Chapter Four
For years, Johnny had been aware of the deal that existed between his father and Sonny Corinthos. In exchange for some favor, a favor he knew nothing of and preferred to keep it that way, Sonny had agreed to allow his partner and enforcer, Jason Morgan, to train the Zacchara heir in order to prepare him to take over his father's business. However, despite the union that had been in place between their two organizations for more than half a decade, Johnny had never met the somewhat volatile yet charming Cuban, and he was not looking forward to their formal introduction.
What he knew of the other man he had learned through research. In today's day and age, it wasn't so hard to learn of the intimate dealings of your allies… or your enemies. All one had to do was be fairly competent with a computer and a whole fountain of information was practically laid at one's feet. Not even professional criminals could escape the spotlight of the media, and, from the bevy of articles he had found on Sonny Corinthos, Johnny knew the other man had not been shy in either his personal or his professional life.
However, Jason Morgan was a separate story all together. The younger man was reclusive and had been missing from Port Charles for quite some time. In fact, there was absolutely no evidence that he had even been in the United States during the past five years, and the Zacchara heir found himself feeling slightly envious of the hitman's freedom to travel and see the world. Whenever he had toured Europe, his father had been at his side, and, even if he wanted to take another trip, perhaps this time to a more exotic location, Anthony would insist that he take a whole contingent of guards with him. Paris or Paraguay, with several burly security experts, no one would be able to blend in and disappear.
Although he wouldn't admit it, Johnny was anxious about their impending meeting. While he wasn't so worried about Corinthos, for it was obvious that the man behind the curtain of spotlight at Corinthos and Morgan was the real wizard of their organization, he did have reservations about the Cuban's enforcer. Jason Morgan was world renowned at being the best in the business at what he did. He was smart, efficient, unsentimental, and practically flawless. With a steady trigger finger and an even steadier mind, Johnny could understand why his father wanted him to study under the enforcer.
Whether he wanted the family business or not, it was his, and the reality of the situation was that, if he didn't run it, someone else would, and that someone else might not be as tolerant or as level-headed as he believed himself to be. Basically, the Zacchara heir had realized that he was better off with the evil he already knew than one he was unfamiliar with, so, if he was going to eventually become the next mob boss of his father's organization, he was going to do so with as much knowledge and talent as he possibly could, and Jason Morgan could help him with that goal. So, not only was he slightly uneasy about meeting the famed trained gun, but he was also slightly eager as well.
While the entire situation could very well be a set-up with Corinthos wanting to initiate a power struggle, Johnny didn't think that Morgan would allow such an outright show of disrespect. Sonny Corinthos might be a loose cannon, but his enforcer played by the rules. He wouldn't allow his partner to stroll into the Zacchara home when he was invited for a peaceful meeting and orchestrate a hostile takeover, assassinating both Johnny and his father in their own music room. At the same time, with so many strong, independent, and powerful personalities in the same room at the same time, anything could happen.
To curb his own apprehension, the younger man sat perched at the family's piano. Although Anthony did not like the fact that his son played the instrument and played it so well, the Steinway had been a wedding present from the elder Zacchara to his second bride, Johnny's mother, and that sentimental value alone prevented Anthony from destroying the piano. As he played through the second part of Ravel's Gaspard de la Nuit, a fitting piece, Johnny felt for the mood that permeated the air that evening, he glanced over at his father and found him silently arranging roses into an intricate, exquisite bouquet. Just as playing the piano calmed him, Anthony Zacchara's roses offered the older man a sense of peace and serenity.
If he didn't know any better, the brunette heir would have been struck by the simplicity of the moment he shared with his only remaining parent, with the beauty, with the normalcy. To any outside observer, they would have seemed like the classical, educated father and son pair, lost in their own pleasing hobbies and oblivious to the rest of the world. The realization struck Johnny forcefully, making him skip a note to a piece he had memorized long ago, and it made him envious, once more, of those families who did routinely experience such quiet, harmonious evenings at home.
What he wouldn't give to go to work from nine to five every day as a doctor, or a lawyer, or an accountant, and then come home to have dinner and rewind with an hour or two spent playing the piano. But such companionable silences were a luxury in the Zacchara household, and, though Johnny could play the piano when he was at his own place in the city, it never felt as right as that particular moment did. Perhaps it as too lonely at his penthouse apartment, or maybe it was the sheer fact that such liberties there were welcome and acceptable and not granted that made them feel so ordinary and mundane.
Before he could nail down an answer to his quandary, Sonny Corinthos was shown into the room, and all previous endeavors ceased. Assuredly and without invitation, the dark-complexioned man made himself at home in the Zacchara music room, striding across the vast space to pour himself a drink before choosing Johnny's father's own chair to sit down upon. But Anthony never said anything, apparently prepared to make concessions towards the cocky Cuban, and he joined his father in front of the fireplace, preferring to remain standing beside the mantel as the elder Zacchara took a seat adjacent to the visiting mob boss on another, less comfortable chair.
Sonny was the first to speak. "I hope you will excuse my partner. Although when I made the arrangements for this meeting with you I had every intention of him accompanying me, I'm afraid that Jason is still getting resettled into town. You see, he just arrived back in Port Charles yesterday morning."
"Cutting your deadline pretty close there, Corinthos," Anthony commented, neither showing disapproval nor anger. "You must be pretty confident in your enforcer agreeing to the terms of our conditions."
"Jason will do what I want him to."
"Is that so," the Zacchara crime boss mused. "And here I thought that the two of you were amigos. I didn't realize he was just another one of your lap dogs. Maybe he isn't the right man for this job. Maybe, if he rolls over so easily for you, Corinthos, I don't want him to be the one to teach my son the ropes of this business. Maybe I should end our agreement right here and right now and seek my own payment for the favor I bestowed upon you all those years ago."
Snappily pettily, the Cuban demanded, "I wouldn't recommend such an idea. We had a deal, and I will live up to my end of it."
"Yeah, but the question now is will Morgan, and, if he does, is he the man you presented him to be?"
"As you said, Jason is not only my business partner, but he is also my friend, and it's because of this fact," Sonny Corinthos explained, "that he will do this for me. While he won't like it, he'll consider it a personal favor, and he's never once turned me down before. As for your concerns towards whether or not Jason is the man you want to train your son…" The opposing mobster's voice faded, and he smiled crookedly. "Anthony, I think we both know that was a bluff. There's no one better than Jason Morgan, and he's my enforcer. If you want his help, if you want my help, I would start to tow the line a little better if I were you." Standing up, the Cuban placed his glass down harshly on the table beside his wing backed chair. "Do not threaten me, Anthony," Sonny warned, "because you won't like the consequences."
With that, the Cuban strolled out of the music room, leaving without permission just as he had entered. "Well, well, well, looks like somebody has a few buttons he doesn't like pressed." Smirking wickedly, Anthony stood and observed his son. "Still, I think it's important that we secure Mr. Morgan's cooperation on our own, free of Mr. Corinthos' lofty and ultimately delusional assurances." Approaching Johnny, the heir's father patted his son's cheek roughly. "Lucky you for, my boy, I have just the thing to keep Morgan practically panting after us, catering to our every whim."
The don disappeared amidst a cacophony of cackles, his amusement remaining behind him longer after his physical form had already left the room. Suddenly, Johnny was no longer nervous about his impending association with the notorious hitman; rather, he was petrified of what secret ace his father had hidden up his sleeve, and, for some reason, he had the uneasy suspicion Anthony's means of controlling Jason Morgan had everything to do with his own guilt and sins from four and half years earlier. How everything was all connected, though, he wasn't sure, but he was definitely going to find out.
} ~ {
Nadine's world felt completely off kilter. It was like she was perpetually stuck on the launch to Spoon Island during a storm but with no land in sight. It made her feel queasy, unsettled, and neither experience was at all pleasant. To make matters worse, not only had her own life recently been turned upside down, but, now, she was also interfering with her little brother's as well.
Since the day she had returned from her honeymoon, the petite blonde's life had revolved around her husband. She organized her schedule to coincide with Nikolas', cancelling her own plans to see to her spouse's needs. They ate their meals when Nikolas was either hungry or when he could squeeze in a few moments for sustenance, they went to bed when he was tired, and they got up when he became awake. They went to the restaurants he liked, saw only the movies he wanted to see, and they socialized with the people he approved of and no one else.
When she wasn't seeing to her husband's needs, she took care of their children. The one concession Nadine had demanded from the prince was that their kids would not be raised by nannies. While she wouldn't object to private tutors when both Spencer and Laura became of age, no one else would feed their children, bathe their children, or read to them their bedtime stories. And, oddly enough, for a few years, the nurse had been content living that life, not happy but content. If she focused all her energy and love upon the kids, then she could forget about how unhappy she was in her marriage, and it wasn't until Nikolas demanded a divorce that true realization of just how lonely and depressed she was crashed down upon the young woman.
Being back to work full time helped. Although it had only been a month, Nadine was already making friends, but she found that the majority of them were older than she was. Their kids were grown and gone, so, despite the fact that they could give her parenting advice, they could no longer sympathize with her trivial plights. Several of her fellow nurses were divorcees themselves, so that provided her with a venting outlet. Some had moved on and remarried, while others remained single, satisfied with just being free of their former spouses and in no hurry to saddle themselves with another husband anytime soon.
And she had Laura, too. Of anyone, her four year old daughter would be able to keep Nadine sane during her divorce proceedings, not because the soon-to-be single mother could lean upon her little girl but because she knew that her daughter needed her to be there no matter what. To Laura, it didn't matter whether or not her mommy was sad; she still deserved Nadine's full attention and care, and, although taking care of Laura would remind the blonde nurse that she didn't have her son with her, she also knew it was better to have one of her children than neither of them.
At first, she had considered leaning upon her brother, and she had run directly to him the day before, literally crying upon his shoulder when the reality of her situation came crashing down upon her. For some insipid reason, Nadine had believed that her husband would be a gentleman during their divorce, that he would put aside their personal differences to do what was best for the kids, but she should have known better. Spencer was his last connection to Emily and his future heir, and, if nothing else had been impressed upon her spouse by his uncle, the idea of continuing the Cassadine family legacy had been. No, their separation was going to get messy, and Damien, this time, would not be able to clean it up for her. She wouldn't allow him to.
He had a life of his own to lead. Between his classes at PCU, his work for Miss Miller, and any social life he might have, Damien had a full plate, and she wasn't about to foist her own mistakes upon him. She had married Nikolas, she had made the decision to not only be Spencer's stepmother but to also adopt a daughter with the prince, and she was the one getting a divorce. While she would have done anything to have her Aunt Rayleen still alive and standing beside her while her husband left her, such futile hopes were just a waste of breath and time.
So, that's why she was here, seated at a small, round table inside of Kelly's diner, waiting for her brother to meet her for a late dinner, and skipping yet another black tie hospital function. After getting off of work and picking up Laura from daycare, she had called the young computer hacker, requesting his presence at the family eatery. Not only did she want to apologize for losing her control the night before and to make sure that he was alright after pulling practically an all-nighter, but she also thought it was important to start living a normal life. She was getting a divorce; she didn't have the plague. Thousands of people got divorced every month, maybe even every week. She had nothing to be embarrassed about, and it was time for her and her daughter to quit hiding out in their apartment. The first step to doing so was a nice, quiet, family dinner out on the town… or, at least, a partial one.
Nadine smiled as she witnessed her brother come scurrying into the dockside establishment, his small person a bundle of barely restrained energy. She should have known that a lack of sleep wouldn't stop him from being his usual, full of life self. Plus, he was a college student, and college students were used to such erratic sleeping habits. While it had been a few years for the petite nurse, she had been a college student once herself, and she knew exactly what trials and tribulations all college students put their bodies through.
"Greetings and salutations, dear sister," Damien practically gushed as he fell into the chair opposite to where she herself was sitting. "I trust that The Jackal has not kept you waiting long." Turning towards his only niece, her brother playfully ruffled the little girl's hair. "Hey, squirt."
As only a prim and proper future princess would, Laura gently placed her napkin in her lap before returning her uncle's welcome. "Good evening, Uncle Damien," and her seriousness made the young man laugh heartily.
"Don't worry," Nadine reassured him. "We just got here ourselves."
"Excellent," Spinelli replied. "And how was your day, antiseptic and alleviating?"
To answer him, the soon-to-be divorcee said, "tedious and tiring." To clarify, she continued, "I was late getting into the hospital this morning, so, for punishment, Epiphany made me work on paperwork all day. What about you? I hope you know that I really am sorry that I kept you up so late last night."
"Do not worry your pretty, blonde head about The Jackal for a moment more. I was fine, a bit rusty this morning, but, as soon as I indulged in an orange soda or two, I was back to my habitually productive self. Miss Miller had no complaints about her grasshopper's efficiency this beautiful, spring day."
Grinning, Nadine rolled her eyes at her brother's verbose ways. "That's good to hear, Damien."
"A sentiment I cannot extend to the fact that you continue to insist upon using my dreaded, most reviled first name."
Just then, their waitress came up, taking both their drink and meal orders. Because all three of them, Nadine, Spinelli, and Laura, frequented the small diner quite often, they knew the menu, what they liked, and what they disliked on it without even having to glance at the laminated, folded sheets of paper, so they didn't need time to deliberate. Once alone again, both of the siblings went to talk first with the nurse bowing out and relinquishing the moment to her brother.
"So, I have news of a positive origin from Miss Miller."
"Oh," the mother asked, sounding somewhat distracted. Damien often spoke of his employer, and, though the two of them got along quite famously for two individuals so utterly dissimilar, there was little that Nadine found herself either agreeing with or having in common with the respected if not slightly disconcerting attorney.
"Although she herself does not practice family law, nor does she have a spare moment currently on her calendar, she has agreed to look into finding you the best legal mind available, second only in arbitration skills to herself."
Puzzled, the petite blonde asked, "for what?"
"Why, for your divorce proceedings, of course," the young computer hacker persisted. "Last night, you told me of The Pompous Prince's outrageous demands and decrees, and I was most distressed. So, this morning, I sought the always informative advice of my formidable employer, and she said that it was of absolute necessity that you seek your own legal counsel. The Cadbury Bunny simply won't do."
Snapping, Nadine hissed, "his name is Mr. Elsberry." Upon seeing her brother's hurt expression, she softened her voice and apologized. "I'm sorry, Damien. I shouldn't have yelled at you."
"No, you shouldn't have," he agreed, "but The Jackal also understands that you are under an unmerited amount of stress at the moment, and I would rather you take said stress out upon me than upon La Petit Princess Squirt."
"Well, I disagree. I just need to learn to push down my anger. After all, you're not the one that I'm mad at."
"Perhaps I may suggest an alternative proposal," Spinelli contended. "It is not healthy to ignore one's feelings, and Miss Miller often speaks fondly of her yoga classes. She claims that they both cleanse her of her ire and limber her appendages for better…" His words trailed off as his glance zeroed in on a very aptly interested Laura. Swallowing thickly, the computer genius simply concluded his previous statement with, "flexibility."
Nadine laughed, though, and it was a pleasant sound, shattering through the tension that had previously been shrouding the three diners. "As for seeking separate legal counsel, I really just don't want to irritate Nikolas any further."
"Ah," her brother commented, bowing his head gracefully as if conceding a point. "I do believe you are referencing the wise, old proverb concerning a temperamental tiger and a vertically challenged prodding device. As you see, I, too, have not yet forgotten our astute Aunt Rayleen's teachings. Not that such a thing would even be possible. She drilled those adages into our…"
The hacker's words were cut off and drowned out by a fervent, emotional little boy screaming and hurtling himself across the room and into his stepmother's arms. "Mommy Nadine," Spencer enthused, his little arms wrapping tightly around the nurse's neck.
Before the blonde could reply, though, an unfamiliar voice spoke up as the stranger who owned it uncurled the little prince's arms. "Come, Master Cassadine. It's time to leave."
"But we just got here," the five year old protested. "I'm hungry, and you said I could have chicken fingers since I was a good boy today. Plus, Mommy's here, and Laura, and even Uncle Spin."
"High five for the kid who didn't call me by my insufferable moniker," Spinelli offered, holding his hand up for his nephew. The gesture was not returned.
"I'm sorry, Spencer," the woman who was obviously his newly hired nanny explained, "but your father gave me direct orders. You are to have absolutely no contact with Miss Crowell."
"You know, not that the name is anything I am particularly fond of, but I am still Mrs. Cassadine, you know, and Spencer is my son," Nadine defended. "I really don't see how it's any of your business to keep me from him or how Nikolas has the power to tell you to do so."
"Mr. Cassadine is my employer, and, according to him, the deceased Mrs. Emily Cassadine is Spencer's mother, not you. I'm sorry, ma'am, but I have orders to call the police if you make a scene, and, frankly, I don't think such a thing would be appropriate for either of the children to see."
"No, I agree." Hopefully, the young mother asked, "can I just hug him goodbye?"
Not completely cruelly but, at the same time, not helpful either, the older woman denied her request. "Perhaps another time," the nanny offered. With that, the two of them disappeared, Spencer fighting his caregiver every step of the way as he struggled, and squirmed, and called out for his mom. By the time they disappeared from the diner, everyone's eyes were on a crying Nadine, and most of them had tears of their own illuminated their various gazes.
Politely ignoring them, the soon-to-be divorcee retook her seat, refolded her napkin across her lap, and met her only sibling's concerned and gentle expression. "I've changed my mind. Please, tell Miss Miller that I will appreciate any help she can give me, and the sooner she can provide me with a competent divorce lawyer's name the better. If Nikolas wants this separation to get ugly, he has no idea how dirty I can be. This is war."
} ~ {
Alan Quartermaine had been to so many hospital functions that, really, they no longer held any excitement or surprise for him. Dinner, bazaars, charity benefits, they were all just a colorful blur where too many pompous speeches were given (he himself was guilty of a few of those) and too many toasts were offered. Sure, as chief of staff of General Hospital, he realized why such events were important and why his presence at them was required, but they contained no hidden thrills. If he could get away with it, he would sleep through them, but Monica would be embarrassed, and his mother would be appalled, so Alan continued to be the dutiful husband and son, smiling for all but saying very little.
The one highlight to such events was the meals. Prime rib, chicken cordon bleu, roast beef, shrimp cocktail, rack of lamb, stuffed sole… whatever the meat, he liked it. Fresh and tender, the hospital board, thanks to Nikolas Cassadine, knew how to satisfy a hungry man. The salads were always made of the crispest greens, the little, round potatoes were always seasoned to perfection, and the rolls could melt in a man's mouth. And the dessert… it rivaled sex… with crazy Lucy Coe.
His fingers were sticky with butter, and he was positive that he had spilled some sauce from his broccoli onto his tie earlier, but Alan didn't really care. Audrey Hardy was up on the stage, awarding one of his nurses with the RN of the year award, but he was too busy feasting on his Cornish hen to really pay attention. It wasn't until his pain in the butt wife… whom he loved dearly… elbowed him in the side that he even lifted his face from his plate.
"What," he whispered, his annoyance at being interrupted evident but completely ignored by Monica.
"Look around this room," she directed him, and he obliged her sullenly. "Don't you notice something off… something that upsets you?"
"Well, it's obvious you have," Alan commented when he noticed nothing unusual. "You haven't even touched your salad, and, normally, you're all about the rabbit food."
Delivering daggers in his direction, the cardiologist returned, "someone in this marriage has to. If you're not careful, Georgie Porgy, in a few years, they'll have to roll you down the hospital hallways, and they'll have to use the service elevator to get you from floor to floor."
"They," he repeated rhetorically. "And where will you be, dear wife?"
"I'll be with a much younger, much more attractive, fit doctor, thank you very much," Monica retorted. "So, stop eating for seven already. You're not carrying sextuplets for crying out loud."
"Why you… I should divorce you, you no good, cheating…"
The chief of staff's rant was cut off by another physician sitting at their table leaning over and quite comically shushing the bickering couple. Contritely, they both ended their more so playful than heated argument. Showing his spouse his remorse, Alan scooted his chair closer to hers, leaned down, and queried, "now, what is it about this room that has you so upset?"
"There are five staff members in all of General Hospital under the age of 35." When he went to protest, she prevented him from doing so by holding up a surgically strong hand. "No, don't squabble with me, because I counted," the cardiologist interjected. "And there are only four medical employees between the ages of 35 and 44. We're practically dinosaurs… all of us. This can't be good for the hospital's reputation."
"No, it isn't," Alan consented, "but how did we let this happen? How didn't I notice this before?"
She shrugged. "Maybe because we're used to it, I don't know." After several moments of silence, the silver hued blonde remarked, "or perhaps we did this on purpose." Before he could ask her what she meant by such a statement, Monica pressed on, ignoring the irritated glances from their colleagues. "Even before Emily died, it was hard for the both of us to see young, intelligent doctors around the hospital, and it was even harder working with them. It didn't matter how different they were from Jason, there was always something that reminded us of the son that we lost, the son that was determined to become the next great Quartermaine physician. Be it their tone of voice, their compassion for their patients, or even their choice of cologne, Jason was in each and every one of them."
Picking up the reigns of her thought, the chief of staff continued, "and, then, when Emily passed away, we started to do the same thing with all the young, female staff. When it came time to renegotiate their contracts, I'd unconsciously lowball them, and, when I'd have to rehire someone to replace a leaving staff member, I'd inevitably hire someone too old to remind me of the children we lost." Sighing heavily, the aging doctor took off his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his noise, and wearily asked, "what have we done?"
When he felt his wife's petite, soft hand slip into one of his own, Alan squeezed like she was his physical lifeline. "Nothing that can't be undone," Monica reassured him, "nothing that can't be fixed. Now that we've recognized the problem, you'll bring in some new, talented, young blood to the hospital, and I'll help you. I'll do everything I can to help you, I promise."
"Thank you," he whispered sincerely, lifting her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles sweetly. Then, wagging his eyebrows, he teased, "now, what do you say we sneak out of here early?"
Removing her hand from his own, his spouse patted his shoulder like a parent would pat a wayward child before turning back to the stage where Audrey was just calling up the latest recipient of the RN of the Year to accept their award. Out of the corner of her mouth, she instructed him, "eat your dinner, Alan," making him laugh out loud. The noise drew several curious glances from around the room.
But the chief of staff didn't mind. For the first time in years, he felt lighter, more relaxed, like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. While he would never be completely over the loss of two of his children, it felt as though he might have just stopped grieving. Life had a funny way of moving on when someone wasn't watching, and, when it did, it would leave that oblivious person behind. Now, he had to play catch up, but, for the first time in years, that was a game he was looking forward to.