The Gentleman's Club

Giovanni's POV 2

The next night, Grandfather and I prepared to head to The Gentleman's Club. I put on the clothes Nancy laid out for me while I showered. I can feel the buttons of a shirt, the material feels soft, expensive under my fingers. I feel the clasp of pants and a heavy coat, a bow tie. So, Nancy rented me a tux.

The thought makes me smile, just a little. When I attended my prom, I remember Mom and Nancy's smiling faces. Both of them coming to some kind of agreement that I looked adorable in tuxes. It ticked me off at the time—I was eighteen years old, I was definitely not adorable—but every time we went to an event, Mom and Nancy always made me wear a tux.

"Giovanni," Mom would always say, holding my face softly in her warm, soft hands. "You're so handsome. Like your father. You must wear tux's like this every time you go somewhere special. What if you meet the girl who will one day be your wife. Don't you want to look good for her?"

At that time, I remember thinking the idea of marriage seeming impossible. At the time, all I wanted was to have fun with my friends and flirt with as many girls as I could. The idea of marriage, the idea of loving one person, seemed so far away. Now, I still think marriage is impossible but for a different reason. I couldn't imagine a woman loving me, treating me like I was a man and not some kind of invalid hanging off of her arm and weighing her down.

I sighed, turning my gaze to the ceiling although I couldn't see it.

I'm sorry, Mom. I guess there isn't a woman out there for me. Not anymore.

***

As we stepped out of the car which was being chauffeured by the driver Grandfather had to hire after I went blind, I was even more wary to enter this place than I was before we got here. I could hear the shuffling of some other people moving toward where The Gentleman's Club was undoubtedly located. I was able to determine—based on my hearing which had vastly increased since I lost my sight—that the footsteps belonged to three women. Their footsteps were light and one of the women was talking to the bouncer who told them to wait.

I sighed. Already, I wish I could just be home. I have a stack of documents on my desk—different things that require either my approval or my disapproval—yet here I was, at a glorified brothel.

Grandfather takes my arm, making it so that I won't have to use my walking stick which is fine by me. I hate the thing.

"We'll go through the back entrance," Grandfather said, leading me forward. "I know how much you hate drawing too much attention to yourself."

I didn't answer, there was no need for me, too. Grandfather saw more than he let on. I thought I was getting good at covering up my discomfort. No doubt, when people realized I had shown myself to the public for the first time in a year, it would start. The whispers, the speculation that had followed me whenever I first took over DeLuca Enterprises.

Things like, "That poor boy. Lost his mother and his sight in one moment. Really makes you think doesn't it." Or, "The poor thing, can you imagine losing your sight. Ugh, I don't know what I'd do."

In all actuality, I guessed people thought they were being kind. To tell the truth, though, all those words—all that pity—made me grow to hate being around people. I didn't want to be surrounded by people who pitied me. I didn't want to be around people who thought of me the same way one would think of a dog with a limp, hobbling alone through a busy highway with no home.

All that pity just pissed me off.

After Grandfather led me this way and that and warned me when to step up and step down, we ended up in The Gentleman's Club. There was some kind of jazz music playing from some speakers and, although I couldn't see it, I could feel the wave of classiness the place exuded. Whoever owned this branch did a good job with it, that I was sure of.