Hooked

They met in his secret hideaway in the Park Slope section of Brooklyn on the second and fourth Thursday of every month, where a sumptuous vegetarian meal awaited. On many of those nights they did nothing more than catch up on the week’s events, discussing politics, art, opera, and the theater. Mario never talked about his business, and Tawny never asked. She figured he was lonely. He never took her out in public because he didn’t want to stigmatize her with their association. Didn’t want her to have the reputation of being a “gangster’s moll,” in old-time vernacular.
    Whatever Tawny read about him in the papers, the constant condemnation of his ruthless hold on corruption or claims that he permanently eliminated his competition, she had known only a gentle man and a gentleman.
    “Isn’t there anything the doctors can do? Experimental surgery, medication?”
    “I’m afraid not. It’s pancreatic cancer, one of the deadliest. To make matters worse, I’m surrounded by vultures waiting for my expiration date so they can take over the family business. Ordinarily, a man grooms his sons to follow his footsteps. But I created a different family business to guarantee my sons, if they desired, had another career to inherit so they would never turn into me. Now I’m trying to arrange an easy transition so my protégé can ascend to the throne without a power struggle. But you know how men of my ilk are. It’s all about power. I’ve held on to it longer than most, but now it’s time to give it up, whether I want to or not.”
    Tawny shifted in her seat, wishing she were somewhere else.
    “I’m sorry, my dear. I’m talking about a man you’ve only heard about, one you don’t know and never will. It makes you uncomfortable.”
    “Yes. Knowing you as I do, it’s hard to imagine that man, and it’s hard to hear such fatalistic words about your illness.”
    “People, all people, allow others to see only certain parts of themselves. I was married to Victoria for thirty-five years before she died. In my home, she never saw the other side of me and couldn’t understand the vile things she read in the papers. Finally, she stopped reading them. In the beginning, I never cheated on her. But after five children she found religion. Sex was for procreation, not enjoyment.” He squeezed Tawny’s hand and smiled. “I was in my prime, virile and full of myself. If she knew I was getting it elsewhere, either she didn’t care or she graciously granted me the right. We never mentioned it, and I loved her till the day she died.”
    Tawny refilled Mario’s glass and hers. She didn’t know why she decided to drink. Maybe because it seemed important to him. But now she felt a not altogether unpleasant buzz. “You don’t have to tell me this, you know.”
    “You won’t believe this, but I have no one to talk to. I don’t go to church; I don’t confess. My confession would probably send the priest to another priest before I left the confessional. Though it’s a life I consciously chose, I regret some of the things I’ve done within the context of that life, but my time spent with women other than my wife is not one of them. And you, my dear, have been one of my joys. I’d say you’re like a daughter to me, but that would make me an incestuous beast, and I will not cop to that.”
    Tawny laughed. She had not expected an evening like this and thought how the world really is small and how the people in it are somehow interconnected. That six degrees thing.
    Tawny took the wine from his hand and led him to the big bed in the other room.
    “One more time, Mario. For old time sake.”
    “I told you, my dear. Nothing is happening. My failure would embarrass me.”
    “Relax,” she said, placing a pillow under his head. “I promise, you won’t be embarrassed.”

Chapter Nineteen
    Gotcha!

    A fter Tawny freshened up, she gathered her things to leave the room at Upper Eighties. She’d stayed longer than the time she’d contracted. The evening had been an unexpected pleasure for her and a surprising success for Mario. They made a pretense of saying they’d see each other again, but Tawny sensed tonight would be the last time she would see Mario Russo, the last time she would spend an intimate evening with the private man very few people knew. She brushed off the melancholy, remembering the job she had to do and hating that she had to do it.
    First, a trip to the office to pick up her payment. She took the