STRONGER by Lexie Ray Page A

before smiling and taking the tray from me.
    “You better behave yourself while I’m gone, darling,” she said, shaking her finger in the Don’s face. Her eyes flickered to mine before leaving.
    I was nervous as hell but turned my smile up as high as it would go. The table’s occupants dug into the basket of bread, dipping the slices in the fragrant oil. It smelled like it must be infused with rosemary or something similar.
    “Can I get you gentlemen glasses of water or something?” I asked, glancing over at the bar. Cocoa and Blues were watching like hawks even as Blues mixed the martinis.
    “Water?” one of the Don’s friends spluttered. “What would we do with it?”
    They laughed and I blushed.
    “C’mon, Georgie, she’s new,” Don Costa said. “She doesn’t know what’s what with us yet.” He wiped breadcrumbs from the corners of his mouth with the cloth napkin and patted his knee. “Have a seat and make yourself comfortable.”
    I sat down quickly, lightly, without question. I didn’t want to disappoint or embarrass Cocoa or Mama even if I was acutely uncomfortable. The Don always got what he wanted, didn’t he?
    “Tell me about yourself, Jazz,” Don Costa coaxed. “What were you doing before Mama discovered you?”
    Somehow, eating a McDonald’s hamburger out of a dumpster didn’t seem like an appropriate response.
    “I was a student,” I said, thinking quickly.
    “How wonderful!” the Don said. “I always say education’s the most important thing, don’t I, fellas?”
    Everyone voiced their agreement.
    “What college were you at, doll?” he asked.
    “I just graduated high school,” I lied. When my mother died, I’d been about halfway through my senior year. Graduating hadn’t been at the top of my priorities at that point—survival had been.
    The Don suddenly became infinitely more interested in me. His hand tightened reflexively on my hip. It felt possessive and I tried not to squirm.
    “Mama wasn’t lying,” he remarked lightly, even as his voice shook with an emotion I couldn’t identify. “You are young.”
    I shivered at his tone and felt myself thinking again about the “everything” my roommate had failed to tell me. There had to be something I was missing.
    “Don Costa, I hope you’re keeping your hands to yourself,” Cocoa said in mock admonishment. She distributed the martinis like lightning and held out her hand to me.
    I took it with no small degree of relief and she pulled me up from the Don’s lap.
    “I need Miss Jazz here to help me with your suppers,” my roommate said, looping her arm around my waist and pulling me close. “I hope you’re hungry.”
    “Starving,” the Don said.
    “Then we’ll be back in a jiffy,” Cocoa said.
    She steered us around, but it wasn’t the kitchen we headed for—it was Mama’s office. Cocoa opened the door without knocking. Mama was reapplying some of her heavy makeup, singing softly to herself.
    “We have a situation,” Cocoa said grimly, not letting me go even as the door shut behind us.
    Mama glanced up. “I know we do, sugar.”
    “What should we do?”
    I assumed they were talking about Don Costa.
    “It’s okay,” I said. “I know the Don’s just flirting with me. I’m okay with it. I can flirt back, if you want.”
    Mama and Cocoa exchanged a long stare.
    “You don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with,” Cocoa said, giving me a hard look.
    “I thought you said the Don always gets what he wants,” I said, confused again.
    “He does,” Mama said, closing her compact with a sharp snap. “We’ll deal with it when the time comes.”
    Cocoa hadn’t stopped looking at me. She suddenly grabbed my blouse, buttoning two buttons and hiding the cleavage I’d been rocking. She unbuttoned another button on her own shirt and adjusted her bra. Her breasts looked to be under considerable risk of spilling out.
    “That’s a start,” Mama remarked. “Now, if you girls will excuse me,