After the show, he gave a a sloppy kiss on the lips and told me that he wished to spend some time with his girl. We drove to one of his favorite Irish pubs by the coast; it was very crowded, as well as boisterous and somewhat uncomfortable with the way people regarded my presence. Greedy eyes looked me over as Sal dragged me to a booth. My face was rather recognizable around town, especially in these bars where all the local drunks frequented Lucky Lolita's. I sat across from him, Salvatore stared back into my eyes with no hesitation. Everything about him was normal, apart from his hazel eyes. His eyes- they were older than he was, centuries older, with a thousand years worth of sadness and loss. And while his lips smiled and laughed occasionally, his eyes wanted to cry- and his eyes just did that. Only when he thought he was alone. But they were not necessarily focused on anything particular. His mind was absent, there was no light in his eyes. He was concentrating on something. Perhaps the clinks of the glasses, the many voices all around, or the old school music that played in the background. What an odd man, Salvatore. I only knew two things about him. First, his body. I liked my sex wild and aggressive... And second, that this man I claimed to love was the boss of Jersey's underground mafia.
I leaned forward and grabbed his hand once our drinks were brought. "Babe?" Still not saying a word, I sighed, needing a distraction from his lifeless gaze. I tuned into the loud conversation going on in the booth behind us. They had seen me walk into the bar. They were talking about me. A man voice went, "Didn't she start as a prostitute, that little whore girl back there from the theater?"
The waitress that had just brought us our drinks responded, "Well, I do know she started with her dancin' and stuff like that."
The man spoke again, his words came out slurred, probably one of those who often paid a visit to Lolita's, "But-"
In that moment Salvatore clenched his fists hard and pounded them forcefully upon the table, producing a resonant sound that got most people's attention. He stood up, faced the guy in the booth behind us, and cleared his throat. I sat back, awaiting with anxiety whatever the hell he was going to do.
"First of all her name's Francesca, not the whore back there!" He took a step closer to the table, his face calm, but eyes radiating anger. "Yeah, she started as a kid. No one wants to start out as a fucking prostitute or a murderer. Things happen that they can't control, and that's where they end up."
He directed his menacing gaze to the drunkard, leaning close to him. "For all I know you could turn into a millionaire or a homeless veteran with a stump for a leg."
Salvatore struck a fist onto the table, by now everyone out at the bar had their attention on him, eyes occasionally flickering over to me. He kept his head down, shaking it and bringing his voice to a desperate, quiet tone, "No one ever starts out in a bad place, they just end up there!"
All eyes shifted from a raging Salvatore, to me. Who the hell am I in this stupid world?
