ROMANCING SAL GABRINI by Monroe Mallory

Author:Monroe, Mallory [Monroe, Mallory]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Austin Brook Publishing
Published: 2013-07-30T04:00:00+00:00

The Ferrari pulled into the circular driveway of Tommy’s massive home, and Gemma was impressed. Sal might own a mansion of an apartment building, but Tommy owned a mansion of a house. And, according to Sal, he lived in this mansion all alone. It was about to change, he was set to be married in a matter of months, but this Buckingham Palace of a place would still be about ninety-five percent too much for even two people, as far as Gemma was concerned. But it was still beautiful to behold. Those Gabrinis knew how to do it, she thought as Sal got out of the car, and opened the door for her.

Henry, Tommy’s butler, opened the front door for them, and Sal smiled. “Hennessy, what’s up?” he said jovially.

“Good evening, sir, ma’am,” Henry said with a polite, but dour look.

“Where’s Tommy?” Sal asked as they entered.

“He’s upstairs, sir. This way, please.”

Henry escorted them into the living area. Whereas Sal’s taste was more opulent, Tommy’s was more refined, with understated furnishings rather than the more dramatic, Herculean ones in Sal’s home. Although both styles were beautifully appointed, Tommy’s style, it seemed to Gemma, was a cut above because of, rather than in spite of, its lack of drama.

After Gemma and Sal sat down, and Henry asked for and received their drink orders and left the room to retrieve them, Gemma looked at her date.

“That man’s name is not Hennessy, is it?”

Sal laughed. “That’s right. It’s Henry.”

“Why do you call that man out of his name?”

“When he stops hitting the sauce, I’ll correct the record.”

“He drinks?”

“Like a gotdamn fish! Tommy’s got him going to AA meetings, and he’s supposed to be clean and sober now, but I’m not buying it. He’s still packing it in. Maybe not on duty, but he’s still packing it in.” Sal grinned. “He hates my guts for knowing his little secret.”

Gemma considered Sal. “You don’t care about the hate, do you?”

“Of course I don’t care. Why should I care?”

“Most people do. For PC if nothing else.”

“Fuck PC!” Sal said with some agitation, and Gemma laughed. “I’m not politically correct and I’ll never be,” he went on. “I hate political correctness! I loathe it. I call it like I see it and if people are offended by that, then tough. He’s a lush, so what? If I was a boozer and somebody called me out on it, what I’m getting all hot with them for? They told the truth! Like the N-word,” he said in that heavy Jersey-Italian accent of his, and Gemma’s heart began to pound.

“What about the N-word?” she cautiously asked him.

“I see these stank-ass rappers around here using it like it was a term of endearment, they use it all the time, but as soon as a white guy uses it then he’s a racist.”

“It’s different, Sal.”

“What’s different about it? Why can’t we white guys use it as a term of endearment too?”

“Because nine times out of ten that’s not why white guys would use it.

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