"Marcel," Pamela whispered.
Saying his name still made her heart race, still made her breath hitch, and still gave her goose bumps in a pleasurable way. His curly blonde hair looked so soft, his blue eyes so mesmerizing, his lips so pink – the lips that had kissed her a lot, that had whispered sensual things to her and had made her shiver with desire.
It was Marcel. The love of her life, her ex-fiancé.
"Pamela." He smiled at her, his eyes somber. He moved closer and Pamela perceived his cologne. It was the one she had gotten him on his last birthday that they had spent together. He still wore it, and that meant a lot to her.
"How are you?"
She gave him a tight smile. "Fine." Her voice sounded parched. She cleared her throat. "Fine. And – and you?"
"I'm okay." He said, fiddling with his fingers. She looked at them and saw they were very neat and kept. Marcel had always been neat, just like her and that was one of the reasons they had fallen in love with each other. But they were now separated. Her heart broke all over.
"Come, let's sit and talk." He led her to the bar and ordered two drinks for both of them. He gave her a Daiquiri, blended with white rum and lemon fruit juice.
She smiled as she accepted the glass. Lemons were her favorite. "You still remember?"
"I'll always remember." He replied with a grin as he stirred his drink.
"Do you still take your coffee black? And your pizza with pepperoni and sauce?"
He placed a hand on his chest. "Always and forever."
They both laughed.
"So," Marcel started. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."
"Me neither. You've always been a non-party person." She laughed nervously.
"I could never remain the same, you know. I had to change some things in my lifestyle after our – " he paused as if looking for the right word.
"Separation," Pamela offered softly.
He nodded slowly. "Yeah, that."
An awkward silence fell between them. The soft music filled the air, alongside people's laughter, chatter, and clatter of wine glasses.
"You look absolutely beautiful, by the way."
Pamela blushed. "Thank you." She whispered. Then thinking of what to say, she decided to clear the air about their fallout.
"About our breakup, I want you to know that I never meant to – "
A throat was cleared, rather obtrusively, behind them. Pamela grimaced, knowing who it was. She turned around to meet Devlin's brown eyes looking down at them menacingly. His face bore no emotion but she could see the tidbits of anger in his eyes.
She let out a sigh. "Marcel, this is my date, Devlin. Devlin, Marcel. He's – an old friend." She introduced them.
The two men regarded each other coolly as if trying to gauge who had the most power or authority. Marcel was tall, but Devlin was taller. Marcel was clean-shaven and very neat, not a hair was out of place and his shirt had not a wrinkle while Devlin on the other hand was more rugged, sporting a day-old beard and it was somewhat appealing. No doubt, Devlin emanated the greater authority.
Pamela caught herself just in time. How dare she compare the two? How could she compare a criminal to a law-abiding citizen?
Part of her wanted to introduce Devlin as her boyfriend because she didn't want to appear weak before Marcel, didn't want him to know that since last year they separated, she hadn't been able to get over him, not to talk of bringing herself to love another.
Finally, Marcel and Devlin shook hands. "I'm her boyfriend." Devlin said smiling, "And her date too, clearly."
Pamela forced her teeth out in a grin. Liar. Bastard. Illegal arms dealer and fugitive of the law.
"Oh, that's nice," Marcel responded dryly, almost with boredom, but was that jealousy in his eyes?
If Marcel still cared for her then maybe she should confide in him and tell him all about the chaos that was happening in her life. Should she? There might be something he could do to help. But what if Devlin got angry and took it out on her mom – a person who had zero interest in leaving his house and therefore might not want to escape with her? That shot the theory to hell.
"Marcel, dear?"
Pamela's head swung towards the female voice that had spoken Marcel's name in the most endearing of ways. It was a very beautiful dark-skinned woman dressed in a royal blue princess-cut outfit. Pamela had to admit that the woman was gorgeous. She had beautiful dark skin that shone like caramel, whereas her skin was pale and milky. Her previously high spirits plummeted.
"Hey," Marcel walked towards her and taking her hand, introduced her to Pamela and Devlin, "This is my friend and date, Fatimah. Fatimah, Pamela King, and Mr. Devlin."
"Hello." Pamela greeted, trying so hard not to be aloof. Wait, was she jealous of Fatimah? Of course, she wasn't. She wasn't. She really wasn't!
"Hello." She responded, smiling brightly. Fatimah turned to Devlin and greeted too. She noticed that Devlin smiled warmly at her. The phony bastard. He had never given her such a smile. Pamela couldn't help the jealousy that was seeping through her.
She pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind and smiled brightly. "Where are you from originally?" Oh goodness, she must seem as pathetic and phony as stiff-necked aristocrats. She hoped dearly that Fatimah wasn't offended.
"My mom is Arabian. My father is American." She said. "And I was born here too."
"Ohhh." Oh' d Pamela. "Beautiful name by the way."
"Thank you. My mom used to tell me that my dad – now of blessed memory – "
Pamela saw the sadness in her eyes and felt instantly connected to her. They had something in common – they had both lost the fathers they loved. Pamela could feel her pain. Truly, no one could understand what a person was going through better than the one going through the same thing.
"– took his stand, that I must be called something Arabic, but my mom disagreed, saying I must have an English name – Emerald precisely but at the end of the day, Dad won." She laughed.
"That's so cute!" Pamela said, actually referring to Fatimah's laughter. Why didn't she have such a beautiful smile? The two men seemed mesmerized by it. "I had the same problem with my parents. They wanted to give me separate names, but my grandma came to the rescue. She was like 'Pamela or nothing' My - my Father is dead by the way." Pamela said sadly.
Fatima gasped. "Sweetheart!" Then she held Pamela's hand and squeezed it. "I'm so sorry."
"Thank you," Pamela replied, at the brink of tears, but held back by a thin line to save them all the embarrassment.
Devlin cleared his throat. Pamela and Fatimah looked at the guys and saw they were looking embarrassed. The girls laughed apologetically.
"Well, I'm sorry to break this happy union, but we have to get going. We have other guests." Marcel said, smiling apologetically. "Please, excuse us."
"Of course," Pamela said with more gusto than she was feeling as the duo disappeared into the crowd, hand in hand. She released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
"Jealous much?"
She jumped, startled, then directed a dark scowl at Devlin. "Stop."
"What? I'm just pointing out what's written on your face."
"When did you become so interested in conversations?"
Devlin slipped his hand on her waist and drew her closer to him. He pointed at Marcel and Fatimah, and how they moved around, greeting guests.
"Just take a look at him, seems like he's moved on to other things. You should too."
Pamela tried to work up a reply to give him but she felt tongue-tied. The way she was pressed to his body was making her treacherous heart race. What was the problem with her confused heart?
"How did you know about me and Marcel?" She breathed.
He didn't reply. She looked up at him and saw that his gaze was focused squarely on Marcel. Mr. Fener was with him and they were discussing. Pamela wanted to ask him why he was looking at her ex like he wanted him to die in the most gruesome of ways when Marcel looked straight at them and pointed at Devin. Pamela could feel Devlin stiffening as Mr. Fener walked toward him. She let him let go of her, not blaming him one bit. The life of a Mafia is filled with suspicions and it was a sad way to live.
"Can you play the piano?"
"Why?" His reply was clipped. Aloof. Rude. Pamela wished she had something to clobber his head with. A club maybe.
Mr. Fener put his hands in his pocket. Fener was almost as tall as Devlin. He was sturdily built and had an air of authority around him that showed he hated being questioned, even by his most generous donors.
"I'll explain later. Right now the kids need a pianist. So, yes or no?"
"What happened to the one you use?"
"I killed him."
Devlin was taken aback but only momentarily and when Fener laughed, Pamela joined him. To see him shocked, albeit fleetingly and for the shortest of moments was priceless.
"So, can you?"
"Yeah. A bit." He said shrugging noncommittally. Pamela was surprised but didn't give it away. The 'evil' Mafia had musical skills. That was great. The devil would have a field day when he played it in hell.
"Okay, I'll call you when it's time." He turned on his heels and walked to the podium.
"Good evening ladies and gentlemen. You are all welcome to the 10th annual charity ball, solely dedicated to those with Down's Syndrome, started by, as we all know, my late wife, Jeanne Fenner..." There was a short silence. From the music corner, a soft slow tune started playing from the speakers. It gave an emotional air to the man's words. "When she died five years ago, I lost all hope of helping the kids and teens with this syndrome. I lost all hope in helping Special Needs schools and homes. But you all revitalized my hope and for that I and the children are grateful." There was a round of applause.
"We are here to show our love and compassion for the children," He spoke amidst the applause until it died. "to prove that the syndrome does not stop them from living a normal life. We are here to donate to the researchers to keep searching for ways to improve the way of living of the kids and to donate to Jeanne Fenner's Memorial school, the first in Homer. We are also saying thank you in advance as you play your part by buying the items that are up for sale. Lastly, some of the kids want to sing a song for you all, to show their gratitude and one of our most supportive donors will be playing the piano for us. Please welcome Mr. Gusev."
Pamela watched Devlin walk gracefully to the podium amidst applause from the guests.
"Thank you once again." Mr. Fener concluded and stepped down and went to his seat.
The applause didn't stop as the kids, with the syndrome all filed out. Pamela was moved to tears. They all had that marring on their faces, both male and female but weren't ashamed. They were so beautiful. This made her vow to donate something to help support the kids. She watched Devlin as he stood to communicate with the music director, then the lights dimmed and focused on the kids.
"There comes a time
When we heed a certain call
When the world must come together as one
There are people dying
Oh, and it's time to lend a hand to life
The greatest gift of all
We can't go on
Pretending day-by-day
That someone, somewhere soon make a change
We're all a part of God's great big family
And the truth, you know, love is all we need.."
Applause and cheers. It was beautiful. Pamela started to tear up.
"We are the world
We are the children
We are the ones who make a brighter day, so let's start giving
There's a choice we're making
We're saving our own lives
It's true we'll make a better day, just you and me..."
Pamela dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, careful not to ruin her makeup. Her eyes fell on Devlin and saw how focused he was on the keys, how at ease he was with himself. He looked different, composed, and sexy in an odd way and that made her feel different about him.
However, she had to remind herself that he was the bad guy. He could kill her anytime he wanted to. He could hurt her when he felt like it. This was not a movie and she was not developing Stockholm's syndrome. She decided to steer her thoughts away from that direction and focus on the kids. It was a beautiful night and she was going to enjoy it.
But it seemed fate wasn't on her side when all of a sudden the room erupted with a very loud blast, which sounded very suspiciously like a gunshot. Pamela dropped to the floor in fear as the whole room scattered, women started screaming and, kids started crying.
It was chaos.
She was still crouched low in fear, unsure of what to do when suddenly the shots started again. She used both hands to fearfully cover her ears. She started to scream when it seemed like the shots didn't want to cease. Panic gripped her heart as images of the occurrence on the day her father died flashed before her eyes. She started to have shortness of breath and unconsciousness started to pull her in.
But she was yanked back to consciousness when a cold metal, very similar to a gun – or was it a gun? – was pressed against her forehead.
"Hello, Pam Pam." the voice snarled.
~
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