The Love Killers
that you might suspect his nose was fixed—it wasn’t. His teeth capped—they weren’t. And his jet-black hair slightly helped along by a bottle of dye—it wasn’t.
    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 didn’t start at the bottom.
    Nick’s 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 didn’t freeload off her. He looked good, wasn’t too young—not a baby—nothing to make a laughingstock of her. He got along with her friends, and of course—most important, as far as April was concerned—he 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 didn’t understand was why Enzio objected to the relationship so strongly. His father was always phoning him and complaining. ‘What’s with you and the old bag? What’s goin’ on, Nick? You’re making the name Bassalino a joke.’
    â€˜Better I should be with a piece of beautiful, dumb eighteen-year-old cooze, I suppose,’ Nick would reply dourly.
    â€˜Yeah. Why not? Is it so terrible to have a pretty face, firm tits, a piece other men want—but you’ve got? Huh?’
    â€˜You just don’t know,’ Nick would say, tired of the same old argument.
    â€˜So I don’t know, big fuckin’ deal. Only I haven’t done too bad for an old man who don’t know. An’
you
haven’t done too bad by being my son.’
    â€˜All right, all right. Forget it. I’ll send you a text when we break up. You can go out an’ celebrate.’
    â€˜Schmuck!’ 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 life—and he’d done plenty—he knew he had always been a good father to his boys. In spite of their mother’s ill health (he always referred to Rose’s madness as ill health), he’d 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.
    * * *
    â€˜Are you ready yet, darling?’ 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.
    â€˜I’m always ready for you, sugar,’ Nick said cheerfully, grabbing her, making her squeal with pleasure.
    He had been eight years old when he’d seen her on the screen for the first time and fallen in love.
    â€˜I think we should arrive early tonight,’ April said. After four husbands and numerous lovers she had never experienced such delights as Nick Bassalino had to offer.
    â€˜You’re the boss.’
    â€˜I wish we didn’t have to go at all. Perhaps if I phoned Janine she’d understand…’
    â€˜She will
not
understand,’ he said firmly. ‘We’re gonna go. We’re both dressed, and you look great—like a little doll.’

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