To look at Stevie, you'd think he was an easy-going everyday Joe, a small businessman, a guy just trying to make a living, a regular guy. In many ways he was just that, except his financial interests, such as they were, operated on the questionable side of the legality of his environs.
He was a man without qualms. He was a man at peace with himself.
A guy wants to bet on a number or on a horse, what harm? You favor one basketball team over another, so what? Wanna play cards for money? All things are possible and he could accommodate. He never got into the whores or the dope. Never had to.
A dapper and well dressed man, he delighted in simple pleasures, his house, his garden, good food, fine wine and an accompanying cigar... His position meant that he chose his friends wisely and seldom; he would never have admitted to being lonely, but perhaps he was. He would be 59 this year, Joan would have been 60. But his wife hadn't seen even the 59, breast cancer. Never smoked a fucking cigarette in her life. Go figure.
Stephano was 5' 8” and weighed around two hundred pounds. He was in good physical condition. He had a lot of stress in his life and exercised to cope. His green eyes and salt and pepper hair suited him, boyish smile and dark bedroom eyes. He was a very attractive man.
Since losing his wife though he was very lonely. Joan his wife was his only real love. He was faithful to her till the very end. Women were always flocking around him, but he never gave them the time of day. Never had. Although he flirted and well, his only real love was that of his wife. Although, she had been gone now for the past three years.
He was really hoping to retire soon. He just was tired of being in the game. There was just so much stress and he had made a fortune and just wanted to relax and enjoy his money. He was a real family man. He was very close with his daughter, Pauline and his son Johnnie. Maybe not close enough.
His daughter Pauline worked as a public defender in Quantock County in West Virginia. Her twin, Johnnie Paul, was a magazine publisher in NYC. They exchanged Christmas and birthday cards with him. He followed their careers with a distant pride, hers in the newspapers, JP's in the gossip columns.
Today, he was meeting with his accountant, Larry Ivanov, and his right-hand guy, Carlo Zitti.
"So, RIGHT NOW, if you're looking at retirement, it's about 12 million dollars give or take about forty bucks," explained Ivanov. "You're a rich man, Stevie, you wanna go, go now."
Don Stephano drew on his cigar. "Thank you, Larry... I think it's time. Put it on paper, the car's downstairs." He moved to kiss the accountant on both cheeks, smiling at Carlo as the Russian winced. Ivanov departed.
Carlo Zitti joined his boss in a Henessey brandy as both men relaxed now. "There's a thing..."
"What fucking THING?" snarled Stevie. "I'm going out on my boat this afternoon. What Fucking Thing?"
"Cricket's outside," said Carlo.
"So get a fucking exterminator. CRICKET WHO WHAT???!!!"
"Cricket Vaughn, Charlie's wife..."
"Who the fuck is Cricket? Who the fuck is Charlie Vaughn?"
"He's one of Tommy's, he's into us..."
"Into us how much"
"200 gee's..."
"Fuck. Wait a minute... Charlie Vaughn? The singer guy?"
"The same. America's New Crooner..."
"200 gee's... And vigourish."
"What does Tommy say?"
Here, Carlo Zitti made a gun motion towards his own head. "Tommy says he'll cover the shit but wants to make an example."
"Fucking Tommy... Whatever."
"But she's here."
"Who's here?"
"Cricket Vaughn."
"Who the fuck is Cricket Vaughn???"
"Charlie Vaughn's wife."
"Her name is fucking CRICKET? Is she ENGLISH?"
"No... Her name is Jemima. The guys called her Jiminy back in the day. Jiminy Cricket?"
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"It's a Disney movie, BAMBI or shit..."
"So what does the bitch want?"
"I think she wants you not to let Tommy kill the crooner..."
"Jesus Christ! Is she cute?"
"Meh, 40s, big tits, red hair, pretty face, kinda Irish lookin'... Ass like a 20 year old stripper... "
"Let her in on your way out..."
*
The door opened and Cricket Vaughan walked into Mr. Santangelo’s office. Walked? Think swayed. Sashayed. Glided even. Heels clicking, tapping on the parquet until she reached the Persian carpet that underlaid the big desk. She stood waiting, staring into his face, hip cocked, awaiting an invite to be seated. He let her wait.
She wore business attire, a black suit, black silk blazer over a crisp white button down shirt and a short black skirt. He noticed she had left the top three buttons unfastened. She had a full chest and made sure that her cleavage was visible. He guessed stockings over her black heels. Good gams.
Cricket was a very attractive woman.
She was forty years old and had red straight hair that she always wore in an elastic band. She had porcelain white skin and piercing green eyes. She was blessed with large breasts. She was one of those women that was really pretty and when she wore her makeup it really didn’t look like she was wearing any. Her face was just flawless. She was tall about 5’7.” All long legs and a great ass.
Mr. Santangelo extended his hand and she shook it. He had a very firm handshake. He was a very attractive man, she noticed, well dressed if slightly tired-looking. You could tell he liked the finer things in life. He had lots of art work hanging on the walls. He had a beautiful mahogany desk with a green leather top, gold rivet fixings. There was an antique brown cracked Chesterfield couch in his office. A wet bar in the corner.
“Mr. Santangelo, thank you for this meeting. I'm Cricket Vaughn.”
"Mrs Vaughn..."
"Call me Cricket... I haven't been Mrs Vaughn ever, really. Cricket is fine."
Stephano fidgeted in the big leather seat. "I can't call you Cricket.," he murmered. "I fuckin' hate crickets. When I was in the army I did boot-camp in Parris Island. Those bastard crickets kept me awake for seven fuckin' weeks straight... 'Chirp, chirp...' Bastards... You got a real name?"
"You serious?"
"Yeah... I'm always serious, Mrs Vaughn."
"Jemima O'Hara."
"So you're Italian?"
"Fuck you, Mr Santangelo. Call me Jemima."
"My grandmother's name was Jemima... It's weird to call you that..."
"Then call me Jem."
"Like the diamond?"
"Yeah, but with a 'J'..."
"Jem?"
"See? That didn't hurt...