Rallenti Page 4

  “I’m sorry. I got diarrhea of the mouth, baby doll. Forgive this old fag, okay?” she touched her hand. “Not trying to pick at your family wounds when I got enough scars for us both.”

  “You’re not a fag Jamie, tranny, or any of those nasty names people say. You’re beautiful just as you are.” Kyra blinked away her tears. “And don’t worry about my feelings. I know you didn’t mean anything by it. Besides, I think my mama will come around when I get a real job as a designer with Mirabella’s.”

  “And if she doesn’t?” Jamie pressed.

  “She will. When she does the family will too,” Kyra grinned.

  “Sure thing, sweetie.” Jamie rose from the chair and walked over to give her a hug. She kissed her brow. “And you’re right, those Battaglia women are fierce.”

  “You should have seen them in person. I swear I would sell my soul to move to design for the House of Mirabella’s or Fabiana’s.”

  “What’s Fabiana’s?” Jamie asked.

  “A new fashion house under Mirabella’s. It’s Catalina’s project. The press rarely mention it, but over in Italy it’s the hottest thing going. I think that’s where our shoe line could fit. That’s what I plan to pitch tonight.”

  “Hmmm… that might not work.” Jamie scoffed.

  “Why?”

  “You know why. That family is tied to the Mafia. That’s why that black designer lives in Italy and no one can get a picture of her snooty ass. Long lost sister my ass. Trust me with those people nothing is what it seems.”

  “That’s a nasty rumor. I work for her company. There is no Mafia. Such a stereotype and you know you and I hate stereotypes.”

  Jamie shrugged. “True. But Mirabella’s partner Fabiana did die in a car explosion. And so did two of her employees. I remember all that drama years ago while your head was buried in a medical schoolbook. That fashion designer dated some big time Wall Street Chinese man who got charged with it all. He was extradited back to China. Shit sounds like the Godfather to me.”

  Kyra chuckled. “Well it doesn’t matter. Fashion is all I care about. And the Battaglias care about fashion too. Tonight is my chance to shine.”

  “And you look to die for. Oh honey. Wait. Let me get a picture of you.” Jamie reached in her beaded bag she toted with her everywhere she went. She brought out her Polaroid camera. “I always come prepared. Now strike a pose like I taught you!”

  Kyra struck a pose, and another. She blew a kiss at the camera before the intercom buzzed. She and Jamie started laughing.

  “Yes!” Kyra said into the intercom.

  “Miss Okeeno, I’m your driver. I’ve been sent to escort you this evening,” a male voice responded.

  She looked at Jamie with wide stretched eyes. Jamie stood grinning. “Uh yes, just a moment!”

  “Holy shit, bunny rabbit! Check it out, girl!” Jamie said from the window. Kyra hurried over to see the limo downstairs for her.

  “I thought I’d have to cab it tonight. Oh my God! I can’t believe it!”

  “Well get your ass moving!”

  “Yeah! Yeah!” Kyra ran to her closet. She and Jamie found some of the cutest shearling lined coats from their favorite thrift store. The one she chose went with her dress. It was covered in heavy black suede. Jamie helped her ease it on and found her purse.

  “Do you have cash on you?” Jamie asked.

  Kyra rolled her eyes. “I can handle myself.”

  “Don’t feed me that bullshit. You need to always have cash and cab fare.” Jamie turned and fetched her wallet from her beaded bag. Kyra was living off of sixty dollars for the entire week. Jamie who worked during the day as a hairstylist and at night at some of the drag clubs, returned to her with six twenties. Kyra’s eyes stretched.

  “Jamie! I can’t.”

  “You can and you will. This how we do it, girl. You will be with all those fancy folks. What if you end up somewhere you have to pay your own tab? Huh? Now scoot. Your driver awaits.”

  Kyra leapt at her friend and surrogate mother. She hugged her neck. “I love you! I love you!”

  “Go, baby doll! Rock it tonight like I taught you.”

  Kyra was at the door with Jamie. She locked up her apartment. Her friend saw her to the elevator and kissed her goodbye. She was so excited she nearly tripped over her own feet when she pushed out the front lobby door. The driver was parked in front leaning against the car unfazed by the brisk weather. Kyra closed her coat and started down the steps. She happened to glance across the street. Cezar stood by his car watching her. He immediately dashed across the street toward her.

  “Kyra! I want to talk to you.”

  Shocked she froze. When he drew closer she finally caught her breath to speak. “What are you doing here?”

  “Where are you going?” he looked her over. “You look beautiful. You changed your hair?”

  “Thank you, excuse me.” She started toward the driver. Cezar grabbed her arm.

  “I’m sorry for calling you a bitch. It’s driving me crazy that you won’t call me back. Maybe tonight we can talk it all out.”

  “No. Cezar, I’m sorry but no. Please stop coming around here and bothering me. It’s over.” Kyra snatched away.

  Behind the finger smudged lens of his glasses his eyes narrowed on her. Something deeper than anger flashed deep within his brown irises. He stepped back. Kyra shook her head in bafflement. They’d only dated for three short months. Surely it couldn’t be this hard for Cezar to get the picture. She walked away from him, done with the matter. Once she was secured in the back seat of the car she glanced back to Cezar on the sidewalk. He didn’t move or blink. He stood there as solid as stone watching her. She rolled her eyes. Hopefully he finally got the picture.

  The driver pulled away from the curb and Kyra relaxed. She couldn’t believe her life.

  Chapter Three

  The First Time He Noticed Her

  “Boss, is there anything else?” Peppino asked in Italian. No matter how many times Renaldo tried to get the boys to practice English, they never did. He’d given up on the effort and only addressed them in Italian. Tasked with security, among other things, every place the women visited or gathered in was swept by his men.

  The private room at the Waldorf had a secure entrance to and from the designated dining area. The only unknown for the evening would be the people who served as the wait staff. At home the servers would be Battaglia employees and would have been carefully screened by him. Here in America the women dined amongst strangers. And in their lifestyle strangers could be dangerous. “I want you at the elevator and Tino to be posted in front of the doors of the private dining room. The hotel has provided a hostess who will screen the guests. I will be nearby inside for the event.”

  “Sì. Ti capsico,” Peppino said and walked off.

  Renaldo checked his watch. It was time for him to check in. He glanced at the hostess. He wasn’t good at English but Donna Mirabella was giving him lessons. And he improved so much that Giovanni agreed he could accompany the women when they travelled to America. Of course he’d been to America before. But the trips were always for a job that ended most unpleasantly for the person he came to see. He cleared his throat and processed the words he needed to say.

  “Mi scusi bella, I need to use a phone,” he said.

  The petite brunette with large round eyes under long dark lashes flashed him a lovely smile. “Of course. Can you come with me please?” she strutted off in a fitted black mini dress that sculpted her shapely hips and ass nicely. He, however, wasn’t easily distracted by a woman’s beauty. In his life discipline and focus were a testament to a man’s reliability. If he told his boss he would call at a certain time he damn well meant it and never failed.

  “You can use the phone in here, handsome. If you need anything, please let me know,” she smiled.

  He nodded his thanks for her gracious offer and arched a brow to the lingering look she gave him. Renaldo entered the office and closed the door on the smiling hos
tess. He had not bothered to shed his trench coat or gloves since he left his suite. The phone was on the desk in the corner. He picked it up and dialed the outside line to place a collect call to his boss. After waiting for the line to connect he was greeted with a hello.

  “Salve,” Renaldo replied.

  “Where are you?” Dominic Battaglia, the consigliere and adopted brother to Don Giovanni Battaglia asked.

  “An affair for the employees has been arranged. It is here in the Waldorf’s private dining room for dinner.” Renaldo relayed the details giving his best effort at English.

  “Any issues?” Dominic asked.

  “No sir. The women have had meetings. Tate is accommodating. They have requested to stay an additional few days. I need to know if you approve.”

  “Have Catalina call me. I expect to hear from her after their party ends.”

  The line disconnected. Renaldo placed the phone back on its cradle. He had very little to look forward to this evening. It would be a night of standing in the shadows observing the Americans with their fast conversations and fake pleasantries. He didn’t loathe the country. He just didn’t understand the hurry everyone was in. They ate fast, they talked fast, and they even conducted business in a hurried manner. It made his gut sour. He detested the ‘rush through life’ mentality.

  Renaldo strolled out of the private room toward the front of the reception area. It was then that a young woman cut him off. He stopped. She didn’t see him.

  “I’m late. I’m here for the Battaglia event,” she said.

  She wore a dark suede coat that belted around her trim waist. Her thick dark hair reached just beneath her chin and had a feathered layered cut style. However he could not see her face.

  “You’re fine, most are just arriving,” the hostess reassured her as she helped the woman from her coat. Renaldo’s mouth went bone dry over the unveiling. The jade dress the woman wore reminded him of movie style glamour, like Marilyn Monroe. It fit in a trimmed fashion that defined her tiny waistline and draped nicely off her hips to flow with a bit of grace above her knees when she moved. And the high-heeled shoes on her feet were the same color of jade. Except these shoes had small jewels woven in along the seam and up the back of the stiletto heels that gleamed like emeralds. The beauty’s head turned. Renaldo caught her profile.

  It was Kyra.

  The busy bee receptionist he’d met at Mirabella’s earlier that day was before him now. He found her appealing in their first meeting. Tonight, however, she was far more alluring. She had changed her hair, added a bit of gloss the color of nutmeg to her full supple lips. She had the longest lashes, darkly swept away from deep-set beautiful brown eyes. When she nodded her head to something the hostess said in jest, the mere simple movement of casting hair from her face back to the right side of her head stirred him.

  The hostess left with the young woman’s coat. The beautiful receptionist turned goddess approached him confident and assured.

  “Hi!” she chirped up at him. “Renaldo right?” she extended her hand. “Remember me?”

  Renaldo forgot every word of the English language he had learned. “Buno sera,” he replied. He took her hand and kissed it. She never took her eyes off him.

  “That means good evening? Right?” she asked.

  Reluctant but polite he let her hand go. “Yes. You speak Italian?”

  “No. I know a few words,” she teased.

  “May I escort you signorina? To the others?” he asked.

  “Oh sure, she was just going to hang up my coat… uh, okay sure.” Kyra shrugged. “Wait.”

  Renaldo paused.

  “First you must tell me my name,” she said. Did she know the effect she had on him? He knew when a woman flirted and this young ripe beauty seemed intent on doing just that. Renaldo dialed back in his memory bank and remembered the pencil neck guy who screeched her name in the office. He assumed the visit was unexpected or undesired by the flushed manner in which she spoke to him. Renaldo watched as she pulled the man away to speak to him privately, mildly amused.

  “Well? Do you remember?” she poked him in the chest.

  Renaldo frowned. He looked down at where she poked him and then into her eyes. What kind of courtship was this? She blinked those doe-like eyes at him and he realized it was her cute sense of humor. Interesting. American women were quite interesting. Renaldo smiled. “Your name is Kyra,” he answered with a polite nod.

  “Very good.” Kyra grinned. “And your English is good too.”

  “Grazie,” Renaldo replied.

  Kyra expelled a long breath. “Everyone’s here huh?” she asked. She glanced toward the event room and delayed them further. “The Battaglia women are in there, aren’t they?”

  Though Kyra looked like a movie star she chewed on her bottom lip and fidgeted with the beaded strap to her purse with reserved shyness. Renaldo liked the tension in her manner. It made her real, instead of just the fantasy he conjured as he undressed her in his mind. He had many girlfriends. He didn’t lead the lifestyle for a wife or something more permanent. And he never indulged his desires while on the job.

  He offered his arm. She graciously slipped hers around it and he walked her to the doors of the private dining room. Tino gave a single nod of his head at Renaldo and opened the door.

  “Uh, thanks,” Kyra said once they entered.

  Renaldo released her. What choice did he have? She left his side without another word. There had to be at least a hundred employees in attendance. The arrangement wasn’t the classic setting for a formal dinner. Instead of just a long table and chairs, the suite had a lounge area that faced a cozy fireplace for before dinner socializing. The employees kept their distance from the Battaglias. Only the top in management were seated near them. Kyra joined the exclusive gathering without pause or consideration. Renaldo appreciated her bravery.

  The flirtatious moment shared between them, though brief, lingered in his psyche and he stole one final glance to his lady in jade. She smiled graciously at the others and took a seat.

  “It’s such a pleasure to meet you again, Catalina, Marietta. I’m a fan, I mean I respect your work with Mirabella, uh, and the company.” Kyra said. “I’ve seen your work with Fabiana’s too. Very nice.”

  “Did you make those shoes?” Marietta asked.

  Kyra glanced down at her feet. “I did. I call them my Stellas.”

  “Oh Kyra is so cute. She loves to staple cloth and crystals on dime store shoes,” Bette chuckled. “One day she came in with a pair she had colored with markers.”

  The laughter of the other managers made Kyra’s cheeks burn hot with shame. However hurt she was by their mockery it did not compare to the startled disappointment she felt to see Bette as the leader. Bette sipped from her martini glass, her stare focused on Kyra above the rim. She then continued. “Kyra knows not to take any of our materials though for her special projects with those drag queens.”

  “Drag queens?” Catalina glanced over to Marietta. “Che cosa?” she asked Marietta.

  “Drag queens are men who dress like women,” Marietta said.

  “Oh!” Catalina said and her gaze swung back to Kyra as if seeing her differently.

  Kyra wished to disappear. She had no cute comeback or witty remark to make. She was too hurt and embarrassed to say a word. Even Mr. Tate stared at her with open hostility. What had she done wrong? Maybe she should have stayed back with the junior staff members who kept their distance from this group.

  Marietta Battaglia smiled at her. “I used to wear dime store shoes, and make them sexy when I was a stripper in Chi-town.” Bette began choking on her martini. Marietta shot her a withering glare. “You got a problem with that?”

  “Ah, no. No.” Bette tried to recover.

  Marietta smiled at Kyra. “Takes talent to turn shit to sugar. Doesn’t it, sweetie?” Marietta asked. Kyra only nodded in response. “Which is probably why my sister wants to shut down this shitty operation run by these bitches.” Mariett
a tossed a glare back over to Bette. Catalina reached over and touched Marietta’s hand. She said something in Italian, which silenced Mirabella’s sister. Kyra was shocked. She knew Mirabella was refined and cultured, but this sister of hers had a hard edge like the women she knew in her old neighborhood. And for whatever reason she took an instant disliking to Bette for making fun of her.

  A blush stained Bette’s face. The poor woman looked like she would bolt any minute. The others were silent and respectful. As if to even breathe a word would bring down a lightening bolt. Kyra recognized the tension in the air and was able to define it. The tension was fear.

  She decided to be the brave one and speak. “I just like making beautiful accessories. No matter the canvas. These shoes I wrapped in silk, and sewed in each emerald crystal myself. They sparkle like jewels in the moonlight. That’s why I wore them with the dress from Mirabella’s.” Kyra said. She gave Cleo a sideways glance. The evil woman had specifically told her she was not invited. So why was she there? Either she lied or she finagled an invite and purposefully teamed up with Bette to make this night miserable. Kyra calmed herself. She had chosen to ignore her recommendation for silver accessories. She’d done so because she knew fashion possibly better than them both. Bette and Cleo glared openly at her. The tension between the women charged the atmosphere. The ladies sipped their drinks not taking their eyes off one another.

  “Benissima,” Catalina said. “I like the shoes, now can we change the subject about the girl’s feet?”

  Mr. Tate laughed. The others chuckled. Catalina nudged Marietta who continued to glare at Bette and Cleo. “We need to hear about Carole Montague’s latest project.” Catalina said. She set her martini down on the coaster. “Which one of you is the lead on the event she will have next month in Paris?”

  Three people spoke at once. Each one of them clamored to share their version of the projects status. Kyra accepted a drink from a server and tried to listen and pretend at being interested. However, the openly hostile look Marietta Battaglia kept flashing Bette was far more entertaining.