. It was stupid and we both knew it was a mistake almost from the beginning. It didn't last long—not even two years—and luckily we didn't have kids. She was the only woman who ever told me I would never amount to anything and never make more than forty grand a year . . . Boy, how things work out when you feel the need to put someone else down and not realize what they're capable of. I knew right then and there this was never going to work. By now it's ancient history and sometimes I almost forget it ever happened.”

Honesty is such a lonely word,
I thought to myself. And, as Billy Joel had written when I was in my previous life, honesty was also what I needed most from a guy. “I appreciate your candor, Alec.”
Let the chips fall where they may.

“Trust me, I could write a book about what goes on among the power brokers, just about all of whom are married.”

I thought of my own manuscript languishing on that closet shelf. “But you aren't married,” I said, proud of my powers of recovery. “You're still young, and there's still plenty of time to sow your wild oats.”

Alec leaned forward and placed a hand on mine as he had earlier, catching me off guard as I was beginning to realize was his specialty. “The thing is, I'm almost thirty-six years old—or young as you say—but I haven't been in a serious relationship for years.”

There was nothing I could think of saying to fill the pregnant pause that followed.

“I'm old enough to know what I'm missing, Sam,” Alec continued. “Every fiber in my body tells me it's going to be a whole lot different with you.”

My face flushed and my stomach fluttered. “I'm touched, Alec.”

“I mean it,” Alec said with a smile. He polished off a last bite of osso buco, leaned back, and motioned to Jason, who appeared almost immediately.

“You can clear our plates,” Alec said, “and wheel the dessert cart over whenever you want.”

I stared at the heaps of food left on our plates.
I guess it'll be a huge faux pas if I ask for a doggie bag.

“Yes, sir,” Jason said and he waved to a busboy. “Will you be having coffee, cappuccino, espresso, or tea, miss?”

“Yes, two espressos,” Alec answered for me.

“Sure thing, Mr. DeMarco,” Jason said as he departed.

“We'll be having our own little Viennese table too, Sam,” Alec said.