I’d never been in a thrift store in my life.
And I wished I’d continued that trend.
“This place is a fuckin’ shithole,” I said to Bianca as we walked in.
“Shhhh,” she hissed angrily, then whispered, “It is not a shithole – it’s cool.”
I took a second look and decided that the shop was interesting enough, in a run-down bohemian way. It was in a really old building with exposed wooden rafters and brick walls. Amidst the dozens and dozens of clothes racks, old mannequins were dressed in everything from punk rock t-shirts to ball gowns.
So that part was interesting.
The artwork hanging on the wall was shitty, though. The paintings were eyesores, and there were lots of collages with pretentious phrases like ‘THIS IS ART’ assembled out of magazine clippings like a hostage note.
A five-year-old could have done better.
And don’t get me started on the clientele.
Only four other people were in the shop, but they were all artsy-fartsy twenty-somethings. And they all had piercings in their lips, noses, and everywhere else.
They stared at me with open disdain as I walked in – like I was the weird-looking one.
I just ignored them and followed Bianca to the men’s racks.
“We’ll get you some jeans… ooh, here’s some True Religion… I wonder if they have any old Ed Hardy shirts?”
“What?!”
“I’m thinking I should dress you like a douchebag. Or we could do wannabe rocker… or art student…”
“How about just normal?”
She laughed. “I already suggested the Gap, and you said ‘no.’ Besides, with your looks and your tats, you’re anything but normal.”
It sounded like a compliment… but in a backhanded sort of way.
She pulled item after item off the racks and draped them over her arms.
“You didn’t ask my size,” I said.
She rattled off the centimeters for my waist and shoulders without looking at me.
She was pretty damn close, too.
“How the fuck did you know that?” I asked in shock.
She gave me one of her looks again.
“Fashion student, remember? I look at people’s measurements all day long. After a while, you get pretty good at eyeballing them.” She went back to browsing. “We should probably get you some shoes, too. Doc Martins would be good if they have them in your size…”
“What’s wrong with my shoes?”
“You can’t wear thrift-store jeans and thousand-dollar shoes, dude.”
Alright, she had a point.
“Let’s go try this on,” she said as she held up her arm-load of clothes.
We went to the back. For a store that looked like this, the dressing rooms were surprisingly good – lots of space, with full mirrors on three sides and actual doors instead of curtains.
I liked the multiple mirrors…
Mostly because I could see Bianca from every angle in the infinite reflections.
Madonn, what an ass…
And those tits in that top…
Fuck.
She laid the clothes on a wooden bench.
“Okay,” she said with a smirk. “Strip.”
I gave her a smirk back. “That’s the only reason you brought me in here, isn’t it?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve already seen the merchandise.”
“You did a lot more than see it, as I recall.”
“Yeah, yeah – get to stripping, mafia boy.”
I pulled off my suit jacket and hung it on a peg on the wall. Then I unbuttoned my shirt, shucked off my shoes, and pulled off my pants. By the end, all I was wearing was my underwear.
For somebody who had ‘already seen the merchandise,’ Bianca sure was giving me the once-over.
Her eyes roved up and down my body like a starving woman eyeing an ice cream sundae.
It turned me on.
Thankfully I’d busted a nut enough times in the last 12 hours that I didn’t immediately get a hard-on.
I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing how she affected me.
“What’s first?” I asked.
She handed me a ripped tee – a faded White Snake concert shirt from 30 years ago.
I threw it back on the bench without even trying it on. “Next.”
“Okay, don’t like the hair bands,” she said as she gave me another shirt. It was a button-up short-sleeve shirt that was way more suitable for a guy in his 40s having a midlife crisis.
“Eh,” I said as I tried it on.
“Yeah, not that one,” she agreed as I pulled it off.
As I tried on some jeans, she said, “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
“Why are you helping me find my father?”
“He’s got information about who’s behind all this.”
“Yeah, I realize you know that now… but you didn’t know that in the beginning. The first time you said you’d help me, there really wasn’t anything in it for you. So… why?”
I paused.
I knew exactly why.
In fact, I knew the precise moment I’d decided to help her.
“I…”
I looked at her.
She was staring at me intently.
I turned away. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do,” she whispered. “Please… tell me.”
I looked back at her again…
And finally gave in.
It was her eyes…
So big and soulful…
“You were talking about your father,” I said.
She frowned. “What about him?”
“It was when I asked why he sent you to the hotel.”
She immediately got pissed off. “Yeah – and you asked if he was whoring me out.”
I gave her a half-smile. “You gotta understand, a lot of people I run into in this business would have done exactly that. But when I asked you again, you said something else. Do you remember what it was?”
She went from pissed off to curious. “No – what?”
“You said you couldn’t reach him and they were going to break his legs, so you did it to buy him more time.”
“So?”
“It was the way you said it. I could tell you really cared about him.”
Her face softened. “I love him.”
“I know. Despite the gambling and getting mixed up with the Cosa Nostra, and all the shit he’s put you through… you still love him. And I could see that in your face.”
She shrugged, embarrassed. “Everybody loves their father.”
“No. No, they don’t.”
Bianca nodded reluctantly. “Okay… not everybody, no.”
“But it wasn’t just that you loved him. It was the part about buying him more time.”
She frowned again, not understanding what I was getting at.
I continued. “I lost my father unexpectedly. Out of the blue.”
Although not the way I THOUGHT I lost him.
The old Sicilian woman – the one who had tried to shoot Dario – had poisoned my father. She gloated about it before she died.
Memories suddenly flooded my mind.
Me at five years old, looking up at my father as he shaved. He winked at me and dabbed a bit of shaving cream on my nose.
Me at eight years old, watching him teach Dario how to shoot a gun. I was so jealous of the attention Papa was giving him…
Me at 13 years old, when we were reunited after gunmen had attacked our house. Dario had helped my father fend off the attackers, but I had been forced to flee with my mother and younger brothers – like a child.
I was so angry at my father for keeping Dario by his side and sending me away –
But then he wrapped me in his arms, hugged me tight, and kissed the top of my head… and all my anger disappeared.
Me at 17, the first time I killed a man.
I remembered how horrible I felt… how sick to my stomach.
Even though it had been him or me – and he was the one attacking our family.
I couldn’t stop seeing the man’s face… the way the light had gone out of his eyes when he died.
But after the fight was won, my father took my face in his hands and whispered, Thank you, Adriano. This is not the life I would have chosen for you… but you saved your family today, and you made me proud. You ALWAYS make me proud.
And then I remembered coming into his bedroom only six months ago…
“I was the one who found him before he died,” I said, and my voice cracked a little. “He was…”
I had to stop talking for a second.
Bianca’s eyes welled up with tears.
She looked like her heart was breaking for me.
“He was lying on the floor… his face was all red… I rushed over to him, screaming… I held him, and he looked up at me… he tried to say something, but he couldn’t… and then…”
I turned my head away from Bianca.
I couldn’t look at her and keep talking – I couldn’t.
I finally got ahold of myself and finished what I had to say.
“He lost consciousness while I was holding him… and he never woke up. He died in the hospital just a few hours later.”
I breathed out shakily.
“Last night, I could hear in your voice how much you love your father. And when you said you wanted to buy him more time… that’s why I said I’d help you.
“I want you to get him back… because I loved my father, too. And because I’d do anything – anything – just to have him back again… even if it was only for a few more minutes.”
When I finished, I finally looked back at Bianca.
Both her hands were covering her mouth. Tears streamed down her face.
Her shoulders were trembling like she was trying to hold in her sobs.
We stared at each other –
And then she stepped forward, took my face in her hands, and kissed me.
I could taste the salt on her lips.
I grabbed her by her waist and held her tight, and kissed her with everything I had inside me…
My entire heart.
No holding back.
