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“Nonsense,” he says. “Should I offer you a beer or a martini? No, I think you’re an ‘old-fashioned’ kind of a girl. Warm and a little sweet, but with an edge. Am I right?”
“I… really, I don’t think I should…”
“Relax. Take a seat. I pride myself on my old-fashioned. Sandwiches are ready in the kitchen. I’ll bring them with nuts and olives.” He sees that I’m still reluctant. “I only want to make you comfortable, Ms. Belle. You don’t have to drink the whole cocktail, but I’ll be offended if you don’t at least sip it and tell me what you think. Now.”
Carmine’s eyes are steady, and his manner is open. His movements are fluid and precise. I have an instinct to trust him already. So much that he makes me doubt my instincts.
He tells me, “Make yourself at home while I go to the kitchen. I’ll bring snacks and a tall glass of cool, fresh lemonade.”
The room is like a private art gallery, with heavy drapes. The walls are hung with paintings, portraits and landscapes from another age in oversized gilded frames.
I relax as much as I can on the thick cushions of a couch. Carmine returns with a tray and a courteous host smile. He could be an ambassador. But I know that he’s not. He looks at me like a film director sizing up an actress. Or maybe just a lion watching a gazelle.
He sets the tray on a table and says, “Please. Help yourself while I make your drink.”
The sandwiches look delish, but I’m too nervous to take one. Instead, I munch on some nuts and sip the lemonade. From the cocktail cabinet Carmine says, “I was going to have my usual cognac, but I have a hankering for one of my old-fashioneds now.”
“Is this your house?” I ask him. “It seems a really huge place to live here on your own.”
“No, I rented it. For a couple of weeks. I like it, though. Do you?”
I shake my head. “I couldn’t say. It must have thirty or forty rooms and I’ve only seen one of them.” I add, “But I like it here,” to be polite. But it sounds like more than that.
He charges two identical crystal glasses with amber liquor, mixes and brings them over to set them by the tray.
“In case you had any doubts, you can pick which drink you’ll taste. I’ll take the other one. Now. Do we have a deal?”
He seems amused as he watches me take a sip of the drink. Amused and intense.
He scares me. But I like it.
“So?” He says, teasing, “How is my lethal cocktail?”
“Is it lethal?”
“I wouldn’t say so. But you’re treating it like it could have been made by the devil.”
“Was it?” I watch him as I take a deeper sip.
“You know,” he tells me, “I think we can make a beautiful partnership.”
Sitting himself on the couch next to me, he smells of power and money. Sweet and dark. But most of all, he buzzes with testosterone.
“You’re not just talking about a children’s party.”
“Tinka.” He puts a hand on the back of mine. I feel like I’ve come home. “You sound weary and jaded. Has it been a hard day?”
I’m sinking into the couch and feeling relaxed. Intimate. Confidential. I have to be careful. This man could charm me into anything.
Before I can stop myself, I’m telling him.
“Carmine, you have no idea. All I want is to bring some happiness to some children.” Okay, I’m actually thinking about something else that I want right now. I can see it pointing at me under his beautiful suit pants. “But nobody’s making good on their promises. Everything is up in the air. The man who owns the hardware store wanted a ‘private meeting’ with me about it. Even the bishop tried to get me into a room.”
Now, his look is definitely more lion than movie director.
“Two more men offered me the money.”
Carmine’s eyes flash, and the temperature in the room changes.
