Chapter Seventeen – Marcella

"Wee!"

I look up just in time to see Lincoln standing alongside the split rail fence, the go cart track on the other side. He points and jumps up, his metal braces not slowing him down for one second.

"I want to race, Nixon. Can I race? Please, please, pretty please!"

His small face is like a painting of euphoria. I don't think he's old enough or strong enough to race by himself, but I saw some other parents with their younger kids riding along with them. I lean on my golf club. I'm ahead of Nixon by two strokes, and I'm delighting in the fact that I can beat him at something. I can't keep from rubbing it in.

"Hey, Bob Barker, it's your shot."

He laughs and waggles his eyebrows. I'd never thought I could love hanging out with someone so much. For all his hard ass business persona, he's got a softer side. A funny, caring, and fun side. I'm glad I'm the one who gets to see it. Me and Linc.

As Nixon lines up his putt — a tough bank shot with a water hazard filled with plastic ducks — he glances over at Linc. "We can race if you race with me. That's my best and final offer."

Linc's little brow furrows. "Just like on "Million Dollar Listing Los Angeles," right Nix?"

I can't believe a six-year-old kid watches a real estate show, but he told me one day during our sessions that he wants to be the top real estate agent in Vegas and sell mansions to Celine Dion and ranches to Wayne Newton. Who am I to tell the kid no? With his charm, good looks, and determination, he can do it. Besides, he's probably the most connected kid in the city with four older brothers who all excel in their chosen field.

Since the Bob Goulet debacle, Nixon and I have been seeing each other pretty much every day. Our relationship, if you can call it that, is going well. Neither one of us seems to want to define it, but I know between work and me, he isn't seeing anyone else. He'd have to do that during the four hours he sleeps. No bueno.

The time will come when I have enough saved up to finish college, but I'll cross that rickety bridge when I come to it. For now, I'm just going to live in the moment, something I've never been very good at. But I'm learning. Nixon is leading, and I'm following. And Manny's been behaving, which makes for a pretty darn good life right now. It's like a sliver of hope has opened up, and all I have to do is let it blossom.

The only thing that bothers me is Nixon's past. It seems almost everywhere we go, beautiful, sophisticated women know him and want him. I wonder how many of them he's slept with, but he doesn't want to revisit the past. It's hard being a curvy girl. Even though I know I have pretty skin and hair, I'm not a stick figure. Sometimes I wonder when he'll tire of me or if I'm just a novelty to him. The poor virgin he plucked out of her double wide in a special ops rescue mission.

For a brief moment, I wonder why he ever wanted me, but then I shake my head and chase it away. That's not me. My mom and dad taught me to be confident in myself and my abilities. I may be poor, but I'm smart and talented. I'm going places, and Nixon must see my potential.

He takes his shot, and it ends up in the water. After pounding his club a few times and stomping his foot on the astroturf, he looks up to catch me gloating. "What's the problem with my golf game today?" As if it's just today that's his problem.

I snort. "Because you're standing too close to the ball. After you've hit it."

"Very funny, Joan Rivers," he says and gives an obnoxious fake laugh so loud Linc stops to look at us from where his ball landed, close to the hole.

"Are you saying that I look like a corpse, Caldwell?" He gives me a strange look. Guy doesn't get out much. "Joan's no longer with us."

"Yeah, that's right." He scratched his chin. "Remember hearing about that a few months ago."

I roll my eyes. I can't believe it. "Like a few months ago in 2014?" I tease. I just can't help myself. He needs to stop working so hard. He's like a man possessed when it comes to his casino.

"I guess I'm lucky this is the second to the last hole then."

After tapping in for my par, I line up my shot for the ninth. It's that damn hole where you have to time everything perfectly to get your ball into the clown's mouth. If you miss, the scary thing cackles and spits your ball back at you, continuing with the maniacal laughing like Vincent Price did in "Thriller." I'm chomping at the bit to rub Nixon's nose in my victory on the mini links, so I take my time and execute the perfect putt straight into Bozo's yap.

"Yahoo." Linc's right there with me. Even though he's on braces, he raises his arms in the air, and we twirl in a little victory dance that puts a grimace on Nixon's face.

Bozo laughs in delight as he spits Nixon's first three attempts back at his feet. On the fourth attempt, he doesn't even make it anywhere near the hole. Sighing in exasperation, Nixon picks up his ball and throws his hands up in the air.

"I forfeit."

Linc frowns. "Didn't you tell me never to quit, Nix? You can't quit now. Caldwell's aren't quitters!"

Nixon and I share a special look only between us, and I give him a go get 'em fist pump. After about five more attempts, it finally squirts through, and we're done. On to the go carts.

Linc has so much fun racing that I don't even give it a second thought. I totally let them win by a mile. It's worth it to me just to see the look of pure joy light up his little face. I'm already falling in love with Lincoln. I might be falling in love with both of them, even if I can't admit it. Even to myself.

Once we finally settle down for hot dogs, French fries, and sodas at the snack bar, Nixon brings out his phone to check his messages. Before he's even scrolled through, he's wearing a frown so deep it would rival his upset over his dismal mini golf score. I think it might have drifted into the triple digits.

"What's wrong?" I ask, leaning forward to rest my hand on his arm. Work rarely upsets him anymore. He's the calmest, most competent, and expedient man I've ever seen. No wonder his casino runs like a well-oiled machine.

"It's Beverly Carr, the casino host over at the Mona Lisa," he explains. "I've never had a personal phone call from her, but she doesn't tell me what it's regarding in her message."

"You should call her back," I suggest. "I'll keep Linc busy while you chat. It will drive you nuts if you don't find out what it's about." I already know that he has a beef with Dante and why, so I know anything involving the Mona Lisa sets him on edge. Linc and I try to decide between twist ice cream cones and bomb pops for dessert when Nixon returns.

"I want a bomb pop. Red, white, and blue. Yummy!"

"Okay, Champ," Nixon says, handing him a twenty. "Can you get it yourself? Marcella and I have some big people conversation we need to have for just a couple minutes."

Linc holds the bill tightly in his hand as he maneuvers himself to the snack bar. I spear Nixon with a look. He's holding something back, and I don't like it.

"What is it?"

He sighs and takes my hand in his. I snatch it back, holding it to my neck as if doing so can calm my racing heartbeat. "It's Manuel."

I shut my eyes. I don't even want to look at Nixon because I already know what he's going to say. "No."

"I'm sorry, Marcella. Bev says he's drunk, belligerent and into them for four figures. She said he started chanting my name when they asked him to leave. Instead of causing a scene, she just quietly called me and asked if I could come and get him. I think we should leave now before it gets any worse."

How could Manny do this to me when he'd been doing so great? Going to his meetings and staying away from the tables. Working his shifts. His tendency to fall off the wagon always seems to happen at the worst time. When my life is together, and I'm finally happy and close to thriving, he flies off the rails, taking me with him.

"Okay." I can't really say much else.

Once we reach the Mona Lisa, Linc and Nixon stay in the car while I go inside to fetch my brother. Nixon insists on coming along, but since kids aren't allowed on the casino floor, I wave him off. This is something I need to do by myself anyway. It seems I'll be dealing with Manny's bullshit for the rest of my life, so I might as well get used to doing it without Nixon's help. He can't protect me forever.

I step through the revolving doors and glance around for the concierge counter. Once I spot it, I inquire after Ms. Carr. I don't have to wait long until a sophisticated brunette with a tailored suit and a messy bun approaches, my inebriated brother in tow.

"Cella, s'goods ta see yous," he slurs, every word an effort.

"Come on, Manny. Ms. Carr, thank you so much for taking the time to call. I really appreciate you not involving the authorities." As I speak, I rummage through my purse for my checkbook. This is really going to set me back. Once she sees my blank check, Ms. Carr waves me off.

"There's no need for that, Ms. Castillo. Mr. Caldwell already took care of the debt."

Shame floods my entire system, and I can feel the redness creep up my neck to light my cheeks in vibrant color. I don't want Nixon's money. I can take care of myself and any other dipshit in my life. I want to grab Manny by the back of the collar and yank him so hard his teeth will rattle. Instead, I just nod at the pretty woman and take Manny's hand to drag him out to the car so Nixon can drop us off at home. So much for my perfect date night.