Lindsey was woken early the next morning by Yelena.
"Come," Yelena whispered.
Sleepily, Lindsey got out of bed and followed Yelena into the hall. "What time is it?" she yawned.
"Five-thirty," Yelena answered.
"Ermahgerd," Lindsey moaned.
"You have a full day ahead," Yelena said. "We must get started." She didn't say another word until they'd reached the formal living room.
"We practice sitting now," Yelena said.
Lindsey's eyebrows rose in disbelief. "Practice sitting?"
"Yes," Yelena answered. "It will be good for you to know at your wedding, anyway."
Lindsey sighed, absolutely too tired to argue.
"The hair dresser will be here at eight," Yelena said. Her eyes fixed on Lindsey's head. "That looks atrocious."
"Won't they just put the dreads back in?"
"Yorgi wants you to be formal," Yelena answered. "You may have to wear a wig."
"A wig?" Lindsey asked, looking thoroughly disgust.
"It's not so bad," Yelena answered.
"When the hell have you ever worn a wig?" Lindsey asked in disbelief.
"What I do in the privacy of my bedroom is none of your concern," Yelena answered snottily.
Lindsey's eyes widened and she blinked several times. "I did not need to know that."
Yelena rolled her eyes. "We're wasting time."
By the time the hair dresser arrived at eight, Lindsey's etiquette was progressing to Yelena's liking.
They had climbed the stairs to Yelena's room once again and the stylist was considering Lindsey's hair.
"It's just too short," she said.
"What about this?" Yelena asked, opening a curio cabinet and withdrawing a long, blonde wig.
"Oh my fucking god, you were serious," Lindsey breathed.
"Shut up," Yelena shot back.
"Blonde?" Lindsey asked.
"Try it," Yelena said.
The stylist took the wig from her and fitted it over Lindsey's own hair. "This is a nice one," she said, running her fingers through the thick, silky strands. "This was expensive."
Lindsey stared at herself in the mirror. "I look weird as a blonde."
"This will be a lot better," the stylist said. "I can go ahead and arrange it for you and then when you're ready for your party, all you have to do is slip it on."
"Okay," Lindsey said in a resigned sort of way and wrinkled her nose at her reflection.
Lindsey returned to her bedroom, carrying the Styrofoam head with her, the freshly styled wig, arranged in a romantic updo, perched on top. Her fingernails felt funny and raw, the new acrylics gleaming in the light. She found Catie, Trunks, and Gohan still in her room. Gohan was sleeping soundly in his spot on the bed while Catie was curled up at the foot of the bed. Trunks was awake and sitting at the desk, clicking furiously on the mouse.
"Die, you stupid zombies!" he hissed.
"Having fun?" Lindsey asked as she placed the mannequin head on her dresser.
"Loads," Trunks answered. "This game is addictive."
"It will eat your soul," Lindsey responded.
Trunks paused his game and spun the chair around to face her. "What is that?"
"My new hair," Lindsey answered.
"Blonde?" he asked, wrinkling his nose.
"I know, right? My reaction, exactly." Lindsey shook her head. "Blondes are pretty, but I think I look weird."
"Let me be the judge of that," Trunks said, crossing his arms.
Lindsey sighed as she tucked her short hair behind her ears and slipped the wig on.
"It's not bad," Trunks said. "It's definitely different."
"Meh," Lindsey responded, replacing the wig on its stand.
"Give it here," Trunks said with a devilish smirk.
"Huh?"
"Give it here," he repeated.
Confused, Lindsey handed it over. "Be careful. Yelena will kill me if we mess it up."
Trunks tipped his head back, giving his silky lavender hair a shake, then slipped the wig on his head.
Lindsey covered her mouth with her hand, suppressing a tiny giggle.
Trunks stood and leaned over Catie as he shook her awake. "Good morning, honey," he said in a falsetto voice.
Catie's eyes flew open and she jumped. "What the…" she stared at her boyfriend in shock. "OH… MY… GOD…" She threw her head back, laughing loudly.
"Don't I look pretty?" he asked, retaining the high pitch.
"You look beautiful," she answered between laughs.
Gohan sat up sleepily. "Oh dear god." He laughed along with Catie. "Where on earth did you get that?"
"It's Lindsey's," Trunks answered and finally slipped the wig from his head. He handed it back.
"Yours?" Gohan asked.
"Just for tonight. Anyway, I gotta get back. Don't tear it up," she said as she headed for the door.
She found Yelena still in the formal living room, Kirill by her side. He looked absolutely enthralled.
"Hi Kirill," Lindsey said, uncertain as to why he was there.
"You're going to practice greetings," Yelena said.
"Greetings?" Lindsey asked. Then it dawned on her. "You mean…"
Yelena stepped close and spoke softly into Lindsey's ear. "Yorgi told me you have to stop your knee-jerk reaction of pulling away from people. If you can prevent yourself from recoiling from Kirill, you can do it with anyone."
Lindsey felt like she wanted to cry or vomit or run away. Perhaps all three. Why Kirill?
"Now, your offer him your hand, like this," Yelena said, demonstrating. Kirill took it, and pressed his lips to her knuckles, lingering a bit too long. Yelena smiled graciously, then turned to Lindsey. "See? I want to kill him, but I suppress it. You can do it too."
Kirill retained an expressionless face at her words.
Lindsey stepped forward, extending her hand to Kirill. He took it gently in his own, but she pulled back quickly as though he'd scorched her.
Kirill looked puzzled and Yelena rolled her eyes. "Again."
Lindsey tried again, her hand shaking. Yelena slapped it.
"What was that for?"
"You must be confident," Yelena said, "without being cocky. Appearing insecure or shy is unattractive. Again."
Lindsey took a deep breath, willing her hand to remain steady. Kirill reached for it and she hesitated for a split second, earning her more scolding from Yelena.
"I don't know why you're being the way you are!" Yelena yelled. "It's just Kirill! Hold his damn hand!" She grabbed Lindsey's wrist and slapped her hand into Kirill's, then placed her own hands around theirs. "He is not hurting you," she said sternly as a look of fear came over Lindsey's face.
Lindsey felt like crying. She was breathing fast, wiggling her fingers in Kirill's strong grip.
"Stop," Yelena said, feeling the twist of Lindsey's wrist. "Stop."
Lindsey gritted her teeth. "I…"
"You are fine."
Kirill had a blank expression on his face as he held her hand. Her breathing quickened.
"Stop," Yelena repeated slowly. "Breathe. He is not hurting you. He is not going to hurt you."
Lindsey struggled to get oxygen in her lungs. She finally drew a long, deep breath, which calmed her slightly.
"See?" Yelena said. "You are okay."
Lindsey bit her lip, staring uncertainly at her hand. This was torture. But why? He wasn't hurting her. He wasn't going to hurt her. The logical side of her brain was taking over again.
Slowly, Yelena released their hands and Lindsey was able to hold on to Kirill without jerking away.
"Good," Yelena said and Kirill let go. "Now, try again."
After several more hours with Yelena, in which she practiced shaking hands, taking her seat properly, sitting up straight and a myriad of other ridiculous frivolities, Lindsey returned to her room to rest until it was time to prepare for the meeting. Gohan, Trunks and Catie were gone.
She flopped down on her bed, feeling as though she would never fall asleep, her nerves becoming more and more frazzled as the dinner approached. She set her alarm clock anyway and finally drifted off to sleep.
At about five, she awoke to the loud buzzing of her alarm. She slapped it and got out of bed. Her attention immediately went to the dress stand that had been placed in the corner of her room. A beautiful, midnight colored dress hung there. It had a plunging neckline and a long train. An envelope was pinned to the chest of the mannequin. She opened it and removed the folded piece of parchment.
Little Dove,
This is for you. You will be wonderful tonight.
Yorgi
Shaking her head, she set the note on her desk and, after admiring the fancy dress for a moment, headed to the bathroom. She loved her bathroom at the warehouse. Painted in black and white verticle stripes with black fixtures, it reminded her of something out of a Tim Burton film. The black tile was cold on her feet as she ran the hot water into the ebony colored clawfoot tub.
She sighed contentedly as she slid into the steamy water. She allowed the tub to fill to the brim and sunk beneath the flowery scented bubbles.
After spending a good, long time soaking, she got out and drained the tub, nervous she was going to cut herself short on time. She toweled off and quickly blow-dried her hair. She dressed quickly, then slipped her wig on.
"Looks good," came Yelena's voice from behind her.
Lindsey jumped and looked at Yelena's reflection in the mirror. She wore a long, gold dress with a black lace overlay. She walked to Lindsey, lifted her arms over the now-blonde's head, and brought them down, fastening the black necklace around Lindsey's throat.
"Oh, Yelena," Lindsey breathed. It was the black diamond choker. The jewels glittered from her jaw down the length of her neck, dripping down her chest to a point just above her cleavage.
"It suits you," she said kindly.
Lindsey managed a small, nervous smile.
"Sit," Yelena said, pointing to the computer chair. She pulled her makeup from her bag and began to fix Lindsey's face. "There," she said after a few minutes.
Lindsey returned to the mirror, her breath catching. She didn't recognize herself. Yelena had given her heavy, smoky eyes with the longest lashes Lindsey had ever seen. Her lips were a wet, deep, ruby red. The dress pushed up her already full chest, the blonde wig adding to her already pale complexion.
"I look like a vampire," Lindsey said.
"Come," Yelena said, checking her own makeup quickly. "We must not be late."
The two women entered the quiet dining room, where Yorgi, Kolya, Kirill, Viktor, and Xander already sat, all dressed in black. The men rose to their feet as Yelena led the way to the table. Yorgi stood at the head of the long table and greeted her with a kiss. She moved to his immediate left and stood before her chair.
"Little dove," Yorgi addressed Lindsey. He took her left hand and kissed it, a pleased look in his eye as she did not retract her hand.
She gave a small, slow curtsey and allowed him to direct her to the empty chair to his right. He stepped behind Yelena, tucking the chair under her as Xander, who was sitting to Lindsey's right, helped her with her own.
Sitting with her back perfectly straight, Lindsey tucked her hands under the table and set them in her lap. She stared at Kolya across the table from her and he winked. She narrowed her eyes for a split second, questioning. He cast a sideways glance at his brother, who was engaged in conversation with Yelena, before swiftly touching his lips with his finger and thumb pinched together.
Lindsey's eyebrows raised. Kolya had gotten them some smoke. She'd forgotten all about it until now. She suddenly couldn't wait for dinner to be over.
Mr. Dalessandro was a mountain of a man, nearly as wide as he was tall. He had thinning gray hair and heavy facial features. With his neatly pressed pinstripe suit and the gold and ruby ring he wore on his little finger, he reminded Lindsey of a Mafia Don. Two men, who appeared to be in their late twenties and Italian as well, accompanied him along with the two beautiful, dark haired women on either side of him.
"Sit, please," Yorgi motioned for the large man to sit opposite himself at the end of the long table. Like Yorgi, the two women sat to either side of Mr. Dalessandro, the men taking the only two remaining chairs.
"Thank you for joining me tonight," Yorgi said. "I am anxious to discuss our transaction."
"Ah, ah, ah," Mr. Dalessandro said in his booming voice. "Pleasure before-a business, Yorgi. You know that."
Yorgi sat back in his seat, holding his tongue. Lindsey instantly realized just how important this was to Yorgi. No one had ever admonished Yorgi before. He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. "Of course."
Servers entered the room, bringing appetizers and drinks.
Mr. Dalessandro swilled the wine in his glass, inhaling deeply through his nose before drinking. He smiled appreciatively. Yorgi rested his elbows on the arms of the captain's chair, his left hand closed over his right fist, held against his mouth as he watched the old man across the table.
Mr. Dalessandro spoke jovially, recounting his days as a young man working in a pizza parlour in Chicago, the women he'd dated over the years, his home he'd built at the lake, the custom Cadillac he drove.
"But-a, that was-a many years ago," he said.
Lindsey wasn't sure of what to think about the old man. She felt a certain draw to him, a warming in her heart. She knew why. The old man reminded her of her grandfather who'd passed away. It was the accent, the distinctly Italian features of his face, his large personality that brought back the memories. She sipped her wine carefully, daintily taking bites of the exquisite food before her.
"I-a see we have a lot in-a common, you-a and I," Mr. Dalessandro said to Yorgi. "You have an obvious appreciation for fine wine, food, and-a women."
Yorgi held his wine glass up and gave a nod to Mr. Dalessandro.
The large Italian fixed his eyes on Lindsey. "And-a you. What-a is your name?"
"My name is Lindsey," she answered in a polite tone.
"Leslie?"
"Lindsey," she repeated with the same politeness, but a bit slower.
"Ah, Leendsee," he said, with a strong emphasis on the d in the middle. "What does it-a mean?"
"Isle in the brook," she answered. "An English name."
"Are you English?" he asked.
"No, my family is Irish and Italian," she answered.
"Italian!" he proclaimed. "Do you speak it?"
"A little," she said honestly.
Yorgi looked terrified behind his fists.
Mr. Dalessandro began to speak his native language. "Where do you get your Italian roots from?"
"My mother's father," Lindsey answered in the same tongue.
"Do you spend much time with them?" he asked.
"They are passed away."
An understanding expression came over the strong features. "Have you ever been to Italy?"
"No, but I plan to one day. I would like to see where my family is from." She met his eye as she spoke and kept her tone friendly.
Mr. Dalessandro considered her for a moment, before speaking again to Yorgi. "She is a good one, Yorgi. Keep this one around."
"I intend to," Yorgi said, looking at Lindsey out of the corner of his eye.
While she kept her appearance formal, on the inside Lindsey felt like jell-o. She was afraid of messing up the language and accidentally insulting the businessman.
The main course was served and a quiet settled over the table as they ate. The fine Italian cuisine was comforting to Lindsey as she ate and it was hard for her to eat it slowly and with such care. Normally on a meal like this, she ate like a Saiyan. And for once, she was actually hungry.
Dessert was served with more wine and by the time they were through, Lindsey felt like she would burst. Next to her, Xander pressed a fist to his mouth, trying to suppress a belch. "Excuse me," he whispered.
"Thank-a you for a fine meal," Mr. Dalessandro said as he wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin.
"Shall we retire to the sitting room?" Yorgi suggested.
"An excellent idea," Mr. Dalessandro agreed.
Xander stood and pulled back Lindsey's chair for her, offering her his arm. She carefully took it, and they walked towards the door, passing Mr. Dalessandro, who stopped them. "May I?" he asked Lindsey, offering his large arm.
Xander dropped his arm to his side and Lindsey took the old man's elbow, all her concentration on preventing her hand from trembling.
"It is not-a often I enjoy the company of someone so beautiful," Mr. Dalessandro complimented her as he slowly followed Yorgi and the others through the large doors to the extravagant living room.
"Oh, Mr. Dalessandro, I highly doubt that," she said, "I imagine you have women throwing themselves at you."
He laughed again. "You are a kind spirit."
"Thank you, sir."
They walked across the room and he took a seat in a large winged chair near the fireplace. It wasn't cold enough outside for a fire, but there was one roaring anyway, casting dancing shadows upon the high walls.
"Now-a, you sit-a here," Mr. Dalessandro said, patting the wide arm of his chair.
Slightly-wide eyed and looking at Yorgi, she sat as he gave her a small nod.
"Mr. Dalessandro, it is my understanding that you are preparing to retire," Yorgi began.
"Ah, word spreads quickly here, no?" Mr. Dalessandro said.
"Indeed," Yorgi agreed. "I am interested in purchasing your chain of nightclubs."
"You want to buy La Bella Notte? I wonder," Mr. Dalessandro said, "why would someone like you be interested in that? It doesn't suit your style."
"I am always interested in branching out," Yorgi said. "Your places of business are well established and profitable. It only makes sense."
Mr. Dalessandro leaned back in his chair, considering Yorgi's words. Yorgi clicked his fingers at Yelena who presented Mr. Dalessandro with a box of cigars. She opened it for him and he chose one, thanking her, and she offered a second to Yorgi. He selected one for himself and held it between his fingers, rolling it back and forth.
Yelena walked to return the box and as she passed Lindsey, slipped a long, black stick into Lindsey's hand, the end of which held a cigarette.
"Allow me," Mr. Dalessandro said, holding out his lit, gold-plated Zippo.
Lindsey lit the end of her smoke in the flame and said a quiet, "Thank you."
Mr. Dalessandro dragged deeply on his cigar, blowing a smoke ring. "What is to be my retirement, then?" he asked. "If I do not have the residual income from my clubs, my accounts will eventually run dry."
"You have amassed a fortune for yourself," Yorgi said in a flattering sort of way. "I have hard time believing you would allow that."
"I wouldn't," Mr. Dalessandro agreed, "But these damn kids of mine, spending every cent-a they get on-a blow and trashy women…" He continued on ruthlessly in Italian and a few of the words Lindsey caught made her choke on her smoke.
"Ah, forgive-a me," he said, patting Lindsey's knee. "I forget-a you speak the language. Forgive-a the ramblings of an old-a man."
Lindsey nodded, trying to stop her coughing. Xander quickly offered her a drink from his water glass he'd carried into the room and she sipped it appreciatively.
"I don't-a know, Yorgi," Mr. Dalessandro said after a moment. "If-a I sell-a you my clubs, I think there would-a be nothing left for-a me in a few years."
Yorgi shifted in his seat, trying to keep his calm. He was not used to being told no.
"I am making a generous offer," Yorgi said, reaching inside his suit jacket and withdrawing an envelope. "I am sure you will agree." He handed the envelope to Mr. Dalessandro, who bit the end of his cigar and took the envelope, opening it and scanning over the check. Lindsey didn't see the exact amount, but saw a lot of zeros.
Mr. Dalessandro held the cigar between his teeth as his brow furrowed. "It is-a generous, as-a you say. But, again, I am-a hesitant to relinquish ownership of my establishments."
Yorgi's eyes were stormy as he flipped the unlit cigar end over end in his hand. In the darkened corner, Lindsey saw Kirill with his hand behind his back, no doubt holding the grip of his pistol. Yorgi would own these clubs one way or another.
"Do you not wish to retire?" Yorgi asked.
"I do," Mr. Dalessandro admitted. "I am an old-a man, Yorgi. Running so many businesses will tire-a you out. You will see one-a day."
A silence fell across the room, each businessman considering the other, neither giving away what they may be thinking.
"Why not invest the money?" Lindsey asked suddenly.
"Invest?" Mr. Dalessandro asked. "Young lady, I never gamble with-a my money."
Yorgi threw her a dark, warning look.
"Not in the stock market," she went on. "You can put the money in several high-interest accounts. Your money makes money while you relax and enjoy your retirement. It must be terribly exhausting managing so many businesses at once."
He thought her words over for a moment. "This is-a interesting proposition."
"It's not a gamble, because your money is safe in an account," she continued, "you could nearly live off the interest alone. No more payroll to worry about, so that cuts down the amount of money you have going out, not to mention upkeep, overhead – in the end, you maintain your standard of living while decreasing the amount of effort required to do so."
Mr. Dalessandro gazed up at Lindsey for a minute, trying to read her. Speaking Italian, he asked her, "Did he put you up to this?"
Lindsey blinked innocently, responding in Italian as well. "No, sir. It's what my grandfather did when he retired." The last part was a lie, but she knew mentioning him again would catch the interest of the old man.
Yorgi watched the exchange between them, a nervous expression flashing across his face again, but he regained composure before the Italian noticed.
"This is a smart one you have here," Mr. Dalessandro said.
Yorgi gave a nod.
Mr. Dalessandro sat deep in thought again for awhile. He seemed near to agreeing to the offer.
Lindsey wondered for a minute whether she should push the issue or if that would be taking it a step too far. When the moments of silence pressed on, she continued, "You deserve a break, Mr. Dalessandro. You have worked hard your whole life. Shouldn't you take time to enjoy it now?"
"Damn-a right, I should-a," Mr. Dalessandro said, with an air of finality. He clapped his large hands together. "Yorgi, I accept your-a offer."
Yorgi smiled widely and stuck his cigar between his teeth, extending a hand to Mr. Dalessandro, who took it and shook it vigorously.
"Emelio," Mr. Dalessandro barked suddenly. "The papers."
The young man with slicked back black hair stepped forward, handing a folded bunch of papers to Mr. Dalessandro, who unfolded them and began scratching away at each one. When he finished, he handed them over to Yorgi. "There-a you go."
The evening then took a decidedly lighter turn as everyone relaxed into light conversation, enjoying the champagne Yorgi provided to celebrate the business venture. As the clock drew close to midnight, Mr. Dalessandro announced that it was getting late. He shook hands with Yorgi once more, and shook the hands of the others in turn, stopping last with Lindsey.
"It was a pleasure to spend-a the evening with-a you," he said.
"It is a rare occasion that I get to meet such a gentleman," Lindsey answered, eager for the night to end. "The pleasure was all mine."
He smiled appreciatively, then bid his farewell to Yorgi and was escorted from the house by Kolya and Viktor. Within a few minutes, they returned.
"He is gone," Kolya confirmed.
"You were brilliant!" Yorgi roared, throwing his arms around Lindsey who couldn't help but wince this time. Yorgi stepped back and beamed at her. "I knew you were the right one to be here tonight."
Lindsey blushed and said nothing.
"I not know you spoke Italian," Yorgi continued.
"Good job," Xander said, standing next to her.
She shrugged.
"Now, we party," Yorgi said to Xander.
"There's no one here," Xander said with a laugh.
"You have phone," Yorgi said, lapsing back into slightly broken English. "Call someone."
Kolya waved Lindsey over. "Now we have own party," he whispered to her. They glanced to make sure Yorgi wasn't paying attention, then slipped out the door and up to Kolya's room.