Chapter 2: A Valentine's Night to Remember
Luigi parallel parked on the streetlamp-lit corner next to a square, midnight blue painted blue building and shut off the truck engine. Goddamn it, Yoshi, he mentally cursed for bringing him to fix some rich guy's sink under the table on Valentine's Day just so everyone else could drink and be merry with their significant others. He took a brief look outside at the surroundings. The skeezy industrial area of Gowanus was hardly the place for snooty Columbia and NYU kids looking for a wang-and-a-bang.
Exiting the silver truck, he strapped on his brown leather tool belt, grabbed a red-handled portable auger, and shut the door. As he approached the building, Luigi saw that a small crowd had anxiously gathered at the entrance – two Asian men, one petite African-American woman who was standing with the taller Asian, and a blond Caucasian. He recognized two of them – Yoshi and Miles – and assumed that the other two were the hosts.
"Hey, how ya doin'?" greeted the plumber.
"Lou, thank Christ," replied Yoshi, who was dressed in a red Iron Man suit. "This is Blu and Tippi – they're throwin' the party." He looked at his newest clients, who were respectively dressed in a designer white tuxedo with matching top hat and magician's cape and a rainbow-colored pixie costume with large translucent wings on her back.
"Cool, name's Blu," the Korean seized Luigi's hand forcefully and shook it. "If you can fix this, you'll have saved my ass. I'm the best party host in NYC, and I can't let my guests go to those Phi Alpha Delta assclowns. Whatever you need – money is no object. I'll pay you in cash directly. But the only thing is that my father can't get a bill. If he knows Tippi's here, it'll be Endgame, if you know what I mean."
Luigi took back his crushed hand, shaking it out by his right leg. "Yeah, okay. Listen, Blu, there are rules that I gotta abide by as a licensed plumber. New York City's strict about work permits, especially when it comes to commercial properties. If it's anything behind a clog, I won't be able to do the job. If I were to do anything, not only would the city have my ass on a silver platter, but you'd get fined, and your father would definitely find out."
Blu and Tippi exchanged worried looks and nodded. "Understood. Whatever you can do, we'd appreciate it. Right this way, please," said Tippi opening the door to the interior of the club. Luigi gave them a furtive look, then followed the woman inside, with Blu, Yoshi, and Miles following closely behind them, to reveal an enormous dance hall – which Luigi guessed to be 5,000 square feet – lit in a variety of neon blues, violets, reds, greens, and yellows. The ceiling exhibited pipelike fixtures which flashed the same neon colors as the backlights of the two bars on each side of the room. At the right-side bar stood a small Asian woman garbed in an ivory stole, an ink-colored, Vera Wang knock-off evening gown, and a bright pearl necklace. The neon lights distorted her purple eye shadow to a dark blue which darkened her brown eyes. She smiled. On the other side of the bar stood a serious-looking Slavic blonde wearing ruddy, thick-rimmed glasses and a bartender's white blouse and black trousers.
"It's still not draining," the blonde said with the hint of a Russian accent.
Luigi pointed to the right-side bar sink to confirm the problem area, to which Blu nodded. He hurriedly went to the furthest edge of the bar, with Miles and Yoshi pursuing, and entered the area behind it.
"Okay, did you try plunging it?" asked the plumber. "What's your name, by the way?"
"You can call me Nastya. And yes," replied the blonde. "I also tried bicarbonate and vinegar."
"Shit," breathed Luigi. He grabbed the medium-sized black plunger, placed it over the drain of the silver sink, and pressed down hard several times. The force generated waves within soupy mixture of grime, dish soap, baking soda, vinegar, alcohol, and water; after a moment, it bubbled, then settled at the bottom without draining. "Okey-dokey, snake time," muttered the plumber. Luigi turned to his friends who were watching the scene with interest. "Can one of you plug in the snake?" Miles eagerly fetched the plug-in and found a socket below a glass shelf heavy with vodka and triple sec. The plumber dropped down to the space underneath the sink. "Nastya, do you have some sort of plastic bucket, maybe five gallons, and a large towel?" he asked.
Nastya looked up in confusion until Blu handed her a cleaning towel and large plastic bucket to give to Luigi. The latter placed them beneath the P-trap and unscrewed the latter, creating a disconnection between the sink and the wall. Slime and dirty water slid into the bucket. Luigi quickly tapped the piece of pipe against the bucket to remove the remainder. He then took out and put on a pair of leather gloves from his toolbelt, fished out about a foot of the metal line from the end of the electric snake, and then threaded the head and line into the wall. After a half-minute, he felt some resistance and stopped threading. He gave a triumphant smile and turned on the machine. The snake made a high-pitched whirr and drilled into the clog. Luigi continued to drill for a minute and a half before shutting it off and pulling the line gently toward him; several inches removed easily, though at a certain point, the line stopped again. Once again, the plumber flicked on the machine and allowed it to cut through the unseen build up. A moment later, he switched the machine off again and pulled the line again, this time reaching the end. Attached to the head was a dense clog of food, coffee grounds, and other questionable substances. Lou emptied it in the bucket, cleaned each piece of pipe, then tightly reassembled the fixture. Satisfied with his work, he turned on the faucet and everyone observed that the water drained smoothly through the cleared pipe. Blu let out an excited cheer and a fist pump as Luigi disconnected the snake and gathered his tools. Tippi whipped out her phone and texted a PARTY ON – CRISIS ADVERTED message to The Count's social media.
"Ah man, thank you! You saved my life!" Blu cried.
"You're welcome," replied Luigi. "Just empty the coffee grounds and food into the trash, otherwise it'll clog again."
"See, I told ya he could fix it!" interjected Miles. "Brobot Boys for the epic win!" He straightened his maroon bowtie against his pink button-down shirt and muttered, "Bowties are cool."
Luigi winced at the latter. We're such dorks, he thought as he gazed at the femme fatale Birdo, Iron Man Yoshi, and Doctor Miles. But they were the most loyal dorks in Brooklyn. Both Miles and Yoshi were three years younger than he; Yoshi moved to 17th Avenue from Tokyo in 1993 when his father became an executive at a Japanese-owned engineering firm in the Financial District. Luigi's mother, Gabriella, had taken her last breath in late 1990 following an unsuccessful bout of chemotherapy. When Yoshi first encountered him, the young boy was sobbing on the tiny porch steps of his motherless home. In broken English, he promised to take Luigi to a magical island where mushrooms and dinosaurs roamed freely, and no one ever suffered or had to leave before their time. Each afternoon after school, the Luigi formed a cape from his old, wrinkled Iron Man bedsheets and ran to the playground off 71st Street to the magic island. The small children cleaved together against the constant bullying that both endured from the Bowser gang and the larger Italian kids whose parents and grandparents resented the black, Latino, and Asian "intrusion" into their turf. They went to different schools, but were taught by the same, eccentric NYU engineering professor, Kentaro Omaya, as a result of Luigi completing the entire math curriculum at St. Rosalia's by mid-fourth grade. The group of two students, plus Omaya's son, Kei, became four when Miles Prower joined them from Chelsea, and the Brobot Boys were born, collecting every junior robotics competition gold medal in the Northeast. Even after Yoshi and Miles enrolled in Stuyvesant High School and then at MIT, and Luigi went off to trade school, they remained close and were often found in Professor Omaya's workshop at the Tandon School of Engineering near Fort Greene.
"Dude, how much do I owe you?" Blu asked, bringing Luigi out of his reminiscence of the past.
Lou held up his hand. "Nothin'. It was a favor for Yoshi here. I'm gonna head out, so uh, I dunno, give Yoshi, Miles, and Birdo free drinks for the rest of the evening. See ya." He picked up his equipment and walked toward the exit, leaving the group open-mouthed. Birdo observed the scene with a pitying expression and glanced briefly at Yoshi, wordlessly encouraging him to go after the plumber. A frustrated Yoshi charged after Luigi, who had just stepped out of the glass door and moved toward the truck.
"Hey, do you know that there's a list to get into this party, and you just got a VIP invitation? And not just a VIP invitation, but one with unlimited drinks?" barked Yoshi incredulously. "We never get to hang out anymore except at the Professor's lab!"
Luigi stopped at the driver side door and glared at his best friend in the evening darkness. "It's an invitation, so I can decline. It's for college kids, which I'm not. I've had a long week, so I'm going home for a shower and my bed."
Yoshi glared back at Luigi. "It's just past six-thirty. Frankly, you've been acting like a miserable prick since I started dating Birdo last year. Miles doesn't have a girl, yet he's here and is gonna have a good time. Why can't you?"
He gazed at Yoshi blankly. Because I'm so tired and bored of everything. Because I don't want to be reminded of what I don't have.
Taking a deep breath, Yoshi spoke again. "Lou, I'm worried about you. Birdo and Miles, too. You're so isolated in this fucking job. You talk more to dirty pipes than to your friends and family. This isn't healthy."
"Talking to Mario again?" retorted the other man while rolling his blue eyes.
"Oh, c'mon on, you know me better that that! I've known you almost as long as Mario has, so we don't need to talk," said Yoshi. He walked closer to the truck and leaned over the hood. "I'm not takin' no for an answer this time. If you drive away, Lou, I'll make sure that you're renamed and crowned King Prick of Bensonhurst – tiara and sash included. I'll tell Bowser that you've been listening to Eros Ramazzotti while skimming the latest copy of GQ on the can. You'll never hope to get a Bacardi at his bar ever again."
"Fucking asshole," replied Luigi quietly, trying to sound angry, but a crack of a smile broke the façade. He opened the truck door to deposit his toolbelt and snake and then re-locked the cab. "Okay, shithead, I'll come for a bit. I could use a beer or whatever IPA those prissy Columbia kids got."
"Alright!" cheered Yoshi, and the two walked side by side back into the club.
XXXX
Over the next hour, Luigi became a permanent fixture at Nastya's bar, nursing the newest IPA from Brooklyn Brewery as he and Miles passively watched uptown grads and suspiciously young-looking undergrads file into the club to dance to some of the newest mix that Luigi did not recognize. They were wearing various costumes, though some were not wearing anything – anything. One couple – ostensibly Adam and Eve – decided that it would be especially classy to wear matching green leaves on their winkle and tuppence. Lou and Miles shook their head in amused disbelief, though the latter let his eyes linger on the woman's backside for a few more seconds.
"Man, if only I could muster the courage, y'know? There's this chick in our department. God, she's got Feynman's mind and melons like Jenna Jameson," Miles gestured in front his chest.
Luigi, who had removed his black coat to reveal the slim-fitting green turtleneck, eyed the younger blond. "Jesus, Tails, is that what they talk about in Aero Eng?"
Miles tweaked his bowtie against his baby pink button-down and red suspenders. "Yeah. When you're the only single guy PhD candidate among, like, six single women graduate students. I tried to tell her that she had nice attributes, but it didn't go well."
The other man chuckled, taking a slip of his beer. "No, Miles, I wouldn't guess it did if you told her that she had Jenna's tits."
"No!" interjected Miles. "I said that she had Feynman's brain. She got pissed because 'Feynman is' – and I quote her – 'a sexist pig.' Then she gave me a five-minute lecture on gender-positive language. I guess I should have chosen Madame Curie or Heisenberg?"
Lou spit out the bit of beer in his mouth onto the counter, which earned him an annoyed look from Nastya. He quickly grabbed a cocktail napkin and wiped up the mess. "Man, you shoulda commented on her tits instead!"
Miles threw him a sour look. "Screw you, man. It's bad enough I get shit from Yoshi and my brother."
Luigi wiped his mouth, still cackling. As he was about to remind Miles of his status as the youngest member of the Brobots and lowest head on the totem pole, a group of two young women caught the plumber's eye. The first, a short Latina with dyed pink hair and matching fairy dress, and the second, a taller, auburn-haired Jeanne d'Arc in armor were moving toward the bar on the other side of the dance hall. Though the lights had dimmed since his arrival, Luigi's widened when he saw part of her face.
"Shit, fuck, shit, fuck, fuck, fuck!" he mouthed. Looking wildly around for the nearest hiding place, Luigi ran for the dark corner next to the end of the bar, leaving his coat on the floor. Miles followed quickly, grabbing both his brown tweed jacket and his friend's puffer, and stood confusedly next to the plumber who had sunk a few inches behind the group of drunk college kids between them and the women.
"What the hell are you doing?" Miles hissed.
Luigi did not reply, instead watching the auburn beauty intently. Designed to protect its wearer, the English-styled medieval armor covered her nature curves, though it illustrated her athletic build, and the narrow Edward III tunic accentuated her hourglass waist. On her left side hung a sheathed fencing saber. He marveled at how little time passed between first sighting her and the budda-boom of his heart.
Fifteen seconds.
"Lou? Are you sick?" asked Miles again, oblivious at the scene.
"Just shut up, Miles," growled Lou.
Unsure of what to say or do next, the bowtied man moved away and into the crowd to find Yoshi and Birdo. A few moments later, the concerned Birdo, Yoshi, Blu, and Tippi emerged from the swarm of two hundred-odd partygoers and approached the plumber who refused to take his eyes off the beautiful knight.
"Lou, what's wrong?" whispered Yoshi, placing a reassuring hand on Luigi's shoulder. Over the course of several years, Yoshi had witnessed numerous panic attacks afflict his friend. He had always refused treatment beyond cigarettes, calming reassurance, and moving to a low-distraction environment. He began to guide Luigi toward the door outside. A minute later, the cool Brooklyn night air slapped their faces. Lou found himself looking at Yoshi's anxious expression and the equally troubled Birdo and Blu who had trailed behind them.
"I'm fine," said Luigi in a semi-monotonous voice.
"No, you're not. What happened?" prodded Yoshi gently.
"I bought her a bagel," he murmured.
Yoshi and Birdo gawked at each other in shock and Blu grinned. "Oh, hot damn! It's a real VD Party! We need some cupid STAT! C'mon, Cinderella!" shouted Blu excitedly. Lou gazed at the man with a terrified blush and tried to escape to his truck. With an iron grip, he pulled Luigi by the arm and, despite his incoherent protests, dragged him back into the club. As the other two ran after them, with Tippi and Miles joining the line through the crowd, Blu gestured with his head for Nastya to come along; they all moved to the opposite wall where the backrooms were located. Not letting go of his wrist, Blu tugged Luigi into a room marked "Staff Only." After the others arrived, Blu shut and locked the door. The plumber spun around like a frightened animal; Yoshi stepped in front of his friend to protect him.
"Hey, Blu, what the fuck, man?" demanded Birdo. "Do you want to give the poor guy a heart attack?!"
"Birdo, Yoshi, don't worry," chortled Blu. "Lou here has got a case of the butterflies and just needs some courage." He quickly moved to a small closet in the corner. "Reminds me when I first saw Tippi. First, we need to give him a quick makeover. He can't approach the princess as a commoner." Blu began to fish through the closet, shifting shirts, pants, furs, and coats left and right until he suddenly beamed. He fetched three black items, leather belt, and a pair of white and black low tops. "You're about my height and weight, so this should work. Okay, everyone, let's Lou here make himself pretty," announced the host. As Yoshi began to protest, Blu held up his hand and said, "You can stay. I don't want Romeo fainting before he serenades his Juliet. And on that note," he turned to Nastya, "we need some liquid courage. Absolutely no Lebowski and nothing strong enough for O'Connor to throw him out." The Russian nodded and left to prepare the drink. Blu faced Luigi who was growing paler by the second and put his hands on the man's shoulders. "I'm gonna check out our target. Here," he slapped the clothes into Luigi's right hand, "get changed and we'll go from there. I'll be back in five or ten." Blu slapped him on the shoulder and left the room. Only Yoshi and Luigi remained.
Yoshi gazed at his friend with growing alarm. His faintly olive skin had changed into alternating patterns of crimson and snow and a thin layer of sweat had formed around his hairline. Cautiously, he approached Luigi and took the clothes from his semi-limp hand. "Look, Lou, Blu doesn't know shit, and you don't need to do this. No one will think any less of you," he said softly.
Though he would never admit it, Yoshi was right; he had been acting like a miserable prick for the past year – for even longer than that. Over the past few years, he watched passively as Mario's relationship with Peach deepened, stalled, and then blossomed, and as Yoshi became the first of the Brobot Boys to ball up, ask Birdo for a date, then another and several more, and finally, moved in with her about three months ago. Even Miles, inasmuch as he was able, apparently made passes at the female aeronautical engineering grads. It would be a matter of time before Yoshi, Mario, and Miles found and married their partners; they would take out mortgages for houses and brownstones, have a kid or two who would join up for stickball or Buck-Buck, and arrange double playdates among themselves on Saturdays and Sundays. Meanwhile, he would be working sixty or more hours per week as a master plumber, then come home to a cold, empty house, having received no voicemails from his married friends and brother. Maybe it was deserved, Luigi reasoned; after all, who wanted an anxiety-ridden recreational smoker who was neither tough nor suave and neither a hero nor a villain? He was Mr. Mundane of Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, USA. He inhaled deeply, then studied the pants and jacket; he could not read the label, as it was printed in Korean and Japanese, but it looked, felt, and smelled expensive.
And what if she rejects me?
Luigi never dared to hope that she would deign to speak to him this morning, let alone accept his meager offering of a bodega bagel.
Shouldn't that be enough? Shouldn't he be thankful for that?
Wordlessly, Luigi dropped down to one knee and untied his right plumber's boot, then switched knees to untie the left, leaving his socks untouched. Shocked, Yoshi spun around to give him privacy to change; the Italian removed his blue jeans and green turtleneck to reveal plain, semi-tight green boxers and a gold saint's medallion around his neck. He put on the soft black tee-shirt, tucked the small pedant underneath, and slid the matching trousers onto his long legs which felt like silky Egyptian cotton against his skin. Since the waist was a bit loose, he threaded the grey leather belt through the loops and buckled it. Then he slipped on the embroidered black velvet steampunk uniform coat, fidgeting briefly with the sleeve ends. Finally, he stepped into the black and white low-top shoes and quickly tied them. While the shoes were a little snug on the edges of his feet, Luigi surmised that they had never been worn and would need a bit of time to loosen. As he had done several times in ballet, he flexed his toes and arch to wear down the shoe leather.
"You can turn around now," he murmured to Yoshi.
The Japanese pivoted to face Luigi and stared disbelievingly. The boring Bensonhurst plumber had been replaced by a mysterious and suave knave. Luigi's normally combed hair freely flowed in a chocolate-colored, three-dimensional wave, and the dark clothing highlighted a pleasant five o'clock shadow on his face. Just as he was about to comment, a solid knock echoed from the other side of the closed door.
"Hey, you decent?" shouted Blu.
Before either of them could answer, Blu swung open the door, and entered with Birdo, Tippi, and Miles. Upon seeing the man in black, Blu jumped up and high-fived the air, Tippi whistled, and Birdo gave him the once-over, much to Yoshi's mixed amusement and jealousy.
Miles stared blankly. "Uh, are you supposed to be Chairman Kaga?"
Several groans reverberated throughout the room; Yoshi slapped Miles on the side of his shoulder while Luigi blushed violently.
"Ignore him," assured Tippi, "you look amazing! Blu's father's blood money is good for something, finally." Blu gave her a dark stare in response to her jab.
"I wasn't saying that he didn't look good!" Miles yelped with an apologetic tone. "But what's the message here? If it's supposed to be a costume of some sort, how's it going to attract attention? I mean, what do we know about her, anyway?"
All heads rotated toward Luigi who shrunk a little and ran a hand through his thick brown hair. "Uh, well, um…I'm, I've only bought her a bagel and said hello just recently."
Yoshi shook his head in dismay while the others chuckled. "Yeah, somehow, I'm not surprised," said Blu. "Okay, do you remember anything about her? Did she say something? Does she have any hobbies?"
Luigi contemplated Blu's questions, then snapped his fingers. "The tennis racket. I think she also had a soccer ball in her backpack a few weeks ago. She likes sports. And her ass is like poetry. The Venus de Milo wouldn't have anything on her…"
"Aight, well, that's something. Which one was she, anyway?" asked Blu.
Yoshi shrugged. "My back was to them, so I didn't see anything. Miles, I know you got a good look."
Miles stepped back sheepishly from the group. "I only saw a guy and a girl – a knight and a pixie with pink hair."
"No," interrupted Luigi quietly. "They were both women. The-she's the knight."
Blu muttered a few curse words underneath his breath. He and Tippi exchanged a nervous gaze which did not escape Luigi's or Yoshi's attention. Tippi quickly flashed a smile to cover up the unspoken realization.
"What's the problem?" demanded Birdo, crossing her stole-covered arms over her elegant black evening gown. "You got Lou here dressed up, so we need full disclosure. Is she into women or something?"
Blu conveyed Tippi an unsaid plea to answer for them. "Er, well, while we were out there, we saw a pink pixie and a taller knight at Mimi's bar. She's one of two bartenders. Nastya, you met earlier. Anyway, the knight, er well…While you were changing, our bouncer told us that she threw drinks in the faces of a couple of guys who were getting too friendly with the pixie. One of them then tried to grab her ass instead, and well…Before O'Connor threw his dumb ass out, he was on the ground bemoaning the loss of sensation…down there."
All the men winced and groaned, with Blu unconsciously moving to cover his bijoux de famille with his hands. Birdo smirked. "Ah, a girl after my own heart. So, Pixie's her girlfriend?" Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Luigi physically sink a little while Tippi shrugged. "Well," she began again, "we're all adults here. The only way we're gonna know is if Lou here makes a move."
Blu snorted. "Yeah. Anyone got a jockstrap handy, 'cause I don't."
Lou recoiled. Perhaps this was a bad – no – horrible idea. Even Blu and Tippi thought he was too weak to approach her. Yoshi studiously avoided his eyes, and Birdo always loved it when any woman had the upper hand on a man or group of men. Only Miles connected with him, which consisted of a blank, uncomprehending stare. Suddenly, he felt ashamed; what if she didn't want to be approached by anyone? What gave him, or anyone, the right to bother her? His eyes shifted to the door, and he visualized making a run for it through the club and out to his car. Then he winced; the keys to the company truck were in his coat pocket, and he didn't think that Blu would let him escape that easily. Luigi mentally kicked himself for being such a stunad to become the plaything of some immature billionaire's son. He glanced at the door again; if he timed it just right, he could run away and hide until Blu lost interest. Yoshi and Birdo would play along despite knowing that he did it intentionally.
"Well, what if she doesn't know it's him?" suddenly inquired Miles. "Even if she kicks him in the balls, she'd be kicking someone else. I mean, Lou would definitely feel it, 'cause they're attached to his body and there are numerous nerves in the testicles, but it wouldn't be lethal. And he could go back to giving her bagels on Monday."
Blu gave the blond a grave stare, then shrugged a moment later, the reflective material of his cape creating a rainbow of light. "The Doctor here has a point. I mean, it's your balls, Lou, but you wouldn't risk your identity. Just your balls." He snapped his fingers and started to look near the closet. "We need a mask."
Before Luigi could run out of the room, Nastya pushed open the door and entered the space carrying a platter of several small, faceted glasses filled a quarter-way with a clear liquid. She handed a glass to each person. Luigi's glass carried slightly more liquid than the others.
Luigi and Yoshi eyed the drink suspiciously. "What is it?" questioned the former.
"Dude, it's just a little liquid courage to calm your nerves. Don't worry about it," replied Blu. "Nastya's the best bartender in Brooklyn. It's not water from Jersey and it's not crack." Blu held up the glass and said, "To Lou's steel plumber balls!" He downed the liquid in one gulp.
Tippi rolled her eyes, smiled, and raised her glass. She, Yoshi, and Birdo waited for Luigi to drink his; first, he sniffed the drink, then carefully sipped it. His eyes grew wide and then blinked. "Shit!" he shouted, coughing. "What the fuck is this?"
Nastya emotionlessly responded, "Samogon – Russian moonshine. It comes from my friend's uncle's pot."
Now curious following Luigi's reaction, Birdo, Yoshi, Miles, and Tippi gulped theirs and gagged, sputtered, or winced at the burning sensation of the alcohol. "Motherfucker!" bellowed Yoshi.
Vodka was the ubiquitous drink in most of the Russian and Slavic-speaking world, but samogon – the self-distilled drink – was a private affair, much of the time prepared and drunk within close and familial circles. Luigi quickly tilted his head back and let the alcohol sting both his throat and stomach. It tasted like a corrupted version of pear vodka. He doubled over to adjust to the shock to his insides. After a few seconds, he stood up straight to his full height and nodded at Nastya. "Thank you," he replied in Russian. Nastya blinked in surprise, then smiled. Luigi did not dare to say more, as he had not spoken full sentences in Russian since high school.
"Okay, found it!" cried Blu victoriously, clutching a black, emerald green, and gold embroidered domino mask. "I thought that I had one from last year's Halloween Gala!" He walked over to Luigi, slipped it over his eyes, and tied it securely around his head. Dragging the plumber to the dirty, cracked mirror in the corner, he positioned him in front of it. "Well?"
Luigi brought his right hand to the mask as he failed to recognize the reflection. A superhero or supervillain dressed in black and ready for some action stared back at him. He certainly gave the impression of playing a twenties-era bank robber or Kato from the Green Hornet. What was he exactly, just a masked man who wanted to talk to a girl that he met briefly at a bodega? Luigi inspected the Venetian-style domino mask around his eyes – the green and gold swirled about his bright blue eyes, forehead, and olive-skinned cheeks like nebulae. Within those blue eyes lie a potent concoction of emotions – fear, curiosity, rapture, and raw desire. As he focused on that longing, Luigi felt a surge of warmth, stimulation, and pleasure spread throughout his taut body, and he let his mind wander to the genial auburn-haired beauty – her strong hourglass figure, bright brown eyes, and faintly tanned skin. He was the mysterious, genius mechanic, the masked henchman, the connoisseur of forbidden fruit. The masked man tasted its thunderous power on his tongue and became breathless, craving more.
"Well, maybe I should step on your shoes more often then," he heard echo in his mind.
The domino man unexpectedly went to the plumber's pile of clothes, snatched his phone from the puffer coat pocket, and placed it in the side pocket of his new uniform jacket. By night's end, she would be swept off her feet.
Daisy Abravanel leaned over the neon purple lit bar and surveyed the drunk partygoers with a bored and resentful expression. Her friend Amy had talked her into getting dressed up to go to a Valentine's Day party hosted by some unknown "Count" and his girlfriend. Since neither of them had dates or were otherwise attached, Amy pleaded with Daisy to go as a "non-romantic couple" to let loose before midterms. She vaguely recognized the song ending in the background – Robin Thicke's "Blurred Lines" – and scoffed. It never ceased to amaze her that on the most romantic day of the year, clubs played and idolized songs depicting dysfunctional relationships and general male douchebaggery.
What a crock of shit.
Within the first half-hour of arriving at the party, the auburn-haired knight single-handedly fought off two drunk manboys who thought that possessing female curves constituted an implicit invitation to grab their asses and otherwise boyhandle them. One ended up on the floor, gripping his swollen pine nuts before being escorted from the club by the Irish-accented bouncer. The fucking weasel was about a minute too late and a Euro short, she thought smugly, as she took a sip of her whisky on the rocks. After publicly threatening to make Mr. Pine Nuts a eunuch with her fencing sabre, the other male clubbers stayed clear of Daisy, which suited her just fine. She craned her neck to see where Amy had gone; the Peruvian pink pixie was dancing on the floor with a group of partygoers to some electronic mix. As she was intently watching the group to make sure that the petite woman was not being harassed, Daisy failed to notice a tall figure in black make his way to the end of the bar. The masked man studied her for several minutes; once the feisty knight settled back to her whisky, he signaled to Mimi and confidently instructed her on a drink order. Two minutes later, Mimi brought over a small Collins glass of a pale amber liquid to a confused Daisy.
"Sorry, but I didn't order this," she said.
Mimi pointed at the grinning black masked man who was leaned over the bar. "This is from the gentleman in the black mask. One Firecrotch."
Daisy's eyes narrowed at the now chuckling, mustachioed masked man. He crossed his arms and leaned back, exposing his lean figure in a come-and-get-me motion. Fine, she thought, two can play this game. She gave him a slow, seductive smile and spoke a few words to Mimi, pointing lovingly to the man. Mimi nodded, though her own brown eyes flickered for a moment, and went to prepare the order.
On the other side of the dance floor, Nastya, Yoshi, Birdo, Miles, and Blu apprehensively observed the scene.
"It looks like he ordered her a Firecrotch," Nastya said, squinting to see better.
"Now, that took balls, especially as she's probably gonna retaliate," replied Miles. Yoshi scrubbed his face nervously, then glared at Blu. If this went wrong, he and Mario would make sure that chaebol's son ended up in the back of a garbage truck.
They watched as Mimi brought a shot glass over to him and explained that the lady in the knight's costume bought him a drink. The masked man's face changed from merriment to a small, rebuffed expression. The knight crossed her arms, smirking in victory. A horrified Nastya recognized the contents of the shot glass: a thick layer of Irish cream covering Southern Comfort and Butterscotch Schnapps.
"What did she order him?" asked Birdo who was moving her body side to side so that she could see over the crowded dance floor between the bars.
Blu's face immediately fell. "A Cowboy Cocksucker."
As Yoshi was about to confront Blu, they froze as Luigi picked up the drink and walked toward Daisy, who was visibly becoming more hostile with each step. He stopped about five feet from the irate woman and set the drink on the bar next to him. She stood up to her full five-foot-eight height and moved her left foot forward to pounce on the intruder. Flashing her a leer, he bent over at the waist, captured the glass with his mouth, threw his head back, and downed the contents in one gulp. Luigi set the glass back on the countertop and wiped his mouth and mustache with the fingertips of his right hand. Once again, the masked man leaned against the bar and crossed his arms, rising a provoking eyebrow at the knight.
Daisy growled at the skinny, arrogant man before her. Couldn't he take a hint? She stalked toward him. The man did not move, though his blue eyes conveyed more than a corporeal movement or gesture: haughtiness, a sliver of apprehension, and sheer anticipation. He raised his eyebrows in a teasing "Yes?" signal as she stopped a mere foot and a half from him. "Listen, I'm not looking for a hookup," she snarled, "so best enjoy that hot date with your right hand tonight."
The masked man shrugged in response. "Aight. I'm just standin' here. I thought you might want something more … interesting to drink than sit at the bar alone nursing a whisky that you don't look like you're enjoying. I'm not looking for a hookup, either, and since neither my right hand nor I know you, we don't think that its dating history is appropriate conversation."
Dumbfounded, the auburn lioness studied Luigi quizzically, to which he inwardly sniggered. Nothing like the reverse uno card. It did not escape him that despite her surprise, her eyes lingered on his face, sweeping over his eyes, then his dark mustache and five o'clock shadow, and finally his lips. His inner pride surged when her amazement shifted to frustration.
"So why are you bothering me?" she demanded in a softer, though still hostile tone.
He paused thoughtfully, taking a moment to stare at her – the sweat on her tan skin and straight, medium-length auburn hair sparkled against the spinning neon discotheque lights. Knowing that the lioness would drop him in a second if he tried to move, he resisted the temptation to caress her silky mane. Despite the Samogon and the mask loosening his lips, Luigi suddenly felt a pang of fear; there was a seventy percent or greater chance that she would tell him to go to hell or even kick him in the coglioni. A smart man would run now. But her armor and medieval tunic gleamed like a beacon to his dark mind and amorous heart. Abruptly, the discotheque and bar seemed to disappear from his view, leaving the woman in front of him. Though her annoyed and expectant expression remained, Luigi noticed the raw honesty and weariness within her eyes that matched those which he saw every morning and night in his bathroom mirror. He shifted his body weight off the counter to square off against the knight. "B-because, like me, Lionheart, you're bored," he stated with a small hitch in his voice.
She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "Actually, it's Edward III – about two hundred years after Richard the Lionheart. And how do you know that I wouldn't get bored of you?"
The man chuckled mirthlessly. Bringing his elbows toward his sides, he turned up his hands and pinched his fingers briefly. "I'm a mechanic, not a historian. I fix things; I observe. But I don't fight. If you want me to fuck off, I will. I'll let you nurse your cheap-ass whisky while you spit at equally cheap-ass guys and kick 'em in the balls. The little assholes deserve it. You can spend your entire night doing that. Meanwhile, we're both…still…bored. You can tell me to fuck off at any time. It's up to you."
Daisy considered his response. Even though masked man appeared harmless, he was taller and physically more developed than the undergraduates that she had chased away earlier. He was older, she concluded, with a more mature approach. Perhaps he was a graduate student or even a postdoc? Nonetheless, he kept a respectful distance and did not threaten or cajole her. Unless he were a master manipulator, all the circumstantial evidence indicated that he was sincere. Finally, she answered, "Okay. What do you propose?"
Luigi blinked in surprise, color rushing to his cheeks. Daisy raised her eyebrow again impatiently, at which he quickly replied, "Uh, do you know any dances?"
"Dances?" she asked. "You mean types?"
"Uh, yeah, I g-guess," stammered Luigi.
"Samba, Carimbo, Argentinian Tango, and Jazz. But I'm not really dressed for any of them," explained Daisy.
"Uh, hold on a sec," said Luigi. He walked over to the DJ and started speaking with him. The man looked over at Blu and his group who had continued to observe the scene with increased confusion and hope. After the DJ wordlessly requested permission from Blu, who gestured to grant the masked man's request, he turned to Luigi and nodded.
Once the song that was playing ended, the DJ grabbed the microphone and shouted, "Hey, hey, hey, Count Minions! Hope you're having a great and fiery Valentine's Day! We have a special request from the Count himself, so clear out the dance floor for this next one. An oldie, but goodie, for the Green Thunder and the Princess Lionheart! 'Sing, Sing, Sing,' by Benny Goodman!"
At the end of the announcement, Luigi offered Daisy his hand. She accepted it, and he escorted her to the center of the empty dance floor, almost tripping over his feet along the way. He started to sweat and breathe harshly. What the absolute hell was he thinking? It had been years since he properly danced, and he was wearing someone else's brand-new shoes. Yet the penny had already been paid, so he was in for the entire pound. He glanced briefly at Yoshi, who gave him an encouraging nod. He faced the Princess Lionheart whose assured gaze was betrayed by the uneasy glint in her brown eyes. She disarmed herself and set the sabre on the bar; Mimi placed the sword behind the bar for safe keeping.
A few seconds later, everyone heard the heart-pounding of the drums. Luigi began to bob his body and snap his fingers, then shift his weight from side of his body to another. He emptied his mind enough to create a void of everything except the music and her. At the introduction of the trumpet and clarinet, Luigi firmly took Daisy's right hand and pulled her toward him while pivoting his hips, boxing his legs, and shaking out his feet. She copied his movements and pushed against him. They continued to Lindy Hop, jumping from one leg to another as he occasionally spun her toward and outward from his body, until they reached a comfortable pace. Next, Luigi pulled her so that she could swing her legs off the ground and around his hips before resuming another round of hopping. They heard the cheer of the audience deafen the alternating drums and clarinet solo as he seesawed her legs to the ceiling in an arms carry. Once on her feet again and not to be outdone by her dance partner, Daisy used his wrist to flip herself in a hand-less cartwheel. The crowd squealed with delight, and Luigi leered at her with his eyebrows, daring her to do more. She tugged him toward her, and he unexpectedly used the momentum to jump over her head in a semi split. They rotated toward each other simultaneously, wildly moving their fully stretched arms forward while hopping from one leg to the other. Naturally synching their steps, Luigi and Daisy pirouetted at the same time and again joined their hands, molding their bodies. Once they heard the final trumpet solo and drums, Luigi lifted himself in two 540-degree revoltades, followed by a double saut de basque; as he successfully landed onto his knee, he overheard several holy shits, screams, and roars. He twisted his head and offered his hand toward Daisy, whose mouth formed a perfect o-shape and eyes twinkled in admiration. She smiled and backflipped to him; he suddenly caught her mid-flip and used the forward motion to swing her. Her legs split around him. At the conclusion of the song, their bodies were inches apart, their hands still joined. Although the applause thundered throughout the dance hall, it echoed like a whisper to the two dancers who were gazing into each other's eyes. Breathing harshly and ignoring the pain in his legs from the ballet jumps, Luigi dipped down to touch his forehead to hers and bring her to his chest. She accepted the embrace and framed his cheeks with her slender fingers. After their racing hearts calmed, they walked back to Mimi's bar hand in hand. Several patrons approached them, alternately praising their dance routine and demanding to know the number of their instructors. Gripping her hand tightly, Luigi stayed quiet and let Daisy do the talking, overwhelmed by the attention.
Across the room, the Count's entourage stood frozen like ice sculptures. At last, Tippi whisper-yelled, "Where in the absolute fuck did he learn how to dance and jump like that?!"
Everyone gestured at Yoshi who was, himself, recovering from disbelief. "Uh, yeah, he did ballet for several years."
"Well, well, well," Blu grinned, "Mr. L is full of surprises. Princess wasn't bad, either."
As the group carried on in their discussion over "Mr. L"'s ballet jumps and light foot, he and the Princess stood toe to toe at the bar, the crowd having finally left them alone. Their left and right hands intertwined; Daisy stared into her partner's sapphire blue eyes. "Still bored?"
"Nope," he replied, once again leaning against the bar. "I have officially alleviated my boredom. How about you?"
She giggled. "No, I'm definitely not bored. I know I should be watching my friend, Amy. She's, uh," Daisy quickly eyed the crowd and found Amy, who excitedly saluted her with a fruity drink from the other side of the hall. "I guess she's okay." She reddened and lowered her head to hide it from the masked man's intense gaze. "So, where did you learn to dance like that?"
"Around," said Luigi cryptically.
"Around, huh?" she leered and seized his hand, tugging him back toward the dance floor. "Another round…to alleviate boredom?"
Mutely, he followed her; when they stopped in a small space among tens of dancing couples, Luigi placed his left hand up, wiggling his fingers, and his right at the small of her back. Daisy carefully entwined her right-hand fingers with his, and Luigi began to lead her as Bruce Springsteen's "Leap of Faith" played. The entire room chanted "It takes a leap of faith!" with the Boss's refrain. Every so often, Luigi dipped Daisy and wrapped his arms around her frame, drawing her closer, singing along with her. She let aloud a full belly laugh of excitement and joy, causing her dance partner's heart to race elatedly. When the song finished, Luigi let go of the princess knight, nonetheless keeping eye contact. Daisy did not move; instead, she brought her hands up to his mask and began to move it upward. Akin to a flash of thunder, Luigi moved quickly to stop her, trapping her fingers with his outstretched palms. Shaking his head, he said, "Just enjoy the mystery, Princess."
Luigi peered down longingly at his dancing companion's confused and hurt expression. Coward, he chastised himself. Like what the kids on 17th Avenue used to whisper, chant, and repeat, he was a tried-and-true fighetta. Blu was right in a way; even in America, a commoner could never expect to approach and court a beautiful princess without money, fame, or heart. He had some money saved up to build his dream home, but nothing past six digits; he wasn't a war hero or a tough guy like his elder brother; and his heart had been ripped out and crushed into rubble several years prior. What could he possibly offer her beyond the occasional bagel and dance? Free plumbing and HVAC installation? The plumber froze at his previous thoughts; one bagel with cream cheese, one Firecrotch, one Cowboy Cocksucker, two dances, and three months of looking at her ass resulted in him worrying about how to create a future with her?
He didn't even know her name.
The DJ played another song by P.M. Dawn – "If You Never Say Goodbye" – which Luigi vaguely remembered from the X-Files. He took her into his body again, swaying to the music. Mario loved that show, but he especially enjoyed making the timid little Luigi watch certain episodes, namely the one where the entire town practiced cannibalism. On one such occasion, their father had asked Mario and his then-girlfriend, Pauline, to babysit the ten-year-old because he was called into the fire station to deal with a three-alarm fire. The couple spent their time making out in the living room as Luigi hid behind the couch. Although the young Luigi tried to deny what happened to the elder Mario, his brother ended up getting in trouble after one particularly virulent nightmare.
"Tell me your name at least," Daisy murmured, interrupting his self-flagellation.
They heard the music change to a slow dance. "I really want to dance with you again, Princess Lionheart. But it's your choice," he replied instead.
Mesmerized by the masked, mustachioed man, Daisy felt herself nod. Luigi led her back to the dance floor where numerous couples – including Blu, Tippi, Yoshi, and Birdo – had gathered and took her into his arms. She circled her armor-covered arms around his neck, drawing him closer. They moved together slowly to Marvin Berry and the Starlighters' "Earth Angel." Daisy felt Luigi's heart thumping wildly; hers was trying to catch up and at one point, she believed that she would faint from exhaustion. Had she lost her mind? She was slow dancing with a handsome stranger – but a stranger – whom she was close to taking home for the evening. Daisy was, in her own experience, a magnet for manboys and abusive trash. She shuddered in trepidation at her dangerously rash thoughts. It had been so long since she allowed a man to touch her, let alone skin against skin. As if reading her thoughts, Luigi pressed his Roman nose to hers, nuzzling it tenderly, and closed his eyes. His clammy, yet warm skin triggered sparks from head to toe, causing her to inhale deeply and sigh audibly. Luigi's eyes opened and bore into hers, voicelessly asking for permission to do more. Daisy narrowed the remaining inches between them and pressed her lips to his. He kissed back with more force, and she parted her lips, deepening the embrace. She chortled a little at the tickle of his mustache against her upper lip. Somewhere in the background, Daisy thought she heard a man's whoop and several high fives slapping together.
They broke the kiss, breathless from lack of air. Luigi kept his nose against hers while Daisy moved her arms from around his neck to lay her hands flat against his shoulders. "Are you gonna tell me to fuck off?" he spoke softly.
"No," she said. "Let's go somewhere more…private." He blushed a deep crimson and nodded; she laced the fingers of her right hand into those of his left and guided him toward the restrooms behind the DJ. Like a prisoner attempting to escape the watchful observation of the warden, they crept down the darkened halls of the staff area, away from the rotating strobe lights and boom of electronic dance mix. Luigi recognized the "Staff Only" door; he twisted the doorknob which was still unlocked and tugged her inside. He flicked on the lights and gasped when he ended up with his back against the door, his weight having slammed it shut, her lips upon his.
"I never do this," she moaned against him. "I don't even know who you are, and after arguing with you and," she kissed him deeply, "three, four dances, I want to take you home and fuck your brains out. What am I doing? Oh shit, what am I doing?"
Luigi gently stopped the kiss and, framing her face with his hands, tilted her head so that she could see his eyes. Even though his body was ready to go further, his heart ached at her uncertainty, and it would make him sick to his stomach to continue. "I-I m-meant what I said earlier, my princess. I don't want to hook up or have a cheap fuck in some night club. There's – there's no obligation or rush. Let's go back to the bar and get a soda or coffee. We can talk some more. N-no worries."
Daisy froze at the masked man's last words, and she scrutinized him again. She knew that she had heard that voice before, but in her compromised state, she could not remember when or where. "Okay," she said quietly. "Thank you, y'know, for not being a douchebag."
He laughed huskily and ran his fingers through her hair. "Anytime."
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she stepped back to allow him to leave. He exited the room; out of the corner of her eye, Daisy glimpsed a pile of clothes in front of a mirror. Inexplicably drawn to them, she walked over to examine the discarded outfit: a man's thick boots, blue jeans, a forest green turtleneck, and a black puffer jacket. She gasped, hands covering her mouth. Could the masked man be the guy in the bodega? How could it be – he could barely say three words to her. She had noticed him watching her every weekday morning over the past month and had begun to suspect that he had a crush. However, he seemed painfully shy and at times brusque. Though she was born and raised in the big cities of the Bay Area and São Paulo, Daisy had some difficulty adapting to the fast-paced, sarcastic New York lifestyle and often misjudged the locals' intentions. But in this case, her original impression of Mr. Bagel was correct.
So, what was she going to do? The ball was, metaphorically, in her court. He had demonstrated that he would not use coercion or manipulation to bed her. Daisy inhaled deeply to control her hormones. She could hear her father's voice counsel, "Start with the facts and make appropriate deductions from the evidence." Starting with what she knew about Mr. Bagel, Daisy listed the most probable conclusions: he was painfully shy, especially around her, so a crush was likely. If he was indeed the masked man, then he wanted to impress and romance her. He let her pursue him, although his intentions were less clear. Did he just want the fantasy, or did he want more? Was he worth pursuing if he's playing games? That's what bothered Daisy; even if he didn't necessarily want sex, he still could be stringing her along for some gratification. She inhaled deeply again. Previous boyfriends and dating interests taught her never to change her life and never to allow them to have the upper hand. She felt a sharp pang of anger; while he might believe in the cuteness of his fantasy, he was likely never on the receiving end of someone's fist or truly feared for his life as others laughed at him for being too sensitive. Now comfortable with her newly found fury, Daisy swung the door open and marched purposefully toward Mimi's bar.
Meanwhile, Luigi braced himself against the wall in an obscured corner, his eyes tightly shut to will his mind and anatomy to calm down. His body was blazing after their brief interlude. It had been so long since he desired to touch and be touched by someone. While he had had sex with a few different people in his teens and early twenties, he had only been in love once. Even now looking back at the past, he didn't know if he was truly in love with Eclair or in love with being wanted, but her shapely silhouette bouncing up and down on his sticky bare skin in the back of her grandmother's aquamarine '74 Chevy Nova was the one of the few moments he cherished from high school.
Walking away from Daisy's declared yearning to fuck him in the staff room was a hard choice. Aside from a lack of protection, for which it would be a cold day in hell to ask Yoshi or Blu, he wanted his Venus to enjoy herself if and when the time came. As he staggered back to the bar, Luigi gulped timidly, all the moreover unsure as to what his endgame was. What did he want? The black domino mask, secure across his eyes and nose, veiled the wavering thoughts plaguing his mind. He could and should settle for only tonight – a few espressos and idle chatter. Then they would say goodnight and part ways. It would be for the best, as Luigi knew that if she tried to kiss him again, he would firmly seize her by the wrist, drag her to the truck, drive them to her apartment, and never want to leave. Lost in his mental pain and pleasure, the masked man failed to spot an incensed auburn beauty, her arms crossed, glaring at him. When he finally lifted his to hers, Luigi saw stormy brown thunderclouds.
"What do you want?" Daisy demanded. "And I'm in no mood for games."
"Wait – what?" he replied, confused. È pazza? Is this woman crazy? First, she wants us to…then she wants to kill me?!
"You said that you weren't interested in a hook up, yet you won't show me your face. If you're just looking for tonight, a fantasy, fine, but be honest. And besides that, how does that make you any different from guys looking to score, you-you-Scaramouche?" she growled while gesturing at his costume.
Luigi's eyes shifted from pensive cerulean to distressed gray. He was ready to tell her that he was just out for a fantasy. Yet her dark brown orbs, full of silent, stinging reproach, utterly undid his resolve. "You have a point, Princess," he said tiredly. "The truth is that you'll be disappointed."
Daisy moved to bring them inches apart. "Then disappoint me. I'm an adult woman. I can handle it."
The masked man studied her for several moments. The discotheque and bar once again disappeared to reveal hopeful brown on panicked blue. What do you want to do, Luigi? he heard a long gone voice say.
XXXX
An hour later, Birdo was smiling as she drove Luigi's company truck down NY-27 to Bensonhurst with Luigi in the passenger seat, his plumber clothes in a pile at his feet. Blu refused to take the costume back, insisting that he keep it as a "souvenir." Miles and Yoshi followed behind them in their black Honda. Since Luigi had had several cocktails, they collectively decided that risking a DUI in the company truck was unthinkable. Only Birdo, who thankfully only had the bit of Samogon several hours prior, knew how to drive stick; the stole-covered Taiwanese climbed in the driver's seat, adjusted the seat from Luigi's six-foot setting for her diminutive five-foot-four stature, and easily sped down the street. For the twenty-minute drive to 17th Avenue, Luigi said nothing; instead, he remained fixated on his phone, occasionally nodding or humming when Birdo tried to engage him in conversation.
As the cars pulled up along the curb outside of the Masciarelli brick home, a light unexpectedly illuminated the living room window. Yoshi and Miles, who exited the Honda first, gaped at the light worriedly. Locking the driver side, Birdo jumped down from the cab, shut the door, and circled the hood to stand next to Luigi. The front door opened to reveal an anxious and irritated Italian in a white tee-shirt, blue jeans, and sneakers, the glint of his military-grade prosthesis visible from the house light behind him.
"Oh, shit," Miles inaudibly groaned. Luckily, Mario wasn't carrying the legendary and notorious wooden Louisville Slugger.
"How ya doin', Birdo?" said the elder brother with false cheer, sauntering down the concrete stairs to the street. Before she could answer, he gestured to Yoshi and Miles, who cowered from the approaching figure, "You two dipshits, what did you do to my brother? Is she deadass driving my boss's truck?"
"Stai tranquillo, bro," interjected Luigi who rose to his full height and shut the passenger door. "They're jus' givin' me a ride home."
Mario's eyes drew a line from his younger brother's face downward to his feet. No longer was Luigi in his plumber's boots, jeans, and green turtleneck, but in some Green Hornet nightmare with Adidas knockoffs. Apparently, the four of them went to some costume party, judging by the Iron Man, bowtied nutty professor, and go-go dancer getups, he reasoned. But why did Luigi let him believe that he was going to be home working on his robots? Mario had arrived shortly after nine o'clock in the evening; when he went to check on his younger brother, he discovered that he was not in his room or shower. The red car was parked in the driveway. He texted and called Luigi several times with no response. After an hour of an unresponsive kid brother who could be anywhere in New York City and an increasingly apprehensive pacing in the living room, Mario almost called the police. His apprehension having evolved into fury, he bellowed, "You didn't take your red POS to this party? Weeg, if Sal knew that you took the company truck to some goddamned party…"
"Well, are ya gonna tell him?" interrupted Luigi with an exasperated tone.
Mario glared at his younger brother. "No," he finally replied.
"It's a long story, bro." Luigi faced his friends, work clothes in hand. "Thanks, guys. For everything." Birdo handed the keys to Mario, who accepted them with an angry shake of his head.
Yoshi gripped Luigi's right hand and pulled him into a quick hug. "Anytime, man. I'm glad you came out tonight. Let me know how it goes, y'know…"
Luigi nodded, lips curving upward a little. Then he ambled toward the concrete stairs and front door. Mario shot one final warning scowl at the trio and followed his brother inside the house.
Several hours later, Luigi lay awake in his bed flipping through the text messages on his iPhone. Five upset "Where are u?" and "Where the fuck are u?" messages were sent by Mario; two, however, came from a new number beginning with area code 415.
The first message: "Daisy Abravanel. I'm free whenever you are, Lou Masciarelli."
The second was a picture of her kissing an unmasked and blushing Luigi.
