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it
then?”
    Gemma
smiled.   “I really do.   I’m not a materialistic person, you know I’m
not, but I think I love this, Sal.”
    Sal was
looking around at the thick, posh interior too.   “It’s cute, isn’t it?”
    “Cute?”
Gemma asked.   “My BMW was cute.   A Ford Focus is cute.”
    “No, it
ain’t,” Sal said.
    “Yes, it
is,” Gemma shot back.   “A Ford Focus is
cute.   But this is beyond cute.   This is elegance on steroids.”
    Sal
nodded.   “I hear ya, sister.   It’s a beauty.”   He looked at her.   “You want it?”
    Gemma looked
at him.   “I love it, Sal.   I hate to admit it because it’s such an
outrageously expensive car, but I love it.”
    “Then it’s
yours,” Sal said, rubbing his hands together.   He loved when he pleased her.   “Let’s get the keys, fire this baby up, and see how well it rides.”
    He got out
of the car and walked around to the driver side just as the dealership manager
was coming toward them.   Sal always
presented as a very wealthy man.   His
suits always appeared far more expensive than the next guy’s, and better
tailored.   But he had that walk about
him, and that style about him, that screamed street.   Mafia.   Bad man.   They wanted no parts of
this.
    Somebody had
gone and gotten the head man, and he was hurrying over.   “Good afternoon, sir,” the manager said,
virtually out of breath.   He and Sal
shook hands.   “How may I help you, sir?”
    “We want to
take it for a spin and see how this baby rides,” Sal informed him.   “Get the keys.”
    “Um, why,
yes, sir.   I will have one of my men pull
one around from the back for the test drive.   It’s an older version, but it should give you and your lady friend some
idea of how beautifully it rides.”
    Sal didn’t
understand.   “Pull it from the back?   An older version?   What are you talking?   Why would I want to test a car I’m not
buying?   I want to test this one.   Get the keys for this one.”
    The manager
wasn’t accustomed to being so roundly bossed around, and he didn’t like it.
“Well, sir, for your information,” he said, “our policy is not to remove the
showroom cars unless we are certain of a sale.   We do not allow miles to pile up on our showroom versions.   Especially with our more expensive models.”
    Sal was
about to go off on the man.   Gemma
hurried out of the car.   “Get the keys to
this one,” she said in a softer, more persuasive voice.   “We plan to purchase this automobile.”
    “This
Aston-Martin?” the manager asked doubtfully.
    What was
with this guy, Sal wondered.   “No,” he
said.   “We plan to purchase a Kia
Sophia.   That’s why we want to test drive
this Aston.   Because we want to purchase
a Kia.”
    “But what I
meant to say,” the manager said, looking more at Gemma, “is that the price of
this automobile, with its unique upgrades, well exceeds two hundred-and-fifty
thousand dollars.   That’s a quarter of a
million dollars.   Do you understand the
price?”
    Gemma rolled
her eyes.   Why did these people always
make such assumptions?   And to make these
assumptions around Sal?   She knew Sal was
not pleased.
    And he
wasn’t.   He frowned.   “Does she understand the price?” he asked the
manager.   “Do you understand the price,
motherfucker?   What kind of question is
that?   Get the fucking keys so we can
take this fucking thing on a test ride.   What the fuck is wrong with you?”
      By now, the entire dealership staff was
watching the scene unfold.   They fully
expected their manager to kick the couple out.   He’d kicked other wannabe rich people out before who wanted to pretend
they could afford such luxuries.   And the
manager was about to do just that.   But
one of his salesmen, one who had just arrived into the showroom, one with some
sense, hurried to his side.
    “That’s Sal Gabrini,
sir,” he whispered frantically in the manager’s ear.