Tags:
Jackie Collins, The Love Killers, Leroy Jesus Bauls, Rio Java, Prince Alfredo, Sammy Albert, April Crawlford, Lara Crichton, Frank Bassalino, Stefano Crown, Bosco Sam, Larry Bolding, Rose Bassalino
that you might suspect his nose was fixedâit wasnât. His teeth cappedâthey werenât. And his jet-black hair slightly helped along by a bottle of dyeâit wasnât.
Nick headed an import/export company called Warehousing Incorporated. It was the biggest outfit of its kind on the West Coast, and Nick was the boss.
When your father was Enzio Bassalino you certainly didnât start at the bottom.
Nickâs current lady friend was April Crawford, an aging movie star with four husbands behind her. The starlets and dingalings were not for Nick. He liked to command a little respect when he went out, and in Hollywood the surest way of doing that was to be seen with a star.
They had been together a year. The arrangement suited both their public images. It pleased April that Nick had his own money and didnât freeload off her. He looked good, wasnât too youngânot a babyânothing to make a laughingstock of her. He got along with her friends, and of courseâmost important, as far as April was concernedâhe was sensational in bed. Pure stud all the way.
As for Nick, he enjoyed the respectability of being with April, mixing with the movie colony, and seeing his picture in the fan magazines. April brought a little class into his life.
The one thing he didnât understand was why Enzio objected to the relationship so strongly. His father was always phoning him and complaining. âWhatâs with you and the old bag? Whatâs goinâ on, Nick? Youâre making the name Bassalino a joke.â
âBetter I should be with a piece of beautiful, dumb eighteen-year-old cooze, I suppose,â Nick would reply dourly.
âYeah. Why not? Is it so terrible to have a pretty face, firm tits, a piece other men wantâbut youâve got? Huh?â
âYou just donât know,â Nick would say, tired of the same old argument.
âSo I donât know, big fuckinâ deal. Only I havenât done too bad for an old man who donât know. Anâ
you
havenât done too bad by being my son.â
âAll right, all right. Forget it. Iâll send you a text when we break up. You can go out anâ celebrate.â
âSchmuck!â Enzio would mutter, and they both ended up laughing. It was a weekly conversation.
The two of them had a relationship based on love, the fierce, proud love that binds an Italian family.
Whatever Enzio had done in his lifeâand heâd done plentyâhe knew he had always been a good father to his boys. In spite of their motherâs ill health (he always referred to Roseâs madness as ill health), heâd brought them up to be fine men. Nick was doing a good job of running Warehousing Incorporated. He was tough; people thought twice about messing with him. Yes, Nick was a true son of Enzio Bassalino.
* * *
âAre you ready yet, darling?â April Crawford approached Nick in his dressing room. They had separate houses, although on weekends April liked him to stay with her.
April Crawford was a well-preserved blonde in her early fifties. She was petite, slim, perfectly groomed and made up. From a distance she looked late thirties, but up close tired little lines and a faint puffiness gave her secrets away.
âIâm always ready for you, sugar,â Nick said cheerfully, grabbing her, making her squeal with pleasure.
He had been eight years old when heâd seen her on the screen for the first time and fallen in love.
âI think we should arrive early tonight,â April said. After four husbands and numerous lovers she had never experienced such delights as Nick Bassalino had to offer.
âYouâre the boss.â
âI wish we didnât have to go at all. Perhaps if I phoned Janine sheâd understandâ¦â
âShe will
not
understand,â he said firmly. âWeâre gonna go. Weâre both dressed, and you look greatâlike a little doll.â