Presents !! for You — A Serialization !!
And so it was… To honor a great Lady and FANTASTIC storyteller, we are offering glimpses of her first published book:
my life in the Middle of the Mob
As printed…
We begin at the beginning. Enjoy!! —The Gang
Note: This should be about an 8 to 12-minute read, though your mileage may vary…
My life in the
MIDDLE OF THE MOB
BY
C. J. Draper
******
OG Page 5
There is in every true woman’s heart
a spark of heavenly fire,
which lies dormant in the broad daylight of prosperity;
but which kindles up, and beams and blazes
in the dark hour of adversity
–Washington Irving
******
THE LADIES – It Started in Vegas
The two cousins were born in the same year, in the same hospital, delivered by the same doctor, just eight days apart. For the first eighteen years of their lives they grew up in houses that sat side by side. Then, Lena left for college on the West Coast and Samantha married and remained in North Sable; birthday and holiday cards barely kept them connected. Oh, they heard snippets of each other’s lives through Lena’s father, Max, and Samantha’s mother, Maria, who were brother and sister and remained living next door to one another until their deaths.
When Lena’s father died at age one hundred, Sami phoned her cousin to offer her condolences. After fifty-six years since they’d last seen each other, with most of their existence behind them, the two women decided to reconnect in Las Vegas, the only vacation spot of their childhood.
The long corridor with gleaming floors running through the lobby of The Linq Hotel & Casino led patrons dangerously close to the various casinos and bars to the check-in desk. The two cousins spotted each other midway. Lena recognized Samantha first, from all the family photos that her father had passed along.
Sami always looked as though she had just stepped out of a magazine article on how to age gracefully: chic hair style with no hint of gray, nails and toes manicured in bright red with lips to match, and a hint of mascara. Lena, an older version of her in her former college hippie days: no make-up, practical shoes, and comfy attire in a flowing, ankle-length flowered dress with long gray hair pinned back from her aging face. For two seventy-four–year-olds, they both looked adorable.
“Sami, Sami,” Lena shouted and waved as she hobbled toward her cousin.
Samantha shouted back, “Lena, is that you? I hear you, honey, but I can’t see you.”
Lena left her four-wheel suitcase spinning as she threw her arms around her cousin’s neck; they hugged, cried, and laughed all at the same time.
“God, Sami, you’ve hardly changed at all,” Lena said, looking shocked. “What in the world do you do to look like this, plastic surgery?”
“Well, yes, just one face-lift and about ten gallons of Botox. “Let me look at you, sweet cousin,” she said pulling her glasses out of her purse. “I should wear them at all times because I can’t see my hand in front of my face without them, but glasses would make me look older,” she said, as she placed them on her nose.
She examined her cousin for a few disapproving seconds.
“You’re completely gray, I mean it’s a beautiful silvery gray. But so…well… you know, gray. Why did you go gray?” Sami asked.
“I went to a women’s retreat to boost my feminine power and a very nice lesbian told me to stop dyeing my hair because I needed to let my wisdom show,” Lena explained.
“I imagine Doctor Phil would ask, ‘How is that working for you?’”
“Well, I’m saving a hundred and twenty-five bucks every six weeks at the salon so I can afford to buy you an expensive drink. Come on, Sami,” Lena said, “let’s check these bags with the bellman and go over there,” she said, pointing to the nearby 3535 Bar.
The two ladies struggled up the five steps leading to the bar and sat on the very end, as far away as possible from the sound of Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance” blaring through the loud speakers.
“What is it with this town, is everybody deaf?” Sami commented.
“Well, if you’re not when you get here, you will be by the time you leave.”
“What can I get for you two lovely ladies?” the tall, tanned, dark-haired, twenty-something bartender asked.
“What did you say?” Sami asked, motioning for the bartender to come near as she leaned in close enough to touch noses.
“I said, what can I get for you?” he repeated, smiling, and moving back an inch.
“I don’t suppose you’re available, are you?” Sami teased.
Samantha attempted to brush her hair back, but her hand collided with the glasses that she had forgotten were on her nose. She snatched them off her face quickly and attempted to be coy.
“I haven’t seen my cousin for fif—.” She stopped the giveaway number from coming out of her mouth. “A few years,” she said, putting her arm around Lena, “and that calls for two double shots of the best tequila you have.”
“Are you kidding?” Lena protested. “I can’t possibly drink a double shot of tequila, Sami, you’ll be picking me up off the floor.”
The bartender reached for the Patrón Silver perched on the glass shelf, then bent over to retrieve the fresh limes.
“Isn’t he gorgeous?” Samantha asked Lena, as her eyes drifted from his handsome face to his perfect ass.
“Sami, he’s young enough to be your grandson for God’s sake.”
“Grandson? Thanks a lot. You really know how to hurt a person.”
Just then the bartender set down the two double shots with a salt shaker and two limes.
“Okay,” Sami said, as she lifted her glass, “come on, honey, we have to toast.” Lena lifted her glass obediently.
“Here’s to the seventy-four years we’ve had and whatever time we have left. Down the hatch.”
“Sami, are you crazy? I can’t swallow this whole thing.”
“Sure you can. Lick the back of your hand and pour a little salt on it like this,” Sami said, demonstrating, “hold your nose and drink until it’s gone, then suck on that lime.”
They finished the tequila simultaneously; then both started choking and laughing alternately. Lena sneezed four times in a row, causing Sami to double over with laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Lena asked, “I don’t know why, but ever since I turned seventy, I sneeze after I choke. It drives me crazy,” she said, laughing.
When she had recovered from the giggles and the tequila had stopped burning her throat, Samantha looked deep into her cousin’s eyes.
“How in the world are you, my sweet cousin?” Sami asked.
“Okay, you asked, so let me get it out of the way and then we won’t talk about it anymore, agreed? I’ll start from the top of my body and work my way down. I’m getting cataracts and night driving is hazardous. I have constant sinus infections and the antibiotics caused a rotator cuff tear, and a tendon tore away from my shoulder, just one of my many surgeries. I’ve had five root canals in the last three years. I had a complete hysterectomy when I was forty-eight, due to a dermoid tumor that burst inside me; it was growing hair, teeth, and bones.”
Sami grimaced.
“I know, don’t ask. I have heart disease; my knees are shot; and the padding on my feet has worn so thin I need to wear orthotics in all my shoes. That’s it in a nutshell. How in the hell are you?” Lena asked.
“Well, not that bad, honey. But then, I try not to dwell on the negative. Right now, there isn’t a pain in my body; I can’t even feel my face,” Samantha said.
Lena touched her own cheeks and began laughing hysterically. “Me either.”
Sami ordered another round and this time they downed the shots without pinching their noses. They both agreed that the second round was amazingly much smoother than the first. The tequila left the two ladies giggling hysterically as they left the bar and headed for the Strip.
They roamed Las Vegas Boulevard until dark and ended up in front of the Bellagio fountains holding their half-empty liter Margarita glasses. Tears streamed down their faces as they watched the water dance to the voice of Luciano Pavarotti, one of the few memories they would have of that tequila-infused night. They took a taxi back to The Linq, retrieved their bags and checked into their room. The desk clerks were tittering as they watched the cousins swerving down the corridor toward the elevators and quickly sent a bellman to help keep them from hitting other patrons with their cases.
They slept soundly, well into the ten o’clock hour the following morning. When Lena’s eyes struggled to half slits to the blurry view of Sami lying in the adjacent queen bed, fully clothed, with shoes still on her feet, and wig askew, she sat up, forcing her eyes to open fully. As she glanced down at her own previous day’s attire and caught sight of her disheveled image in the mirror next to the bed, she gasped.
“Oh God!” Lena whined out loud. “How did I ever get this old?’
“We are not old, at least I’m not,” Sami said, as she struggled up in a stupor to her own reflection. “Yuck, you’re right; I guess we are a little old this morning. What do you expect after a wild night of gambling and drinking? Did we try to jump into the Bellagio fountain last night?”
“You did,” Lena replied. “But the nice police officer let us off with a warning. Now that was one time our age was a big advantage.” Lena lowered her head into her hands. “I feel like shit.”
“Nothing a day at the spa can’t cure,” Sami said, lifting the phone to make reservations. “They have some sort of salt room there that is supposed to cleanse your lungs of smoke, clear your sinuses, soften your skin, and raise your boobs a few inches. What say we get thee to the massage table?”
After the steam room, Jacuzzi, and an hour’s massage the two ladies helped themselves to the complimentary coffee and fruit and proceeded to the salt room. The yellow glow from a back-lit wall cast a golden hue on their skin, as their nude bodies went limp in the comfortable lounge chairs. The attendant turned on the salt mechanism and left them alone, saying she would be back in fifty minutes. Within seconds, they could taste the salt on their lips and see the light powdering of it on the dark floor.
“We do look younger already, don’t you think, Lena?” Sami asked, glancing first at her cousin’s body, then at her own.
“Oh yeah, right, at least twenty years have disappeared,” Lena said sarcastically. “Face it, Sami, it is all in the lighting. Three quarters of our lives are over and there isn’t a damn thing we can do about it.”
“Okay. I know, I know, but I don’t feel old,” Sami said. “There is still a lot more I want to do; but, I’m struggling to erase the black hole of my past, all the years of fear, insecurity, and abuse. The memories keep playing over and over in my head like a record stuck in a groove, you know? I need to get it out of my head before I go insane.”
They were silent; each in her own thoughts, then…
…You know, I have had a pretty crazy life, and I think it would make an interesting story. As a matter of fact, I talked to an author who is interested in writing a book about it. What do you think?
“You know, I have had a pretty crazy life, and I think it would make an interesting story. As a matter of fact, I talked to an author who is interested in writing a book about it. What do you think?” Sami asked.
“Well, that depends. What makes your story any different from others?” Lena asked.
“For one thing,” Sami responded in a lowered voice, “I got entangled with the mafia and I feel very lucky to have survived. I know people who didn’t.
Lena knew that her cousin had been dealt a tough hand but didn’t really know just how tough.
“Well, I think you should go for it then. Will this writer pay you for the story or do you pay her to write it?” Lena asked.
“I’m not sure; we didn’t discuss details. But I feel reluctant to open up to someone I don’t really know.”
Again, a long silence. Suddenly, Sami sat straight up and turned to her cousin.
“What about you, Lena?” Sami said, with excitement.
Oh no, my life has been pretty normal, nothing terribly interesting to write about,” Lena said.
“Not your life,” Sami continued. “Why don’t you write my story?”
“I’m not a writer, Sami. Even in college I never mastered a short story, let alone a book.”
“What are you talking about? I remember you won a writing contest when we were in high school. And weren’t you the editor of your college newspaper?” Sami reminded her.
“Yes,” Lena admitted. “That’s different from writing a book. If you have a published author interested in writing your life story―that’s amazing―you go with that.”
“But I don’t trust her. I would really trust you. Besides, it would be a way for us to stay connected.”
“Please?” Sami begged. “We could call each other on a specified night each week or email, text, and even meet up here in Vegas. It will be fun.”
Lena stared into the glowing, golden wall, then slowly started to nod her head yes; her eyes drifted up toward the ceiling, then darted left to right and back again.
“What do we have to lose?” Lena asked out loud, to no one in particular. “You tell me the stories and I’ll write them. When and how do we start?” she said, presenting her little finger for a pinky shake.
“Now, and from the beginning, right? No wait…the trouble started on the day I got married. My wedding introduced me to a world I would never have imagined.”
Sami leaned forward, put her elbows on her knees, and placed her chin on her folded hands as the record of memories began to play again.
-30-
That’s a Wrap…
Stay tuned to find out WHAT. HAPPENS. NEXT..
Stay tuned…
[Targeting 24 May for next installment]
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