116: Swift Justice

“That one,” Millie pointed out with certainty.  “In white gold to match her other jewelry.”

Sliding a sideways glance at the cute little old woman, he smirked at her with indulgent amusement.  She hadn’t wasted a moment in agreeing to join him on this shopping excursion, insisting that she knew just the thing. 

Twenty minutes later, they were bent over the display case at Cartier, with her yellowed nail tapping insistently on the glass that enclosed the “Love” display. 

From what Jon could see, they were pretty plain as far as jewelry went.  Simple bangles and cuffs of white, yellow or pink gold adorned with a half dozen spots of design that looked like screw heads.  There were also earrings, necklaces and rings bearing the same motif, but he didn’t find them to be any more attractive than the bracelets.

“Or one of the diamond variations, if you’re feeling exceptionally generous.”

Looking that the selection that she now tapped on, he could see the appeal there. There were either two or three rows of delicate diamonds running between the screw heads, giving the bracelets a far more feminine appearance.  There were even matching rings, which looked a whole lot like wedding bands to his untrained eye. 

“Why are you so sure this is the trinket Chiara should have?” he inquired, narrowing his eyes curiously toward the diminutive woman at his side while resting the heels of his palms on the cabinet’s edge.

Instead of responding, Millie consciously turned away and studied the minute details of the baubles in the case.  It was the first time that she’d ever refused to meet his gaze or pretended that she hadn’t heard him, and he was just about to call her on it when they were joined by one of the staff members.

The woman in the tasteful pearls and black blazer that stepped up behind the counter disdainfully regarding his shopping partner before turning a wide, ass-kissing smile on Jon.  “Good day.  May I help you?” 

Apparently a leather jacket and jeans ranked higher than a wool coat and beret, and damn if he didn’t hate uppity sales people.  It wasn’t like they had the money to buy the shit they were hawking.  What entitled them to look down on anyone, including a woman who towed her possessions along with her? 

“We’re looking for a gift, but there’s still some discussion before we will need assistance.  Thank you.”

The saleswoman drifted away with a disapproving frown, but when Jon turned his attention back to his silver-haired companion, it was to find her eyes twinkling up at him.  “I like you very much.  Part of the reason for that is because Charlie Girl is so smitten, but I also appreciate that you don’t think your wealth inflates your importance.  Odd quality for a world-renowned musician, but quite attractive.”

“I didn’t realize you knew what I do for a living, but beyond that, I’m just a guy from Jersey,” he said with a shrug.  “Who happens to have a little talent and a whole lot of motivation.”

“It’s hard to miss who you are in this city.  Especially when you’re kissing my very dear friend on Page Six of the today’s Post.”

Page Six, huh?  That perversely pleased him.  Not that Millie had seen it, but because the photo was there in the first place.

Fuck you very much, Owen Foster.

“I’ll have to get a copy for my scrapbook,” he murmured through his grin.  “Now, are you going to tell me why this is the ideal trinket for Chiara?”

Her smile faded, and her eyes once again drifted to the display.  “Cartier acquired the design for the Love bracelet in 1969 from Aldo Cipullo.  The story goes that he created it for the love of his life – hence the name – and this one was the original prototype.”

His gaze followed her direction to the plainest of the collection, but not the narrowest and he brought his face down for a closer look.  “Is that a screwdriver in the box with it?”

“It is,” she confirmed with delight.  “His beloved was married to a member of the Gambino crime family, so there was no hope of them ever being together. One or the other would undoubtedly be killed if they even tried, but Aldo said that if he got the chance to put this token of love on her wrist, that he didn’t want her – or anyone else – to take it off.  As a result, each bracelet clasp must have a  specific screwdriver to remove it.”

Putting that bracelet on Chiara’s wrist and tucking the screwdriver away for safekeeping appealed to Jon.  No matter how pissed she got, she’d still have to wear it until he decided to release her – or until she felt brave enough to have it soldered off.  Either way, she’d have to stop and think a good long while, and that would only serve him well in the long-run.

“The mob, huh?  How the hell do you get hold of those guys?  I could use their services,” he laughed, thinking of Owen sitting in jail and how much easier life would be if the son of a bitch ended up shanked in the dinner line.  Then again, maybe Jon had just watched The Godfather too many times. 

“Now what would you need the mob’s services for?  They’re a bunch of filthy, murdering animals.”

Sounded damn-near perfect to him, but Jon only gave her a playful wink and said, “The legal system in New York isn’t exactly swift, and my girlfriend could benefit from some swift justice.  Ask her about it sometime.  Other than that, how does this story relate?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” the older woman murmured with a distracted smile.  “It’s always held a romantic spot in my heart.  Aldo died in 1984, only a year before his beloved became a widow.  No one has heard from her since, but I tend to believe she’s lived all these years broken-hearted and alone.  Charlie Girl isn’t alone, and I think this would serve as a lovely reminder.”

He didn’t disagree, and there was also the matching ring – just in case – but Jon had a grander vision than old Aldo, so the original model wasn’t going to do it.  He wanted the diamonds. 

He wanted Chiara to have the diamonds, he amended turning an inquiring eye to his partner in crime.  “White gold, you say?”

“White gold,” Millie agreed with a smile, reaching out to pat his hand.  “I think she’d like that very much.”

😊 😊 😊 😊 😊

Charlie sank into the leather desk chair with a sigh and twirled her seat around to look out the window of the office that would only remain hers for a handful of days.  The view had never been a panoramic vista of the city, but she’d come to find familiar comfort in the closeness of the other buildings.  Now, though, she was blind to everything beyond the appalling scene in her mind, and each variation of that scene brought a darker scowl to her face. 

No matter how she looked at it, Owen would continue to infest Charlie’s life like a plague of cockroaches for a minimum of two to three more years.  She didn’t look forward to telling Jon that, but short of a divine intervention, there was no other choice. 

“Divine intervention,” she muttered to herself, swinging back toward the desk and scooping up the handset on her office phone.  With snippets of conversations that she hadn’t really been paying attention to flitting through her auditory memory, she prayed that one of her family members was a divine entity.

“Hello?” 

“Daddy, it’s Charlie.”

“Good morning, darling daughter.  How did it feel waking up and knowing that all your problems were sitting on Riker’s Island and that you’re being called the new love interest of a rock star?  Luke sent me pictures of you and Jon on Broadway last night.”

Using her thumb to repetitively click the top of her favorite pen, Charlie quietly pushed air out through her nose.  One of those pictures was actually the new wallpaper on her cell phone.  She’d been delighted with how the planned/unplanned photo opportunity turned out, but now her father’s good mood was about to be ruined just like hers was. 

“It felt pretty darn good – until I got to work and talked to one of my colleagues about divorce proceedings involving convicted felons.  Now I’m…  not good.” 

It was easier for her to stick with “not good” rather than going into angry, disheartened, anxious, worried, pensive and all those other synonyms that described her feelings at being unwillingly tethered to an obstinate pile of shit.   One who would do everything in his power to make this difficult, because that’s just how Owen was. 

“What’s wrong?  I thought a convicted felon wasn’t entitled to an equitable settlement?”

“A convicted felon isn’t.  The loophole here is that Owen isn’t convicted yet.  With the way the legal system moves in this city and his likelihood to appeal the whole thing, he could remain in an ‘accused’ status for years.  I either file now and give him half, or wait until he’s convicted to file and add another two or three years to my marriage in the process.”

“Son of a bitch.”

Her father’s quiet swear echoed Charlie’s sentiments exactly.  “Now you see why I don’t feel quite so free as I did last night.”

“Unfortunately, I do.  You can’t move on with a new husband while you still have an old one.”

Charlie scrunched her face up while pinching the bridge of her nose.  “I’m not interested in a new husband, but I’d like to keep my boyfriend, and I’m not sure how thrilled he’s going to be about this development.  Jon was just asking this morning how long it would be until the divorce is final.”

“Because he wants to marry you, as any good Catholic boy should.”

Closing her eyes, she tried to keep the deep breath inaudible.  It was her own fault for bringing divinity into this.  “I didn’t call you to talk about marriage, Daddy.  I called to see if you know anybody in the DA’s office that can expedite this fiasco.  And anybody on the inside that can break his legs and make him sign the divorce papers the first time he’s served?”

The last part was offered with a laugh, because she didn’t really believe her father could or would make that happen, but since she was asking for a miracle, Charlie figured she may as well go all out. 

To her surprise, that was the item he blew off with a careless, “He’ll sign them.  Don’t you worry about that.  It’s the legal process that’s going to be the problem, honey.  The system is so overwhelmed that even the good judges and prosecutors are burned out to the point they don’t care.  I can make some calls, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

She mentally paraded through every swear word she knew while again pinching the bridge of her nose – this time to the point of pain. 

It’s okay.  You can only do what you can do.  At least the ball is rolling.

“Charlie…”

“Yeah, Daddy?”

Lifting her chin, a shove of her right foot had the chair twirling back around to look outside again.  At least there was some distracting movement out there, instead of the still office that reminded her of the uncertain path that lay ahead for her life.  

“How devastating is it going to be to go through with the divorce before he’s convicted?  Because your mother and I have a pretty good savings.  We’d be willing to help you out in whatever way we can.  Or maybe you could talk to Jon?  We just want this all to be behind you.”

So did she, but taking money from her retired parents wasn’t going to happen, nor was taking money for a man she’d shystered out of millions.  She would crunch the numbers tonight, then talk to her colleague again to determine the least she could get away with giving Owen.  Then…  Then, she’d figure out if the extra years of marriage were justified.

“I can make it on my own,” Charlie assured her father.  “I just have to know what resources I have available – of the non-financial variety.  That’s all.”

“I’ll make some phone calls this morning.  If there’s anything that can be done to move this along, you have my word that I’ll make it happen.”

Her family really was the best.  As loud, obnoxious and judgmental as they could be, they’d also move mountains for her if she asked. 

“Thank you, Daddy.  I love you.”