4
The tension was palpable. Red gazed far off into the distance while Denny continued to stare at him, waiting for him to speak.
Finally, Red cut through the silence, with a single word. "Denny..." He knew he couldn't lie to his friend, but he just wasn't ready for this conversation. Not yet. He'll find the middle ground. Surely Denny will understand.
He paused before continuing. "It wasn't my intention to discuss her. I can't. Not yet. But Denny... I will. Before I leave, I will. Let me talk to her first. I know this doesn't make sense to you now, but you can trust me."
It didn't escape Denny that Red was parroting his own line back at him, but he knew he wouldn't make it any further. This wasn't supposed to be an interrogation. He could either take it or leave it.
Resigned, Denny nodded. He decided to take it.
"Raymond, how long since you've had L'Espalier? I have ressies for 8:30 tonight. Join me?"
A smile slowly crept up Red's cheeks. "At least a century! Perhaps even more. I'd be delighted."
Both men turned their heads at the whooshing sound of the sliding glass door opening. "Raymond, it has been too long." Shirley Schmidt stepped out, and onto the balcony. Gone was her long, wavy blonde hair. Now, it's silver, shoulder-length, and straight. It frames her face perfectly and serves to highlight her amethyst eyes.
Good god, Shirley Schmidt. She's as dignified and resplendent as ever.
Red wasted no time, rushing over to take her hand, softly kiss it, and tell her so. They exchanged sly, conspiratorial smiles.
"Watch it there, tiger." Denny growled.
Red and Shirley's flirtation was only in jest, intentionally at Denny's expense. It was an old dance they gleefully revisited, dating back to the days when Denny pined for her and she played Hard To Get.
She had little interest in Red, even back then, though truth be told, she'd more than once entertained the idea of bedding the younger, handsome man, just for the thrill. She could have taught him a thing or two. Every woman in her wake would have been unknowingly in her debt.
They chuckled at Denny's indignation.
Yes, Shirley thought to herself. She had been right to not follow through with that notion. Raymond is wearing the hell out of that three piece suit, but his life had been a complicated one. Sleeping with him would have likely caused her to care for him more, in spite of herself. That charmer. That virile, enigmatic criminal. She could see that he'd made time to have a little work done, but who among them had not? Shirley ruefully shook her head at herself, returning to the moment and the conversation at hand.
Red purred, "Tell me, do you still have that cheerleader skirt?"
"Well.." Shirley began to reply, but Denny cut her off.
"NO, Raymond. I have it, and I'm not loaning it out to you again!" His eyes narrowed for a moment, but he couldn't hold the bluff. He sputtered and doubled over, guffawing.
Red playfully slapped his shoulder as both he and Shirley joined in, laughing loud and hard.
Shirley recovered first. "Just imagine the trouble we would have gotten into if you had stuck around, Raymond."
"We would have burned this city to the ground. You, too, would be felons."
"Oh, please." Denny scoffed. "I'd get us all off. Denny Crane!" Then he chuckled. "Don't misunderstand me. That wasn't a double entrée."
Shirley huffed, "It's double entendre, you meatball." She turned her shoulder toward the door.
"No, I told you it wasn't."
Shirley and Red's eyes met and rolled.
"Just so you know, I'm not really a felon. I've never been convicted of anything."
"Of course." said Shirley. "Anyway, I need to go meet with a new client. Raymond, it's truly wonderful to see you. I hope to catch you again before you depart."
"It would be my pleasure, Shirley." Red winked at her and waved. When her back was turned, he made a show of watching her leave, all leering eyes and wicked smile.
And with another whoosh of the door, Denny and Red were alone again.
"Denny, you know I'd never really..."
"Oh, I know that you wanted to. You tried."
"I did, but only in sport. I knew she'd never let me. She wanted you."
"Denny Crane!"
"Indeed."
"So... L'Espalier! Excellent. I'm due in court in an hour. Can you believe Hooper is still on the bench? He's practically a fossil.." Denny seemed to have lost his train of thought.
"Ah. Anyway, why don't you go back to your hotel and rest up a bit? Call your mysterious second chance. Talk it over, but know this: I won't let you off the hook! I'll send a town car for you at 8."
"Are they still the best in Back Bay?"
"Would we go there otherwise?"
Red shook his head. "No, we wouldn't."
"Of course, it will be too chilly to dine on the patio, but if you'd like, perhaps we can enjoy a few drinks out there after."
"In Loro Piana Storm System cashmere and your company, I can enjoy anything."
"Flamingoes forever."
The men embraced. Still holding on, Denny turned his head and whispered in Red's ear. "But no sleepover. Don't even ask!"
Red huffed and rolled his eyes.
Stepping back inside, Red pulled out his cell phone and rang Dembe, asking him to bring the car around. He then turned toward Denny and cocked his head to the side. "See you at 8:30."
-...-...-...-
Red slouched down in the back of his late model Mercedes, lost in thought.
The Mandarin, his preferred lodging in Boston, was only a few blocks from Denny's 500 Boylston law firm. It seemed a waste to drive the short distance. Why not walk? See the city from the ground? If she were here, Lizzie wouldn't let him get away with it. Red chastised himself for his laziness. He knows that because of her, he's a better man.
As if on cue, to add to Red's spot of guilt, his sweet tooth began misbehaving. He couldn't ignore it. Like thirst, it would only cease by being sated.
Gelato. Pistachio gelato. He absolutely had to have it.
And it will hurt. It always does. Like most painful things, he finds that it's worth it.
"Dembe, I apologize for the change of plans. Would you care for some gelato?"
Red watched his loyal friend and bodyguard's reaction through the rear view mirror. Flashing his bright white teeth, clearly pleased, Dembe replied, "Certainly, Raymond. Where to?"
Red's response needed no consideration. He has a favorite hole in the wall for each imaginable type of cuisine. It was no coincidence that his favorite for gelato is in Boston.
"Caffé Paradiso, in the North End. Hanover Street."
Paradiso is a small cafe, founded by and passed down three generations of the DeStefano family. Its prime location in Little Italy, near the end of The Freedom Trail, made it an afternoon hotspot for weary-footed tourists. In fact, that's exactly how Red discovered it, with his daughter, Jenny, many years ago.
In addition to their custom-blend coffee and espresso, Paradiso offers wine and spirits, and an ample selection of authentic Italian deserts. They boast of having the best cannoli in Boston. Best of all, to Red and his daughter, is their homemade artisan gelato. They make over a dozen flavors, and he's tried them all. Pistaschio was Jenny's favorite, and that's why it's his, now. He eats it for her because she can't. He savors each bite, for her, and his heart aches with every swallow.
After seating themselves, Red ordered a Castello Banfi grappa to accompany his gelato. Dembe chose an iced espresso with stracciatella gelato. The tiny cafe was full of resident Italians, cheering and enthralled by a soccer game playing on several mounted television sets. Red hardly noticed them.
Jenny.
Lizzie.
Denny.
Jenny. Jenny. Jenny.
Lizzie. Lizzie. Lizzie.
Denny.
He can't believe he slipped, with Denny.
Hopefully Lizzie will be understanding of his blunder. Would she become angry? Maybe she'll want Red to tell him. She had previously expressed her desire to let the cat out of the bag, at the Post Office, but she wasn't serious. She simply finds it difficult to maintain the professional charade of personal indifference to him.
He's more than acquainted with the struggle. It isn't easy for him, either.
Lizzie peppers her professional wardrobe with red accessories, for him. Red nail polish. A red cashmere scarf. Red leather flats. A red wool coat. The ruby earnings he gave her on Valentines Day. She's discreet. She never wears more than one red item at a time. And she's never mentioned it, but Red knows that she does it for him. It makes his blood pump, seeing those silent and striking odes to him. He loves knowing that she wants him so much that she can't contain it fully. He often imagines that every non-red article of clothing has vanished, and she's staring at him in invitation from across the war room.
That simple expression of Lizzie's love takes his mind to places that are utterly inappropriate for work. He loves her so much that he feels it bursting inside of his chest and radiating off of every pore in his body. It's truly a wonder that they're able to accomplish anything outside of his myriad temporary bedrooms... or her bedroom... or the late Hempstead's living room... or her kitchen... or her shower... or his myriad temporary showers... or literally every room of the guest cottage where Hudson is boarded...
Red fully understands how the maintenance of their secret relationship can be difficult for Lizzie.
He'll call her as soon as he's settled in at The Hotel Mandarin. He'll explain his slip with Denny.
Hopefully, she'll be understanding of how difficult it is for him, too.