Gia stared morosely at the half-full shot glass of amber liquid sitting next to the bottle of bourbon, on top of the glass aquarium underneath the bar-top. She twirled the shot glass round and round in her hand, noting the familiar way it fit in her palm. Beneath her gaze, fish swam to and fro in the giant aquarium bar. Outside the window, stars twinkled, softly lighting the bay.
Gia barely saw them, immersed in her misery. She vaguely tracked the muted conversations and the footsteps behind her. All she experienced were memories of a lifetime of fuck-ups, two in particular. One, she’d loved and killed, the other she’d loved and left before she got in too deep—and that was because she’d killed his love.
A strong, steely hand clamped around her neck, followed by a deep baritone voice.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Marco said.
Gia jerked, her eyes landing on her reflection in the mirror behind the bar.
Marco wore jeans and a different shirt than he had on earlier. His countenance said, “I’m a Marine and you don’t want to mess with me.”
Her hands flew out. “I didn’t touch it, not a drop, you can ask the bartender.” She whirled to face Marco and knocked the bottle off the bar in the process. It crashed to the floor in an explosion of glass fragments and Kentucky’s finest. “I’ll pay for it, honest,” she blubbered to the bartender. “Put it on my tab. Put everyone’s drinks on my tab.” She shivered with embarrassment.
“She’s good for the payment,” Marco snarled at the bartender. “She’s rich.” He hauled her to her feet. “But that’s about all, I’m afraid.” His grip on her collar tightened. “You’re coming with me.” He dragged her unceremoniously from the bar to the tune of about ten mobile phone camera flashes.
Fuck, Gia thought. TMZ, here I come.
“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do,” Marco said. He marched her down the stairs to his room.
She tripped and stumbled, trying to stay afoot.
He shoved open the door to his room, still keeping a tight grip on her shirt.
“Let go of my shirt, Marco” Gia pleaded. Her hands clawed at his arms.
He released her and gestured toward the bed, sweeping his arm in an angry, agitated gesture. “There. I’ve let go.” His face bore the demeanor of rage and hurt as he gestured to the framed photo of him and Shauna. “I take it you met my fiancée, Susy?”
“Susy? What? No, her name was…”
“She’s dead, or have you forgotten? I had every intention of doing a small ceremony and casting this picture out to sea. I thought to slip out at dawn. Or did you think I made up the whole story of her death, huh? That’s the way I roll. One smooth move a minute. I woo new chicks with the story of the dead girl. Fuck, Gia.”
“I...it wasn’t like that,” Gia began.
Marco didn’t let her finish. “Here I was, laying on the bed, thinking how happy I was and how life could begin anew. I send my new girlfriend into my bedroom to retrieve the gift I bought her...the one she threw on the floor...feeling like the luckiest guy alive, but no...she decided to go get hammered because...because...because I don’t know why.”
“I told you, I didn’t touch a drop. You can ask the...”
“And then, she doesn’t return. I get a little worried. I call Dante, thinking she’s gone to his room for some reason. Maybe she went up there to tell him he could stop worrying about her. But no, Dante doesn’t know where she is. A big, fat light bulb blows up in my head, and I think I know where she is. That girl must be opening my present, I think. I’m fucking brilliant, don’t you think?” Marco glared at her.
“I...it wasn’t...” Gia started to say.
“So I get up, wander into the hall naked because she said it was cool and who do I run into? The maid, that’s who. She said she saw you racing upstairs...for the bar. And me, ever the fool, thinks, what did I do to make her run for the bar? I gave her pleasure, right? I made her feel safe and wonderful, right? And I go to my room to get some clothes, see my gift and the photo, stomp up the stairs and find you sitting with a bottle of one of your favorite escapes. Fuck me.” Marco looked fatigued now like all the bluster had drained from him. He sank into the armchair resting in the corner.
“It wasn’t like that, Marco. I know you didn’t fake your girlfriend’s death. Believe me, I know.” Gia felt wretched. Do I tell him? She hung her head in her hands.
“So why did you do it, Gia? Why the fuck did you run? Didn’t you have a good time tonight?”
Gia lifted her head from her hands. The pain etched on his face cut deep into her heart. “I...I did.”
“Don’t you believe I love you? Do you think it was easy to share my feelings with you?” he asked.
“I do believe you love me. I do. I just...I don’t think you should, Marco. I destroy things. I ruin love. I kill it,” Gia said, unable to speak the full truth.
“That’s only the past talking. That’s your alcoholic mind. Now it makes sense. You got scared. I understand,” he said, switching to Mr. Reasonable.
His care and understanding stabbed at her insides.
“I don’t deserve you. More like, you deserve far greater than me. I don’t think I can do this,” Gia said, her heart bashing against the bones of her ribcage.
“What? You can’t do you and me? It was only a fling, is that it?” Now he looked like he’d blow up again. “Fuck, Gia. You’re killing me. You’re not making any sense.”
“Better to kill you before I destroy you,” she said, some of her tough girl armor returning. “It’s better this way. You’ll thank me later.”
The seconds crawled by with neither of them saying anything.
At long last, Marco got to his feet. “I’m going to get my clothes out of your room.”
She numbly nodded.
He left the room, her heart dragging behind him.
She sat stiff and unmoving on the bed, frozen in an ice block of fear. I don’t want to lose him.
When the door opened, she sat forward and blurted, “We can fix this, Marco. I know we can. I don’t want this to end.”
“Found something sticking out of your pants pocket.” He waved a Polaroid photo at her and quietly said, “So Shauna’s your sister. The one who died in the car crash.”
Quiet Marco seemed deadlier than raging Marco or even hurt Marco.
Gia’s eyes began to stream tears. “I didn’t...I wasn’t...”
“It was a mistake, is that what you were going to say? ‘Marco, it was one of my big boo-boos. I was blitzed, and I took her for a joy ride.’”
“I wasn’t driving!”
“And oops, a semi crossed the line and hit the truck. That’s what they told me. They said they weren’t at liberty to tell me more. Someone had the story wiped from the press. Was that you and your famous lawyers?” He flung the photo at her. It fluttered, ineffectually to the floor.
“My publicist, Joan. She did it,” Gia said, feeling heavy and wooden.
“Your publicist. I always wondered what the hush-hush was about. But me, the military man well-versed in classified documents, didn’t think to pry. I was probably too numb with grief. Mystery solved,” he said, placing his hands on his hips. “How long have you known? Were you ever going to tell me? Or, were you stringing me along? Let’s mess with the big dummy’s heart, what do you say?”
“Marco, I only found out tonight. When I came to your room,” she said, knowing he wouldn’t believe her.
“You lied to me. You’ve been lying from the start.” He shook his head, betrayal painted all over his face. “I don’t believe you. Alcoholics lie. It’s their bottom line.”
“Not this time.” Gia dragged her body from the bed. “You never even told me her name,” she weakly protested. “Am I supposed to have guessed you were going to marry my sister, Shauna Swain? Intuited it? Give me a break.”
“Shauna Swain?” Marco’s brows drew together. “She told me her name was Susy Golightly.”
Gia blinked in surprise, then, shook her head. “It was Shauna. Susy Golightly was a name she gave to one of our Barbie’s. She thought it sounded like a name deserving of some happiness.”
“So she lied to me, too.” He spoke with a flat tone, his eyes appearing dead. “You’re both liars. She was probably lying about taking me to meet her family when I got back. She probably planned on hiring some actors or bribing some friends.”
“She wasn’t like that. Shauna was an honest girl.”
“Not with me.” Lines of betrayal and mistrust made grooves in Marco’s face.
She took a step toward him.
“Don’t get near me,” Marco said, putting his palms up. His eyes narrowed into slits of mistrust.
“I won’t,” she said. “I’m going to my room.”
“Good. I’ll be leaving in the morning. I can catch a commuter flight to New York, no problem,” he said, his tone flat.
“You don’t have to, it’s a big jet,” Gia said.
“With you in it,” he said, driving a sword through her heart. “I need to get back to cancel a transaction. I thought of renting an apartment on the lower east side. I found a decent one at a decent price. They loved me. The realtor, I mean.” He ran a weary hand through his hair. “I’ve been adrift for months, traveling here and there. But I thought things might work out between you and me. Seems you’re not willing to be honest with me. To face the truth with me by your side.”
“But Marco,” she said. “How could I...?”
“Forget it. Let’s let bygones be bygones. I can say I slept with the great Ms. Styx Swain. I’ll put it on my resume. Hell, maybe I can frame it and hang it on the wall.” He swept his palm through the air. “Marco Monroe sleeps with the stars.” He glanced at her. “Well, one in particular. Only one. Not going to make that mistake again. I’m a fool. I’m such a fool.” He formally bowed to her, and then gave her a crisp salute. “ Good luck with sobriety, Ms. Styx.”
Without another word—What more could he say, really?—he opened the door and gestured for her to leave.