X

Over the next week or so Fonda had wanted to spend some time with Trina, but their conflicting schedules had made that a difficult proposition, at best. The drug tests had been concluded, with a little grumbling from the staff, and the results weren't due for another couple of weeks. Fortunately, activity at the restaurant had calmed down a bit.

Fonda and Trina did manage to squeeze in a few short dates, though. A day at the Guggenheim � his idea; a night dancing at a club on 44th street � her idea; a night at the movies � agreed to by both, but regretted soon after since they both agreed that the film was horrible. Fonda felt they were becoming more attracted to the other, talking to each other on the phone daily and looking forward to their next date with the anticipation of teenagers. Trina, too, began more and more to think of them as a couple.

"Hey," Fonda stopped his brother in the kitchen. "I found out what's going on with Jerome Jackson."

"What?"

"I talked to him the other day. Apparently he's going through a divorce and there's a nasty custody battle for their kids."

"Oh, that's too bad," Stavros sympathized.

"Yeah. He apologized and said he'll try to get in sooner. I gave him a couple of weeks off, with pay, to try to get things all straightened out."

"You're so thoughtful," Stavros teased. "Say, have you seen any more of that Trina?"

"Not much. We went out a couple of times last week and then Sunday night. We had a great time, but that's about it. We've talked on the phone just about every night this week, though. She had an audition for the NYC ballet and was accepted, so her days have been full and with me working here so much, it's been difficult trying to fit in time together. She's going to come in after rehearsal tonight and I'm going to take some time out to join her for dinner."

"So, do you think things are getting serious?"

"I'm not sure," Fonda shrugged and scratched his head. "I'd like to make things more serious, but Trina's tough to read. She's an enigma. She rarely lets anything out; she's so guarded. But we have a great time together, and I think she's starting to think of us as a 'couple' now."

"What about the other one . . . the roommate?" Stavros grinned lasciviously.

"Oh, she's a sex fiend."

"What do you mean?"

"Any time I see her, she's always grabbing my ass or rubbing her hand on my crotch � in public. It's disconcerting."

His younger brother laughed. "You have to lighten up. I wish I had someone who looked like that grabbing me all the time."

"But it's not her I want. And I don't want to take any chances of ruining what I could have with Trina."

"But she's gorgeous. You should be grateful for the attention."

Fonda shook his head. "Do you know what she did Tuesday night? She showed up just as I was closing the restaurant and asked if I could give her a ride home. Of course I said yes, and the next thing I knew she unzipped me in the car and gave me a blow job while I drove down 6th avenue."

"You're a lucky bastard," Stavros smiled.

"I could have gotten into an accident, or arrested, or something like that," Fonda said excitedly. "I almost hit a taxi."

"So where did you come?"

"Don't be vulgar. . . . Twenty-third street," Fonda snickered. "But I don't know what to do about her."

"I'd like to have your problems," Stavros said, heading into the meat locker, leaving Fonda to finish making out his food order in the office.

A few days later, Trina and Margie came into the restaurant at lunch time. Fonda greeted them at the door and gave Trina a light kiss on the lips. Margie walked by and brushed her fingertips against his penis at the same time Trina had turned to throw her back pack under a table. Fonda glared at Margie. Trina turned just in time to catch the two locking eyes, Margie with a smug look while Fonda seemed to seethe in anger. He recovered quickly, turning his attention to Trina and placing a soft kiss on her cheek while squeezing her hand.

"Welcome ladies. No rehearsal this afternoon, Trina?" Fonda asked.

"No. A couple of dancers have come down with some pulled muscles so Madame Renault wanted to give everybody a couple of days to rest. It's only three weeks until we open on Broadway, and she wants everyone to be healthy for then, so we're getting a break."

"So, do you have any plans for tomorrow?"

Trina smiled and Margie rolled her eyes.

"No, what do you have in mind?"

"Well, I was thinking we could go out on my boat. Do you enjoy sailing?"

"You have a boat? Why didn't you ever mention it?" Trina squealed girlishly. "I love the water."

"I don't really think about it much. It's really my parents' boat. I've only taken it out once this year. Stavros and my father use it mostly. It's not very large . . . it's a thirty-foot C+C. Built in 1981. We like it though. We're closed on Sunday so if you wanted I'll leave early Saturday and we could plan to leave Saturday afternoon and get back sometime Sunday night or even Monday morning."

"Where will we sleep?"

"Oh, the boat has a master bedroom down below. It's very comfortable."

Trina couldn't stifle a smile. Margie seethed and made no attempt to hide it, but no one noticed.

"It sounds great. Where are we going?"

"Well, we don't have a lot of time. We could head out toward Long Island or down the Jersey shore."

"I can't wait," she gushed.

"Oh! I just remembered!" Margie interrupted. "Guess who I saw working at Fonda's market back behind the restaurant? Trina, you'll love this. Corey! Remember Corey!" Margie squealed.

Trina glanced at Margie sideways.

"You know Corey?" Fonda turned to Margie. Trina shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "The man with all the hair and earrings?"

"Yeah, that's him. He's actually back there cleaning fish and wrapping them up. Can you believe it?" Margie laughed overtly. "He and Trina go way back. They're really close friends. Used to be a lot closer, if you know what I mean. I convinced her to get away from him, all the drug shit, you know."

"Drug shit?" Fonda asked.

"Oh, hell yeah. He's into it deep. He got her stoned a few times. I didn't like what it did to her so convinced her to dump him. You guys still talk, though, don't you Trina?" Margie was enjoying making things uncomfortable.

Trina glared at Margie. "We're just friends, Margie. And yes, I talk to him occasionally. In case you were wondering, Corey just checked out of rehab. I'm glad he's got a job doing something legit." Trina turned to Fonda, wanting to offer an excuse for her past. Stubbornly, she closed her mouth and looked away.

Margie huffed, shrugging her shoulders. "Yeah, whatever. If you ask me, I wouldn't trust him at all."

Fonda sat back deep in thought and stared at Margie. "Why do you say that?"

"He's been into drugs way too long. He also hasn't stopped hanging around with the same old friends that he used to shoot up with." Margie offered.

"You know this for a fact?" Fonda asked.

"Oh yeah, Fonda. No doubt," Margie nodded as she slipped her shoe off and began rubbing her foot along Fonda's calf.

Fonda looked around nervously while Trina cleared her throat. "Yeah, well, I'd like to give the guy the benefit of a doubt. He hasn't exactly had the greatest life, you know."

Fonda turned back to Trina. "I hope you are right. I wonder if Corey studied his job application thoroughly. If he did, he would have noticed the clause about random drug testing. We have to do that now. Liability is too high in this industry and we can't have people working for us who can't focus completely."

Margie laughed. "Ssshyeah, right. Especially with all the sharp knives and shit."

Trina rolled her eyes and stared at Margie. "Don't you have a job to go to today?"

"Not until this afternoon. Working half-days the rest of the week. Fuck the boss."

"Oh, is that how you're getting all this time off?" Trina asked snippily.

She laughed. "No, but I might if you think it'd get me a raise."

Trina turned back to Fonda. He seemed withdrawn. Maybe Margie had upset him by mentioning the relationship she had with Corey. It occurred to her that maybe Fonda was worried about her past sexual relations with other men. She always insisted on condoms and had never had a reason to see the doctor about anything suspicious. She liked to think she kept herself exceptionally healthy, especially in her line of work. But Fonda wouldn't know that unless she told him so.

Things had been going so well with him today until Margie had to bring up Corey. Trina knew that Margie was attracted to Fonda and would like a repeat of the first night's activities, but there was no way that she was going to allow that to happen. She was, for probably the first time in her life, settling into an adult relationship and the last thing she wanted was to screw things up with Fonda. Well, she smiled to herself, we'll have all weekend together at sea, with no Margie, no Corey, no restaurant, and no dance troupe for miles around.

"If you'll excuse me, ladies, it's starting to get busy in here. I have to get to other customers," Fonda stood and left, but not before leaning over and kissing Trina on the cheek.

"He's just like, so head over heels for you," Margie said, now choosing Trina's leg to play footsie with.

"You think so?" Trina smiled broadly.

"Absolutely. The way the two of you look at each other. You're just so cute." Margie sighed as a wave of jealousy washed over her.

"You know," Trina said, taking a bite of her salad. "I've never really felt this way about someone before. I'm kind of scared, you kn . . . hey, what are you doing?" Trina re-crossed her legs.

"I don't know. You just look so cute there. It's a shame I have to go to work, today."

"Well, you wouldn't have gotten anywhere. I'm pissed at you for bringing up all that shit about Corey. And what the hell was the fucking deal with playing footsie with Fonda under the table? I couldn't help but notice his reaction to you. I don't think he liked it," Trina gloated.

"I'm sorry," she removed her foot from Trina's leg. "I guess I'm a little jealous of the two of you. And I still have the hots for him. I guess I should warn you . . . " Margie began, unsure of where she was going.

"Warn me about what?" Trina asked in alarm.

Margie paused and bit down on her lip. She leaned across the table closer to Trina and spoke in a low voice, "Fonda has made some moves on me, Trina. I didn't want to tell you but I think there are a few things you should know about him. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he was fucking five more women behind our backs." Margie leaned back in her chair, shaking her head in disgust.

"What the fuck do you mean 'fucking other women behind our backs?' And what kind of moves, Margie? Is he just being nice to you or has he actually felt you up?" Trina strained to keep her voice down. Jealously welled-up from deep inside her. She threw her fork down with a clatter.

Margie sighed overtly before leaning forward again, "I'm sorry, Trina. You're my best friend. I love you, you know that. That's why I feel the need to protect you from a man like him . . . "

"Since when? I can fuckin' take care of myself, Margie."

"Just listen to me. Since that night, you know, that night, Fonda has come onto me several times. We fucked three more times and, well, we've done a few other things. He likes to have his dick sucked while tooling around town in that little sports car. I'm sorry, Trina."

Trina felt the icy grip of hysteria sweep through her. The color drained from her face and all of her muscles tightened as she stared at Margie, imagining her friend's head buried in Fonda's lap, her hair pooled across his thighs, Fonda pounding her mouth with his orgasm. Margie managed to have sex with Fonda more times than Trina had. In fact, because of her practice schedule, Margie had found a lot of time to spend with Fonda. The bitch.

"Why are you telling me all this?" Trina asked angrily.

"You need to know, sweetie."

"Bullshit. Five minutes ago you were like, 'He's head over heels for you,' and, 'you're so cute together.' Now you're trying to protect me from that 'kind' of man. You just said youstill have the hots for him."

"I...I just don't want to see you get hurt," Margie stammered.

"And you," Trina continued angrily, her eyes wide and boring straight into her friend. "Can't you for once keep your fucking legs closed and not fuck every man you meet? I mean, one of these days you're going to have to grow up and stop being a whore."

Trina stared at Margie, pushing her chair back quickly. The chair crashed to the floor, drawing attention from a few of the other patrons. Stavros looked up from his station near the bar. Trina reached for her backpack and turned toward the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, hon. I just thought you should know, " Margie tried to hide a smirk as she called after her.

Trina raised her hand in a gesture meant to dismiss Margie. She fought through a veil of tears to find Fonda.

XI

"I thought you were different, but you're just like any other guy. You'll fuck anyone who spreads her legs. I expect this out of Margie because she's a slut, but you were supposed to be different," Trina accused loudly, her voice cracking. She had found Fonda in his office off the massive kitchen and stared down at him, trembling in anger and despair.

"Cat . . . " Fonda began, rising from his chair. "What are you..."

"Don't ever call me that again!"

"Trina, please listen to me. I was confused. After that night with the two of you I felt like I was in over my head. I'd never done anything like that. Then Margie came on to me and . . . "

Trina glared as her booted foot beat a rapid tattoo on the tile floor.

"And on to you and on to you. How many times? Or was it you coming on to Margie? Don't play the innocent with me, Fonda. Be a man and just admit you were going to take what you could get no matter who got hurt in the process. Bastard . . . " Trina took one step back from him, clenching her fists in rage.

"It was only the one time. I didn . . . "

"Fuck you. You've been screwing her for the last two weeks."

"Honestly, I haven't. It was just a mistake. I should have never done it. I felt terrible about it afterward," Fonda apologized.

Trina fumed. "Damn right you should have never done it. I thought what we had was special. I should have known better. I mean, here I am feeling good about being with you, finally thinking I found someone that I want to get to know better and Margie starts feeding me all this shit about you. It's over, Fonda. It wasn't all that great anyway," she cried, trying to spare her own feelings.

"Trina, you are special to me."

"Bullshit. You can take your restaurant and your boat and your waltzes and your fucking BMW and shove them all up your ass. I never want to see you again." Trina turned and stormed out of the office door, pushing past Stavros and several kitchen staff. She ignored Fonda's last effort to call her back and only glared at Margie as she left the restaurant.

Trina left the restaurant hurriedly, wiping a tear from under her eye. Instead of heading up the street toward the entrance to the subway she turned back toward the fish market. She needed a friend and she knew just where to find one. Corey should be working today. Besides, Corey always managed to cheer her up. If he was high or coming down off of something she would be able to tell. If he was, she told herself that she'd never speak to him again. Fucking men, she thought.

"What did you tell her?" Fonda sat down at the table and asked Margie angrily.

"What do you mean?" Margie avoided his eyes and spoke softly.

"Don't give me your shit. Trina was just talking to me about how we've been sleeping together several times. What's your game?"

"I don't know what y..."

He cut her off and slapped his hand down on the table, eliciting some stares from nearby diners. "I'm tired of your lies. I don't want to know what you did, or why you did it. All I know is that you've managed to ruin two people's lives. Are you happy with yourself?"

Margie started to say something, but Fonda wouldn't let her get the words out. "Just get out of here. Get out of my restaurant and get out of my life."

Trina shifted her backpack to the other shoulder and scanned the group of workers in the fish market. It didn't take long to pick out Corey among the staid looking men. She had to laugh at the way his long hair was tied back and stuffed under a hair net.

"Corey!" Trina called out as she trotted over to greet him. He looked up, immediately recognizing her.

"Hey Trina!" Corey smiled. "What's up, babe?"

"Margie told me you were working here. How's it going?" Trina asked, closing the distance between them only slightly; she didn't want to get too close. The sight of blood and other unidentifiable smears on his apron made her stomach lurch.

"Not too bad. It stinks, but at least it pays," Corey laughed at his own joke. "You lookin' a little pale, babe. What's wrong?"

Trina shrugged. "It'll pass. I just wanted to see how you were doing. We haven't talked in a couple of months." They chatted a few more minutes, catching up with each other.

"It's been good seeing you again, Corey," Trina meant it. She was convinced he was clean and it lifted her mood slightly. "I've got to head over to my agent's office and check if I've been paid yet."

"Money tight?"

"No more than usual. I hope it picks up soon. I'm waiting to get paid for that video I shot a couple of weeks ago. I won't start getting paid by the ballet company until a week after opening night. We start on Broadway in three weeks."

"Broadway? No shit, babe? Fuckin' A. great."

Trina beamed. "Yeah, I killed at an audition."

"Cool. Hey, you still doing some stuff for Ray?" Ray was a small-time choreographer Trina had worked with a few times. He was on the sleazy side, but always seemed to find her some kind of work, big or small, in some number he was producing.

"Yeah, a little here and there. I haven't talked to him in about four months, though," Trina considered for a moment. "But, y'know, maybe I should stop by and see him, I think he still owes me some money."

"So you think you'll be in his neighborhood today?" Corey asked.

"Yeah, I guess," she shrugged indifferently. "I gotta stop by my agent's office and Ray's place isn't too far from there."

"Could you drop something off to him for me?"

Trina shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Like what?"

Corey smirked. "He's on some kind of high protein diet kick. He keeps asking for salmon and shit. I keep having to run down there and bring him all his orders. It's a little out of my way. I mean, he pays me for the delivery and all that but I'm really beat today. If you could pass by his place first and drop off his order I'll pay you the twenty bucks he gives me. Plus, I'd really appreciate it."

Trina shrugged and thought for a minute. "I could do that. Only, could you, like, wrap the fish up extra special so I don't smell like fish after that? I mean, that is, like, so gross, you know. . . um, no offense," she smiled up at Corey.

"Cool. Let me get his order ready and pack it up for you. Give me a few minutes," Corey gave her a wink and turned away, disappearing among the crates and ice.

Corey looked over his shoulder at Trina. The old guys were busy unloading a truck. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic bag. He licked his finger and touched the powder. Good shit. He licked his finger again, closing his eyes to the quickening of his pulse. He opened his eyes and darted a look here and there. As far as he could tell none of the old geezers had seen him take this little break. To them, he just looked to be getting together a special order. He slapped the fish down on the cutting board and dug out the slimy guts with his gloved hand. He put the bag of heroin in another plastic bag and wrapped it in tape. He stuffed the package into the belly of the fish, wrapping the fish with several layers of newspaper and stuffed it into a plastic bag. Minutes later he was back in front of Trina, handing her the bag.

Trina picked up the bag delicately with two fingers. "Yuck. But, okay, it's twenty bucks. Enough to pay my half of the phone bill," Trina quickly pocketed the twenty dollar bill and turned to leave, waving over her shoulder.

Corey watched Trina exit the restaurant and head up the street toward the subway entrance. She would deliver it to Ray, none the wiser for making the drug run. He turned back to walk into the open air market, smiling to himself.

Stavros stepped out the back door of the restaurant just as Trina walked by with a bag from the fish market. He frowned. He watched Trina's retreating back and decided to call after her. "Trina! Wait!"

Trina paused in her tracks and looked over her shoulder at Stavros jogging after her. "What do you want?"

Stavros put his hand on her arm, "Fonda is really messed-up about all of this. He really likes you, Trina. I don't know when I've seen him this happy."

Trina shrugged his hand off of her arm, "Yeah, well, he's got a weird way of showing it by fucking my best friend."

"She means nothing to him. She's just a bimbo. You're different."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better? Listen, I thought your brother was different, you know. I thought he showed more respect and kindness than other men I've met. I was falling for him, you know. I thought we had something real together. I was wrong. You don't know how bad that hurts, Stavros." Trina turned her head and fought back more tears. "I just thought he was different and now I know he's worse than the others."

"Worse than that Corky fellow you were talking to? What is that about? You decide not to work things out with Fonda and run to a scumbag like that?"

"It's Corey and he's not a scumbag. At least he's honest about where things stand," Trina said and turned to leave.

"Wait," Stavros pleaded again.

"No, Stavros. I've got places to go, an agent to see and a fish to deliver." Trina raised the plastic bag before walking away from him.
 
 
 

XII

Fonda paced the floor as Stavros filled him in on the details of the latest employee drug test. His brother decided to delay telling him about his encounter with Trina until later. Fonda was furious enough. Will entered the office waving another envelope, smirking menacingly. "Here's the one we been waiting for. Corey's busy with a new order. I don't think he suspects nothing," he said in his usual gruff manner.

"Did he see you?" Stavros asked.

"Naw. He never noticed."

"Something is bothering me," Stavros said. "Trina, your girlfriend. I saw her leaving here after talking to Corky with a bag from the market. What could that mean?" Stavros paced along with Fonda.

"Corey. Not Corky. For Christsakes, for the last fucking time his name is Corey," Fonda snapped and both his brother and Will, the manager of the fish market, looked at each other in surprise. It was rare for Fonda to display that much emotion. "She knows the prick. I don't know why she would buy a fish, though."

"Maybe I know," Will offered. Fonda and Stavros looked up at him. "For the past few weeks or so Corey's been having a fish delivered to a friend of his, some dance guy he says. I noticed it because I see a ticket on it every other night or so. It's just one o'those things that catches my eye, ya know? It's like a standing order and he pays by the week."

"Can you find the invoice?" Fonda asked.

"Sure, got it right here on my desk," Will answered, shuffling through some stained and rumpled paperwork. "Here it is. Ray . . . can't make out the last name on this one. Should be able to read it on last week's invoice though, but I'm gonna have to look through the books."

Fonda took the receipt from Will's hand, reading over the information and the address. "This man, if it is only him, could never possibly eat that much fish. Eight, nine pounds of salmon every day? Something is not right about this." Fonda looked at Stavros. "Could Trina have been delivering a small order somewhere else?"

Stavros shook his head. "No, the bag was quite large, not the size of bag for a small order. There was definitely a big fish in there." Stavros stopped and looked at Will.

Will shook his head. "I'll go keep my eye on things."

"Stavros, how long ago did Trina leave here?"

"I don't know. Twenty, twenty-five minutes maybe. Why?"

"I don't know. I just have a bad feeling."

"What if she wasn't heading home?" Stavros asked.

"Who buys a fish and then doesn't go home?"

"I spoke to Trina briefly outside the market. For you . . . "

"Not a good idea, Stavros . . . "

"She said she had places to go, an agent to see and a fish to deliver."

"I want to speak to Corey now," Fonda said as he headed through a back door in the kitchen which connected to the back room of the market.

"Corey, I need a word with you," Fonda said, striding quickly into the cleaning room of the fish market.

Corey looked around nervously, wondering if his boss knew what he was up to. "Yeah," he stammered. "What's up man?"

"A while ago, you sold a fish to Catrina Murphy. Do you know if she was taking it home or where she was going with it?"

"I don't remember, man," he lied badly, darting his eyes around nervously.

"What do you mean, 'I don't remember'? You know Trina. You sold her a fish. This isn't complicated," he raised his voice. "I want you to tell me if she said she was going anywhere?"

"I don't know what you're talking about man," Corey began to sweat and looked down at the floor, unable to think of a convincing lie to tell his boss.

"Listen to me you fucking little weasel," Fonda picked the smaller man up by his shirt and thrust him into the wall, garnering stares � and even a few grins and smirks � from the other workers. "Trina came in here and bought a fish. You wrapped it up for her. Now tell me if she said where she was going."

"Hey, lighten up," Corey said fearfully, his legs still dangling. "She was bringing it to Ray. Ray Cippolini, a choreographer. He's on some sort of fucking protein diet. He pays me to deliver him a fish every other day. I was beat today, so I asked Trina if she could bring it by. He's on Grand St., near Allen on the lower east side."

Fonda released the human pincushion who slumped to the floor. As he fell, a few small packets fell out of his pocket. He shot his hand out for them, but Fonda got there first.

"What is this? Cocaine? Heroin?" Fonda asked, looking at the bag. "What did you put in the bag with the fish?"

"Fuck you," Corey shot back, slumped on the floor.

"You're fired," he said flatly. "Will, call the police and make sure he doesn't steal anything."

"Sure thing Mr. D. He ain't taking nothing."

"Tell Stavros I'm going to go looking for Trina. I'll be back in a while."

As Fonda headed out of the fish market, Will called the police. Two other men put Corey in the office to wait until the police arrived. Corey had ideas about trying to make a run for it, but many of the workers, most of whom didn't like him to begin with, were between him and the exit. He thought it much safer just to wait.

Corey looked at the phone and had an idea. The men guarding him stepped outside the only door to the office to resume work and wait for the police. Corey quickly picked up the phone and made a call, turning his back to the door in case one of the men should glance back at him. He sat back in the chair and snickered as he hung up the receiver.

Trina sneezed as she entered her agent's office, the dust as thick as ever. She stopped just inside the doorway, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkened rooms � the only light filtering into the room coming through the slats of almost fully closed Venetian blinds � feeling somewhat uncomfortable toting around a large fish in a plastic bag. Ira was sitting behind his desk, an old mahogany monstrosity covered almost totally with stacks of files, leafing through a sheaf of papers while chomping on a cigar that looked as if it were first lit during the Kennedy administration.

"Trina, I didn't even see you come in. Sit down my dear," Ira Katz, Trina's long time agent, said.

"That's ok," she looked at the only other chair in the room, noting that what parts of it that weren't covered in file folders were thick with dust. "I can't stay too long. I have to go bring a fish to a friend."

Ira's bushy brows shot up in question and he switched the cigar to the other side of his mouth, "You makin' fish deliveries, girl?"

Trina smiled at the elderly man. "A girl's got to make a few bucks somehow, eh Ira? Unless you got a paycheck for me or somethin'?" Trina smiled sweetly at her agent, using her charm to melt the tough man's defenses.

Ira chuckled and leaned back in his creaky leather chair. He opened his top desk drawer and pulled out an envelope. "For you, my dear Trina. Glowing reviews on that last video. I have a feeling your rate might have to increase a little. I sense a demand for you, at least that's what I hear through the grapevine. Of course, with the ballet starting in a few weeks, I don't think you'll have much opportunity for videos now." Ira placed the check in Trina's outstretched hand, noting the pretty blush creeping up her neck to stain her fair cheeks. "Oy, my girl, if I were only thirty years younger . . . " Ira clucked, placing the cigar back in his mouth.

Trina smiled back at him, breathing deeply. The smoke and dust irritated her already burning eyes.

"Is that a tear, Trina?" Ira asked, concerned.

"No," Trina tried to shrug it off. "Just my allergies, is all."

"Something Ira should know about?" he asked kindly.

"No, Ira. I'm fine. You should stop smoking those awful things, though. It tends to keep the ladies at a distance, you know." Trina shook her head, scolding the man for his long-time habit. She couldn't � and wouldn't � tell him how depressed she was at the moment at not being able to share this bit of good news with Fonda. Fonda, she thought angrily to herself. Bastard.

"Trina, darling, I wouldn't know what to do with a lady at this point in my life anyway," Ira wheezed and then grinned playfully. "Heart condition."

Trina leaned over the cluttered desk, braving the rancid smoke and towering piles of paper, and gave the old man a peck on the cheek. "Thanks, Ira. For the check. You don't know how much I need this."

Ira waved her away, coughing loudly into his hand. "You earned it, my dear. You earned it. Now, go on and deliver that fish before it stinks up my office."

"Yeah, it might improve the smell," she teased.

Trina shook her head feeling a bit better than when she entered and smiled, glancing back once as she left his office.
 
 
 
 

XIII

Fonda drove at a snail's pace, battling downtown traffic and scanning crowds of pedestrians on either side of the street for a glimpse of Trina. He reeled his car into a coveted parking place on Broome St., just a block from his destination, slamming a few coins into the parking meter before continuing on foot. "If anything happens to her . . . " he muttered, ignoring strange glances from the few people hurrying past on the sidewalk. He sped his pace and jogged to the address written on the invoice from the fish market.

This was a dangerous part of the neighborhood Trina was visiting to make the delivery. She had no idea of what the merchandise she carried on her was � she was so innocent, despite the tough and brash front she projected. Fonda clenched his fists in anger thinking of the way she was being used. Corey had no care as to the safety of this woman that had become so special to him. His step quickened.

Fonda paid no attention to the skinny man that stepped from an alcove fifty feet in front of him, walking in his direction. He barely acknowledged the sneer on the man's face � this was New York after all. If there's one thing you learn growing up in the city is that you ignore the various looks that people give.

He spotted the building where the studio was and he quickened his pace. In one moment he was intent on finding Trina and in the next he realized he might be too late. As he passed an alley, the thin man in front of him turned and flashed brass knuckles just as a board or pipe sliced across the back of his head. The pain burned on his neck as he lashed out blindly at his assailant. Fonda had no time to respond or protect himself as the blows kept coming one after another. He lunged at the man facing him, managing to land a meaty blow to his pockmarked face but he never was able to see the one attacking from behind. A few minutes of scuffling and wild flailing of his arms and Fonda was slipping into the deep recesses of unconsciousness. His last thoughts were of Trina.

The two men looked around quickly and dragged Fonda into the alley, where they threw him onto a pile of trash.

"Think we should finish him off?" the smaller of the two asked.

"Fuck that shit," the tall, thin man with the pockmarked face replied. "He ain't going nowhere for a long time. Besides, I don't kill nobody for no one. Least of all fucking Corey."

"Yeah. That mother fucker better get us that shit now," the small one said, giving Fonda a final kick in his mid section for good measure before leaving the alleyway with his companion.

Trina looked up at Ray's building, it was much more run down than she last remembered. The whole neighborhood was going downhill, she thought. A few homeless men or women huddled within the doorways of these once grand buildings, some staring pitifully up at her. She wished she could help but instead increased her pace and kept her eyes forward. Litter lay in piles in the gutters and some trash was still being blown around in the wind only to come to rest against the scarred and graffiti-ed brick buildings. The sooner she got this delivery over with the better. She didn't need the money that bad and wondered how she had ever been desperate enough to do any work for Ray.

She hurried past an alley, casting a quick glance as she skittered by. The homeless were everywhere in this part of town, another one lay in the middle of a pile of garbage either drunk or dead. Trina swallowed down the revulsion she felt just imagining the depths of despair that must be reached to end up like that. She heard a faint noise emanating from the alley, a noise that seemed out of place for the setting, but she ignored it and quickly walked past to finish her task.
 
 

"Fonda, where are you?" Stavros said into the phone as he tried to reach his brother for the third time. He ended the call and tried again, this time slowly punching in the phone number to Fonda's cell phone. He was sure he had the number right.

"He's not answering?" Will asked.

"No. That's not like Fonda. He lives by that phone. Something is not adding up." Stavros turned and looked through the office window back at Corey. The long-haired man seemed a little nervous but something else, too. If he had to guess, Stavros would say that he looked smug. But Stavros was too concerned about his brother to give it much more thought and turned away and dialed Fonda's number again.

Trina stopped and listened again. There it was � a distinct musical tone being played over and over again. It was almost like the ringing of a cell phone or pager. She looked at the rumpled heap on the pile of wet cardboard and broken crates. She looked up the street and chewed her lip as she decided what to do. Homeless men do not carry cell phones. But in all her years of living in New York she knew it was best not to get involved. It could be dangerous. She took another step, hesitated, and continued on her way, deciding to call the police when she got to Ray's apartment. For all she knew the man had been robbed and the perpetrators were still hanging around. But, if the man had been robbed, wouldn't they have taken the cell phone?

Trina kept walking as she tried to come up with a rational answer. Her eyes scanned from left to right, waiting for anyone to come forward and jump her, mug her or drag her off into the alley like the man had been dragged off. It was then she spotted the little car � the cute BMW that looked so out of place in this neighborhood.

"No!" Trina moaned out loud as she turned around and ran back to the alley. The car! The phone she now realized was playing "Ode to Joy," the same song she programmed into Fonda's phone � it must be him. She scurried back to the alley and dropped to her knees beside the man. He was sprawled across broken wood and cardboard on his stomach. Trina cried out as she saw the gash in the back of his head, the blood that had stained the back of his shirt and soaked into the cardboard beneath him.

"Oh, Fonda . . . hang on, Fonda . . . " Trina cried, touching him tenderly here and there, his shoulder, his arm, his neck. She felt for a pulse and her panic dissipated only slightly when she detected a beat in his neck. "Phone. . . your phone. Where is it, baby?" Trina patted Fonda down, looking for the cell phone. Blessedly, it rang again. Trina found it in the pocket of his rain coat and fumbled with the keys before calming herself enough to answer it.

"Hello!" Trina cried out. "Who is this?"

"Trina, is that you?" Stavros asked.

"There's been an accident. Oh, Stavros, please help me . . . help us. Fonda's been hurt, mugged or something . . . " Trina gasped, trying to stifle her sobs.

"An accident? Trina, calm down," Stavros continued, "tell me what happened?"

"I need an ambulance. He's been hurt. We're at . . . " Trina looked around wildly before focusing on an address across the street . . . "the address is . . . " Trina gave Stavros the address, trying vainly to hold her panic in check. Fonda needed her to remain calm.

"I know where Fonda was going, I have the address right here. Sounds like the same neighborhood. I am on my way. I will call the police. In the meantime, call an ambulance right away and don't hang up. Do you understand?" Stavros tried to say as calmly as possible. "Don't break the line, just in case. . . "

"In case?" Trina asked, gingerly smoothing back the dark, glossy hair from Fonda's temple, "just hurry, Stavros. Please hurry."

Trina ended the call and dialed 911. She explained the situation to the operator and their whereabouts and, just as Stavros asked, she kept the line open. She told the dispatcher that she thought they were still in danger and felt safer if she were able to speak to the woman on the other end of the line in case anyone showed up to finish the job. The woman kindly and calmly spoke to Trina while she waited for the ambulance, a time frame of no more than six minutes but, to Trina, it seemed more like sixty minutes.