Read Online Call Me! by Dani Ripper - Free Book Online Page A

lowering my voice. “You’re related to a mob boss ? How could you not tell me that?”
     
    “It’s not the sort of information that encourages close friendships.”
     
    “How close are you?”
     
    “Me and Sal?”
     
    I nod.
     
    “He’s my father’s brother.”
     
    “Um…your parents are deceased, right? Like mine?”
     
    “In Italian families, it’s as if no one ever dies. Sal and Marie wanted to take me in. He wanted to take an interest in my career. So I moved here.”
     
    I push my nose to one side, like a gangster, and try to sound like one. “My niece, Sophie. Got a voice like a songbird. You oughta hire her. Be a shame if your club burned down.”
     
    “Exactly.”
     
    “Last time I checked, Alexander’s not an Italian name.”
     
    “It’s my stage name. My real one’s Sophie Bonadello.”
     
    I shake my head. “Mafia princess?”
     
    She shrugs.
     
    “You could have me whacked?”
     
    She frowns. “See? This is why I don’t tell you things. Forget I ever brought it up.”
     
    “You mean Fuhgeddaboudit?”
     
    She shakes her head, laughing. “You,” she says.
     
    “What?”
     
    “You’re something else, you are.”
     

I’VE GOT A bedroom at Sophie’s house. This is where I come on Mondays and Tuesdays to get away. It’s how I stay sane. I’ve got clothes in the closet, personal items in the bathroom, got my own sheets and pillows on the bed.
    Sophie’s a singer-songwriter, living in Nashville. But she’s not really a singer. I mean, she’s got a fine, melodic voice, and she sings around town when she can. It’s just that she can’t support herself singing.
     
    Songwriting’s a different story.
     
    Sophie’s famous. You might not know her name, but you know her songs. She’s written hits for all the young country stars, and a couple of pop stars as well. She’s won three Grammys, same as Elvis.
     
    But unlike Elvis, Sophie’s in love with me.
     
    We’re not lovers.
     
    Sophie’s made it clear she’s interested. You know, in a relationship. A sexual relationship.
     
    I’ve never done that. You know, with a woman.
     
    But I want to.
     
    It’s just that…I’m married.
     
    Sophie’s my best friend and confidante. And though she loves me and clearly aches for us to be together, she would never rush me, never push me, never want me to do anything I wasn’t ready to do. So we live together two days a week, and we’ve fashioned a celibate mini-life together, within the framework of our real lives.
     
    She’s twenty-nine, I’m twenty-four. Except for Ben, Sophie’s the only person on earth who knows what happened to me nine years ago. I’m incredibly fortunate these two wonderful, caring people have found me.
     
    But Ben found me first.
     
    I pay the bill despite Sophie’s insistence on taking care of the wine.
     
    “I still don’t feel right about you spending all this money,” she says.
     
    “Deal with it.”
     
    I hand her a birthday card with a long, girly note about what she’s meant to me this year. She reads it and starts crying. Watching her cry makes me cry. We see each other crying and that makes us both laugh. Then I hand her the gift. She opens it, sees the bracelet, and starts crying again.
     
    “I’ll treasure this,” she says, putting it on.
     
    I smile, knowing it’s true.
     
    In a very quiet voice she says, “I love you, Dani. You have no idea how much.”
     
    “I love you too, Sofe,” I say, using her nickname.
     
    That night we do what we always do before going to bed. Put on the most outrageous pajama tops and bottoms we can find, and hang out in her den and talk and laugh for hours.
     
    My house in Cincinnati has one upstairs bedroom, Sophie’s house in Nashville has two. Both have master bedrooms on the first floor. But on Mondays and Tuesdays, Sophie sleeps in the vacant upstairs bedroom to be closer to me.
     
    I love that about her.
     
    When we’re all talked out we walk up the stairs