Tony Sinatra: If Loving You Is Wrong, page 6
“I got you,” said Sam. “Alright? I got you. Just give me some more time.”
Wendy exhaled. “You got a few more days, but that’s it. Either find yourself a job, turn yourself some tricks, or get on from ‘round me ‘cause I can’t support you and me too.”
Sam knew Wendy meant well. But it was dog-eat-dog on those street corners and she was well aware of that too. Something had to turn for her or she was going to fall through the cracks of life and get swallowed up forever.
After she left DCF, her plan was to hit the pavement again, looking for legit work again. She’d sell blood at the local blood bank, or pick up cans and take them to the recycle place, before she sold her body. But she could never tell Wendy that or she’d be out on her rear for sure. Wendy envisioned them selling their bodies together. As a tag-team. Sam found it all so dehumanizingly degrading that it disgusted her just thinking about it. But that was the world she was living in. That been-in-the-monkey-house-too-long mentality. It stank to high heavens when they all first walked into that monkey house. But after staying there a while, it started smelling not so bad. And then ok. And then nice and fresh as if every house smelled that way. Wendy was already at that place. Sam was never going to allow herself to get there.
But she didn’t say anything else to Wendy. She just left.
The local office of the Department of Children and Families was located in downtown Jericho on Bay Street. On Monday morning, Sam was there as soon as the doors opened. And she demanded, as she had demanded all last week when she first got out on bail, to see the protective services social worker in charge of her son’s case.
At first, she got the usual runaround again. Nobody could see her today. She had to make an appointment. But she had tried to make an appointment but was told she had to come in instead because it was first come first serve. But not for her case, they told her at the window. It was the usual bureaucratic dysfunction.
But this time, she wasn’t turning back. They were going to let her see somebody! And they did, after she declared they were violating her civil rights and that she would go straight to the press if somebody didn’t talk to her about her son. And she played the only card she had. She was a victim in that mass shooting at Thatcher’s a month ago, she told them. There would be some sympathy in the press for her.
Apparently, it was enough. A supervisor decided to see her.
“Sit down, Miss Carmichael,” the large woman said as Sam sat in front of the small desk. “Now how can I help you?”
“I want to get my son back,” Sam said.
“You went to the preliminary hearing. The judge explained to you then the process.”
“He said they would do a home assessment within forty-eight hours and if they didn’t find anything wrong, and I could explain how I was going to take care of him, then I would have my son back. It’s been over a month and they still won’t give him back to me.”
“You fail to mention the glaring fact that you were in jail for a month. That’s why no home assessment was conducted.”
“But I been out for a week and nobody still won’t listen to me! They could have been did that assessment.”
“You’re only out on bail, Miss Carmichael.”
“So? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you can go to prison for twenty years if you’re found guilty at trial.”
Sam’s heart dropped at just the thought of what was still hanging over her head.
The supervisor continued talking. “Telling me you’re out for a moment doesn’t mean squat to me,” she said. “You could get your son and skip town for all we know. You’re looking at twenty years.”
“I didn’t do anything. I’m not going to prison,” Sam said.
“Whatever, Miss Carmichael. But okay. Fine. Let’s have it your way. You’re an innocent bystander and it’ll all be thrown out of court. Fine. Where do you live now?” asked the supervisor.
Sam nearly stumbled over the question, but quickly regrouped. “With a friend,” she said.
But the supervisor was immediately shaking her head. “That’s not good enough. You have to have your own place and your own job and not be incarcerated. Those are the requirements that cannot be changed for you.”
“I’m working,” said Sam.
“Let’s not go there, Miss Carmichael.”
Sam frowned. “Go where?”
“A person who shall remain nameless said they saw you selling your body on Fourth Street,” the supervisor said. “If that’s your quote-unquote ‘job’, then I’m afraid you’re more far gone than you appear to be.” The supervisor stood up, her patience gone. “Get your act together, Miss Carmichael. Get your case resolved. Get a job. Get a place to live. And then come and see about your son.”
“But I have to know he’s alright right now,” Sam said, rising too. “I have to know he’s being cared for.”
“He’s fine.”
“Then let me see him. I have a right to see my own son!”
“You neglected that child for months,” said the supervisor. “Leaving him home alone nearly all night while you worked at a bar. You don’t have a right to see him. You have no rights to him at the moment whatsoever, and for good reason! Now good day, Miss Carmichael.”
Sam was getting desperate. “Can I at least talk to him on the phone? To let him know I’m alright? He worries about me. That’s why he was out that night. He was trying to come and see about me.”
“We aren’t going to disrupt his life until we’re certain you’re doing all you can to be a part of his life again. So far, you aren’t doing anything.”
“But I--”
“Good day, Miss Carmichael!”
Sam felt like a piece of trash. She felt so powerless that she could hardly find a word to say. So she didn’t say anything. They weren’t going to help her, and she knew it. They looked at her and saw a thief and a hooker and an unfit mother. They couldn’t care less if she needed to see her son like she needed air to breathe. She was nothing to them.
And that was why she left. She couldn’t bear those looks another second. But as soon as she got outside of that building, her heart began to race. She needed help. And she needed it unlike she’d ever needed it before. They weren’t taking her child away from her like they did all those other ladies she met in jail, she didn’t care how little they thought of her!
She hurried back inside of that building and walked up to the reception desk. “Could you look up an address for me?” she asked the receptionist.
The receptionist frowned. “Do I look like a telephone booth? Use your cell phone,” she added.
“I don’t have one,” said Sam. A phone? She could barely afford to eat, especially since she refused to turn any tricks since she’d been on that corner with Wendy. “I just need an address.”
The girl behind the reception desk didn’t want to do it, but she did it. “An address to what?” she asked.
“To Doctor Sinatra’s office.”
The girl glanced at her. What doctor would she know, her look seemed to say. But she pulled it up on her computer. “Doctor Anthony Sinatra?” she asked.
Sam didn’t even know the man’s first name. How in the world could she ask him to help her? But he did bail her out. And he did rush over to help her when that creep pushed her down. He was all she had. “Is there another Doctor Sinatra on that page?”
“No.”
“Then that’s the one,” Sam said. The girl wrote the address down on a piece of paper, Sam took it and thanked her, and then she hurried outside.
She looked at that address. She knew exactly where it was. Not all that far from where she stood. Walking there wasn’t a problem. Getting him to help the likes of her was.
But it wasn’t about her. It was about her son. About Myles. And she didn’t delay another second. She walked as if she was running to that doctor’s office.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Tony’s office was in a suburban business district some three miles from downtown Jericho, and the lobby was already filling up by the time he made it into work. He headed for the back without acknowledging anyone in his lobby or everyone would want a private conversation, and Shelby Ridge, his secretary for many years, looked up from her computer screen as soon as he walked in.
“About time,” she said. “What happened?”
“A production staff meeting at the station,” he said. “Why so many already?”
“The girl the agency sent over to fill in for me while I was on my much-deserved two-week vacation overbooked you. She’s got somebody scheduled every hour on the hour today, and most of the rest of the week too.”
All he needed. “Terrific.”
“She didn’t understand you need time for charting too. She didn’t even give you a lunch break. I, at least, give you fifteen minutes.”
Tony smiled a crooked smile. “And you call yourself the best.”
“Because I am the best,” said Shelby with a laugh as she handed Tony the list of today’s clients. “How did your week in prison go?”
“It went,” said Tony, glancing at the list and walking up to his office door.
“Just so you know,” Shelby said, “you have a visitor in your office.”
Tony frowned, and started to ask why would she allow somebody to just go into his office like that. Until he opened his office door. And he smiled. “Oh, it’s your ass,” he said, closing the door behind him.
“And your ass is late,” said his father, Charles “Big Daddy” Sinatra, as he stood up from the tall chair behind the desk. “That radio station is interfering with your practice.”
“Tell me about it,” said Tony as he walked around his desk. When he and his father met up, they hugged.
“What are you going to do about it?” Big Daddy asked as he pulled back from his son, still hugging him.
“They’re looking for somebody to handle the eight to nine o clock hour now.”
“They need to find somebody and right fast,” Big Daddy as he walked over to the window. “One man can only do so much.”
“What brings you over here?” Tony asked as he sat behind his desk. “Don’t you have an office to get to?”
“I’ll get there,” Big Daddy said as Tony unlocked his bottom drawer and began pulling out the files of the people on his list. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Tony found that an odd thing to say. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?” he asked his father.
“You’re volunteering a full week every month at that jail. You’re doing that radio show from six to nine every weekday morning. Your practice is booming into you-aren’t-going-to-be-able-to-keep-up-with-it territory.” He turned around and sat on the extended windowsill. “You’re working yourself to death, Anthony.”
Tony exhaled. “It’s manageable,” he said. And then he added with a crooked smile: “So far.”
“Not good enough! Slow your ass down.”
“Sounds like an order.”
“It is an order,” said Big Daddy. “Ever since she left you--”
“That has nothing to do with anything,” Tony said. “She left a long time ago. Why are you guys so certain I’m pining over somebody who left me over a year ago?”
“Because she just got married a few months ago,” said Big Daddy. “That’s why!”
Tony looked up at the ceiling as if he was sick and tired of people connecting his ex-girlfriend’s marriage to his overly busy work schedule, although he knew deep down it was a valid connection. But he didn’t respond to that.
Big Daddy walked back over to Tony’s desk and sat on the edge next to him, facing him. He folded his big, muscular arms and stared his beautiful green eyes at his son. Of all the children he had, it was Tony that worried him the most. The one he always viewed as the heart and soul of the family. The conscience of the family. The one who felt the most. “Bobby told me about your blind date Friday night.”
“I don’t think Bobby knows me at all, Pop,” said Tony, “or he and Rain would stop trying to hook me up with those cheerleader types. But that’s all they can come up with.”
“He also said you didn’t give the woman a chance.”
“Oh, yes I did! I stayed for the whole dinner. That’s giving her more than a chance in my book.”
“MaKayla also told me how you nearly got yourself killed running across that busy highway to assist a prostitute who had fallen or been pushed or whatever it was that happened to her.”
“It’s a crime now to help somebody?” Tony asked.
“She also told me how you bailed out yet another one of those prisoners again.”
What he didn’t know, Tony thought, was that the prostitute and that prisoner he bailed out were one in the same. And he actually dreamed about her, more than once, over the weekend. “You’re saying all of that to say what, Pop?” he asked his father.
“Be careful,” Big Daddy said. “You heard about those recall petitions that are circulating around town?”
Tony nodded. “Yeah, I heard. You think they’ll get enough signatures?”
“I know they will,” said Big Daddy.
Tony looked at Big Daddy. “You actually believe they’ll get enough signatures to force a recall election?”
“Yes! There’s an element in this town that feels the Sinatra brand has taken over every aspect of their daily lives. And they want to put a stop to it. They can’t stop me, because I have too much money and wield too much power around here, but they know they can stop us at the ballot box. They will force a mid-term special election if they get enough signatures on those petitions and not only Bobby as mayor, but Brent as police chief will be on that ballot for the citizens of Jericho to keep in office or to force out of office. Oh yeah. I’m certain they’ll get the signatures they need.”
“And you’re telling me this why?”
“When they get enough signatures and a recall is initiated by the City Council, we’ll need all hands on deck. I’ll be damn if they’ll force my boys out of office, not based upon their job performance, but based upon their jealousy and hatred of me. We’ll need you campaigning for your brothers too, Tony.”
Tony exhaled. “Pop, you know I stay out of politics.”
“I know you do. But that’s why we’ll need you. People respect you around here. They might hate your last name, thanks to me, but they respect you above any of the rest of us. You aren’t judgmental. You take people as they are. They’ll listen to you.”
“But?” Tony asked. He knew his father too well.
“But you have to watch what you do these days. We all have to watch it or they’ll hold what we do against Bobby and Brent. And they can’t afford any more strikes against them.”
“But you know they have a point, right?” Tony asked.
Big Daddy looked at him. “What point do they supposedly have?” he asked his son.
“Our name around here. You can’t go anywhere without seeing Sinatra Construction. Or Sinatra warehouses. Or apartment complexes and office buildings owned by a Sinatra. Or Sinatra on the radio. Sinatra as the mayor. Sinatra as the police chief. It does begin to seem dictatorial, Pop. Like we’re a monopoly trying to take over every aspect of Jericho life.”
“Bullshit!” Big Daddy said. “We worked hard for every inch we earned. They want to own what we own, then they compete against us. They do it the fair and right way and let the best person win. But they want to take it away on the cheap. That’s what I will not abide.”
Tony understood both sides, but at the end of the day he was a Sinatra too. “Okay, Pop,” he said. “I’ll do what I can.”
Big Daddy smiled and squeezed Tony’s shoulder. “That’s all I ask,” he said. But his hand lingered on his son’s shoulder. “We all work hard, Tony, but you’re working way too hard. Slow it down. Find you a good woman. There are plenty of good ones out there. And get on with your life too.”
“I once planned to be a priest, remember?” Tony reminded his father. “Being alone isn’t a problem for me.”
“Bullshit,” Big Daddy said again. “Stop telling yourself that. I know my children. Carly could have been alone. She could make it by herself any day of the week. But your ass ain’t Carly.”
Tony shook his head. “You need to cut that out, Pop.”
“Cut what out?”
“Always putting Carly on some pedestal. That’s why Ashley and Donald aren’t close to her to this day because you’re always judging all of us by Carly. It’s a wonder you let Trevor Reese ever have her. And you wouldn’t have let him had he not been tough enough to stand up to you. I figured you’d keep her under your thumb for the rest of her life, she’s so perfect to you.”
“Nobody’s perfect to me,” Big Daddy made clear. “And I’m just calling them like I see them. Ashley needed an ultra-strong man like Monk Paletti to tame her ass. That’s why I approved that union. Carly’s not perfect, but she didn’t need Trevor Reese that way. She could take care of herself. The fact that he didn’t try to dominate her, well, that was good too. Just find your ass somebody to love,” he said as if he was tired of discussing it. “Just find somebody.”
“Okay, Pop.”
“But are you hearing me though?”
“I hear you. How can I not hear you? You’ve been telling me that all my adult life. I hear you. But I’ve got people to see, and you’ve got places to be.”
“Oh really now? And where exactly do I have to be?”
“Out of my office so I can see my people,” Tony said with a smile. “Out!”
Big Daddy smiled too. “You’re a mess, you know that, right?”
“I know. I know!”
“But my mess,” Big Daddy said affectionately, kissed Tony on the forehead, and leaned up. “And I’m out of here,” he said, and left.
