“Well, I understand that a little, I guess. They want to do it on their own. I hope that they don’t realize too late what a gift having you for a father is to them. You are their greatest fan, their silent ally.”
“Ally! That’s the word I was looking for. So. Marco. How can I help you? I want to be your ally.”
I wasn’t proud of it but he was offering his hand. “I need a miracle, sultan.”
“Done. You tell Harry how much.”
“How did you know I wasn’t going to ask you to get rid of my wife?”
“Because, Marco, you would never do that. You’d die first. And that’s why you are going to protect my sons. I won’t murder for you, but money? I can do money.”
The station was just about to air Shannon’s interview when I got the call that the car had arrived. I slipped on some shorts and flip flops and dashed downstairs shirtless, doing a skidding stop on the smooth marble floor of the Oceanis grand lobby. I felt I was playing Poseidon in a movie or something, with all the colorful larger-than-life mermaids and sea creatures suspended from the multi-storied ceiling and depicted in beautiful stained-glass windows that gave the feeling of being under water. I was hoping I could get back upstairs and watch the news in time to see Shannon’s program.
When my forward movement stopped, I noticed I’d attracted quite a bit of attention. A couple of ladies sitting in the bar gave me a loud whistle and a toast, already smashed at ten in the morning.
I took my bow and ran outside to behold my new toy. It was cherry apple red—the most brilliant red I’d ever seen, that lipstick “I’m in trouble” kind of red, or the red a naughty girl would wear to church. The ivory and caramel leather interior was stunning. No one would ever mistake this beast for the cockpit of an airplane, and that was why I loved it so. Light Ash dash, heavily grained, made a gorgeous contrast to the sleek lines and tan colored top, which was down, of course. She looked dripping wet for me. I was going to have so much fun in this baby.
“Mr. Gambini?” A tall, handsome twenty-something kid came toward me wearing one of Tony’s white polo shirts with the Bentley logo on it, extending his hand to give me the keys.
“You won’t really need these, but you might have to valet park. Come on and let’s get your thumbprint recorded, shall we?”
He looked like he was having as much fun as I was. I pressed my thumb against a tiny square piece of what looked like glass embedded in the shiny chrome of the driver’s handle. His fingers pressed tightly on top until the few seconds passed and a discrete beep came from somewhere on the dash, indicating my fingerprint had been stored.
“So, if someone wanted to steal this car, they’d have to bring me with them, right?” I barked, turning heads in the entrance.
The kid had a healthy laugh, showing perfectly straight and brilliant white teeth. “Well, your thumb, at least. And if it’s detached, before it gets too wrinkly.”
It was funny. The kid was okay. I immediately wondered if he needed a job, since everyone was quitting these days.
I focused back on my new ride. “Can I take it for a spin?”
“Of course, sir. She’s all yours. You want me first to show you all the bells and whistles?”
“I guess I can be patient. How long will this take?”
“Seriously? About forty-five minutes.” He didn’t flinch, so I knew he was telling me the truth.
About halfway through the demonstration, Corrine, the pretty concierge, came running out with her arms full of beautiful camel-colored blankets with the distinctive swimming O that was the logo for the hotel, embroidered in blue at one corner.
“Pop the trunk and I’ll place these inside,” she said with a confident grin.
I hit the wrong toggle and started the windshield wipers, getting water on the leather front seats. She handed the stack of blankets to me and quickly rubbed the seats down with one of the monogrammed towels she had also brought.
“I’ll just get you another, Mr. Gambini,” she gushed, covering up my misstep.
“I’m so sorry. I guess I should have paid more attention.”
The delivery salesman pressed a button on the key fob and the trunk popped open slowly without making a sound. Inside was a matching set of his and hers luggage pieces, made from the same darker accent leather on the interior, so it tastefully matched the car. He found a space between the two pieces and laid the blankets down.
Corrine was running off to the lobby area and as an afterthought, turned and waved at me. “Don’t go away. I have something else to show you. Wait right there!” She was jumping like an oversized piece of popcorn.
The salesman completed his instruction, showed me the compartment where the leather-bound car manual was located. Tony had provided him with my insurance information, so that was tucked inside. The booklet holding everything was embossed with my initials, MG.
Corrine came clickety clacking down the entrance steps, taking what sounded like little bird hops, carrying a wicker basket with a bottle of champagne nestled inside, surrounded by fresh towels.
“It has no ice, just gel packs, which you can re-freeze and re-use.”
“Or, you can store them in your little cooler in your trunk, Mr. Gambini,” Tony’s guy said.
“You have to be kidding me?” she gasped. “You have a refrigerator in your car? That’s amazing. You could drive from here to San Francisco, and never have to stop for cold beer!”
Under her arm, she held another folded fluffy white towel to replace the one she’d used on the seats. They had my initials on them as well.
“I guess you can steal the towels here, Marco,” said the kid.
I knew I’d already missed Shannon’s show, and figured she might have saved me a
