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that hit on the PaLargio.   Are you okay now?”
    Reno
nodded.   “I’m good.   Thanks for asking.”
    “I
heard you served it up to Tony Tufarna.”
    “Guilty
again.”
    She
smiled. “For a man who declares up and down he’s not Mafia, you serve it up
better than any mobster I’ve ever known, Reno.   And I’ve known them all.   In every
sense of the word.”
    Reno
laughed.   “Yeah, I heard you were a
promiscuous so and so.”
    “But
not when I was with you,” Belle said firmly.   “Let’s get that straight.   When I
was with you, I didn’t so much as look at another man thank-you very much.   You were fucking other women, and I knew you
were, but I remained true to you.   But
after you dumped me, hell yeah I played the field.   Why the hell not?”
    Reno
decided to joke with her.   “Don’t tell me
you’re still bitter about our breakup?”
    As he
expected, she snorted.   “Get real,” she
said, and Reno laughed.   “Breaking up
with you was the best thing that ever happened to me.   You had me dick-whipped, Reno.   You had me craving that big-ass dick of yours
day in and night out.   I didn’t want any
other joystick anywhere near my joyhole.   Not the way you kept me filled.   But now, forget about it.   I have
my pick of the litter.   Although,” she
said, looking hard at Reno, “none can compare, my friend.”
    Reno
smiled weakly.   He was proud, but it was
an awkward pride.
    “Well
thanks a lot,” Belle said when he didn’t respond to her compliment.
    Reno
looked at her.   “What?”
    “At
least you can return the favor by flattering me.”
    She
was a tough broad, Reno thought, still staring at her.   He decided to keep it real.   “Even if it’s not true?” he asked her.
      Belle smiled.   “Ah.   I see.   The wife?”
    Reno nodded.   “Right.”
    “So
she’s the one, hun?   So that black chick,
who excuse me is cute but isn’t exactly Miss America thank you very much, rocks
your world, does she?”
    If
she only knew how much, Reno thought.   “Yes,” he said.
    “Shame
on you.”   Belle said this
tongue-n-cheek.   “With all of these good
Italian girls running around.”
    Reno
laughed.   That was always the line most
every Italian parent laid on every Italian boy.   “And I’m sure you only fuck Italian boys, right?”
    Belle
snorted again.   “Yeah, sure.   But she’s the one?   That Trina person?   She used to be a stripper, didn’t she?”
    “No,”
Reno said without any animation.   If she
had been a stripper, he wouldn’t care, just as long as she was Tree.   “She never stripped.”
    “That’s
not what I heard.   I thought you guys met
at Boyzie’s?   I thought the first time
you saw her she was shimmying down some pole?”
    Reno
knew Belle was being particularly nasty.   But it didn’t matter.   He and his
wife did meet at Boyzie’s.   The first
time was forgettable.   Trina was a waitress
there and Reno was helping Myra Rause get out of that jam with Bruno
Lucci.   Trina, to this day, didn’t
remember that particular encounter and would often remark, as only she could,
that back then she met hundreds a men a night at Boyzie’s and didn’t remember
any of them.   Why should he be any
different?
    But
they met again, years after that first encounter, when Reno was thinking about
buying Boyzie’s and turning it into something a little more upscale.   That meeting eventually led to a marriage
that was predicted by almost everybody to be doomed to failure from its
inception.   But somehow they managed to
survive all of those rocky days and devastating nights, including a long
separation that almost ended it for good.   Now Trina was his soul mate, the woman he loved above any other.    Belle could joke around and denigrate all
she cared to, but at the end of the day his answer would still be the
same.   Trina was the one.   The only one.   And always would be.
    “Anyway,”
Belle said when it was