great. You got a date or something?”
“Hi’s coming around. He’s taking me to the zoo.”
“Tell that guy, Chuck said to watch his manners. He’s in the company of a lady. And besides, if he pulls any crap on you, I’ll be happy to bust his fuckin’ nose again.”
“Aw, Chuck. What would I do without you?’ Gina blew him a kiss from the door, bells jingling behind her as it slapped shut.
The air was heavy and warm. A slight breeze from the south served only to stir up the downtown smells—Chinese food from Huy Fong’s, pitch tar from the roofing job at Starbucks, bus exhaust, bad cigars. Gina kicked a few cigarette butts over the curb, checked the street traffic and began to pace. She had always been a pacer. It helped her think. That and a long hot shower.
Her Grandmother used to say, “Gina Lee, if we had an eight-foot shower and a ninety-gallon water heater, you could solve all the world’s problems.” God, she missed her Nana.
“Excuse me, Miss?”
Reilly held an old street atlas and a piece of paper with an address. “Could you tell me where the One Hour Dry Cleaner is? It’s supposed to be Fifth and—”
“Yeah, they moved last month. Ernie lost his lease; he’s over by the bookstore now.” Gina pointed, “Go two blocks down and turn right at McNally’s.”
Reilly saw her do something with her arm, but he was really watching her face. She had the most amazing lips. “Uh, thanks. I appreciate it.” He stood there, staring.
She smiled, so he asked, “Can I buy you a cup of coffee? I mean, to thank you for your help.”
Still smiling, she cocked her head.
“I’m Reilly.” He extended his hand. “Kenneth Reilly.”
“How do you do.” She grasped his hand firmly. “Mr. Reilly, I’m Gina. That’s my place.” Her eyes motioned to the diner.
His followed to the neon sign flickering, “Nana’s.”
She said, “I’m all coffee-ed out for the moment, but thank you for the offer. Could I have my hand back now?”
“Oh, sorry.” Reilly released his grip. “Maybe some other time, then?”
“Some other time, then.”
A shiny Impala pulled up to the curb, rattling to a stop with Sinatra singing, “Luck be a Lady Tonight.” A well-groomed Hiram Berger leaned over the roof of the car. He held a long-stemmed rose in his teeth. Gina laughed. She waved to Reilly as they pulled away.
He watched for a long time, until the Impala was lost in a sea of cars headed to the highway.
Banning signed the last page of a thick document then hit the intercom. “Helen, see if Deluca’s around. I need to borrow Jeremy.”
Helen picked up the phone wishing she could borrow Jeremy, too.
DeLuca’s henchman, Jeremy Strom, was revered at MDB&S. He was the stuff tall tales were made of—six-four, two-ninety, with thighs like tree trunks, biceps like bowling balls, and an oak barrel chest—he was an anatomical masterpiece. And when God made Jeremy, he didn’t stop at his body. He gave him large cornflower blue eyes, high Nordic cheekbones, and a perfect smile. Like the hero on the cover of a romance novel, Jeremy Strom was beautiful.
“So, you’re really going to do it?’ Helen asked from the doorway.
“I’m really going to do it. I should have done this years ago. Tell me again, Helen, how did I get here?’ Banning looked around his plush office.
She smiled. “You cared, Mr. Banning. You got here because you cared what happened to the guy without the means for proper representation. You got here because everyone knew you deserved it. You got here because you were good and you were honest, and everyone knows that what you give is what you get.”
“Yeah.” Banning stood. “That’s right. That’s it exactly, Helen. What you give is what you get. The universal truth of man’s existence. The ultimate karmic experience. So what happened? Here I am becoming the system, succumbing to all I had rallied against for so long, contaminating my mind with the
“Hi’s coming around. He’s taking me to the zoo.”
“Tell that guy, Chuck said to watch his manners. He’s in the company of a lady. And besides, if he pulls any crap on you, I’ll be happy to bust his fuckin’ nose again.”
“Aw, Chuck. What would I do without you?’ Gina blew him a kiss from the door, bells jingling behind her as it slapped shut.
The air was heavy and warm. A slight breeze from the south served only to stir up the downtown smells—Chinese food from Huy Fong’s, pitch tar from the roofing job at Starbucks, bus exhaust, bad cigars. Gina kicked a few cigarette butts over the curb, checked the street traffic and began to pace. She had always been a pacer. It helped her think. That and a long hot shower.
Her Grandmother used to say, “Gina Lee, if we had an eight-foot shower and a ninety-gallon water heater, you could solve all the world’s problems.” God, she missed her Nana.
“Excuse me, Miss?”
Reilly held an old street atlas and a piece of paper with an address. “Could you tell me where the One Hour Dry Cleaner is? It’s supposed to be Fifth and—”
“Yeah, they moved last month. Ernie lost his lease; he’s over by the bookstore now.” Gina pointed, “Go two blocks down and turn right at McNally’s.”
Reilly saw her do something with her arm, but he was really watching her face. She had the most amazing lips. “Uh, thanks. I appreciate it.” He stood there, staring.
She smiled, so he asked, “Can I buy you a cup of coffee? I mean, to thank you for your help.”
Still smiling, she cocked her head.
“I’m Reilly.” He extended his hand. “Kenneth Reilly.”
“How do you do.” She grasped his hand firmly. “Mr. Reilly, I’m Gina. That’s my place.” Her eyes motioned to the diner.
His followed to the neon sign flickering, “Nana’s.”
She said, “I’m all coffee-ed out for the moment, but thank you for the offer. Could I have my hand back now?”
“Oh, sorry.” Reilly released his grip. “Maybe some other time, then?”
“Some other time, then.”
A shiny Impala pulled up to the curb, rattling to a stop with Sinatra singing, “Luck be a Lady Tonight.” A well-groomed Hiram Berger leaned over the roof of the car. He held a long-stemmed rose in his teeth. Gina laughed. She waved to Reilly as they pulled away.
He watched for a long time, until the Impala was lost in a sea of cars headed to the highway.
Banning signed the last page of a thick document then hit the intercom. “Helen, see if Deluca’s around. I need to borrow Jeremy.”
Helen picked up the phone wishing she could borrow Jeremy, too.
DeLuca’s henchman, Jeremy Strom, was revered at MDB&S. He was the stuff tall tales were made of—six-four, two-ninety, with thighs like tree trunks, biceps like bowling balls, and an oak barrel chest—he was an anatomical masterpiece. And when God made Jeremy, he didn’t stop at his body. He gave him large cornflower blue eyes, high Nordic cheekbones, and a perfect smile. Like the hero on the cover of a romance novel, Jeremy Strom was beautiful.
“So, you’re really going to do it?’ Helen asked from the doorway.
“I’m really going to do it. I should have done this years ago. Tell me again, Helen, how did I get here?’ Banning looked around his plush office.
She smiled. “You cared, Mr. Banning. You got here because you cared what happened to the guy without the means for proper representation. You got here because everyone knew you deserved it. You got here because you were good and you were honest, and everyone knows that what you give is what you get.”
“Yeah.” Banning stood. “That’s right. That’s it exactly, Helen. What you give is what you get. The universal truth of man’s existence. The ultimate karmic experience. So what happened? Here I am becoming the system, succumbing to all I had rallied against for so long, contaminating my mind with the
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