Could Love Be Enough?

The fly on the wall would tell you Grace was out of place sitting amongst eight burly men in a private, cornered off, section of the Speakeasy. When they first arrived Marcus told her to order herself a drink on their tab and try not to speak to many people; even he knew she didn’t belong here with him. It seems the minute she was spotted with her fingertips latched with his, her name was already tainted. 

Marcus and Grace had been dating for only a couple of weeks yet they were smitten with each other. At first glance Grace was aware Marcus was involved in more dangerous, dodgy, dealings then she’s used to but couldn’t bring herself to give him up. Straight off the cuff, she asked him what he did for work and he answered with an honest ‘a lotta gambling, stealing, moving some drugs around, money laundering… maybe some murder.’ There was no use in lying to the ashy- blonde-haired beauty since everyone in town knew who Marcus worked for, and what he worked for. Rumours had made their way to Grace’s ears multiple times about the ‘Mafia’ hiding in the small town not looking for much trouble but not staying out of it either. Though, Grace felt wrong to abandon the man who’s shrewd dark eyes turn tender once roses bloom along her cheeks from his constant compliments. 

So, she watches fiddling with the ends of her sherbet pink, satin, summer dress wondering whether ‘The Don’, or ‘Vinnie’ as Marcus calls him, will approve of her. Does she even want his approval? Would it be best for him to shun her from the gang and never let her step foot near them again? 

“What’s the girl doin’ here, Marc?” An older man, Howard, asks from the other end of the booth. Grace tenses at the first mention of her being between them, searching the men's eyes for any danger but coming up short when they all glance at her unbothered. Some even send a pitiful lift of their cut lips her way. 

“We were out when I got the call…said it was an emergency and I didn’t wanna leave her.” Answers Marcus with a type of assertiveness Grace had yet to witness. Watching him carefully interact with the other members of one of the worlds most famous gang made her feel uneasy. The realisation finally hit her that his job is as real as the lives he takes. 

“Alright, don’t let her hear too much…for her sake.” Howard sends Grace a nod of acceptance, but his eyes wearily look through the specs of gold gleaming in her own. 

Grace thought it to be strange how the men in front of her had committed such awful crimes since they all seemed like average bar drinking men. She continued to remind herself of the articles she had read about them in the newspapers; vicious, thieving, greedy criminals killing the innocent and stealing from the rich. Right now they exude more depression than wealth or power. 

Many times Marcus has told her stories of his childhood which caused him to work for the gang in the first place. An alcoholic father, borrowing money from the wrong people, and a mentally ill mother, who could just about brush her teeth. Marcus felt as though this was his only chance at success, so he took it as a young thirteen-year-old boy. His feet itchy to escape the crack den of a house. You could say The Mafia gifted him all the fancy cars and expensive tailored suits in the world, but it all came with a price. 

The smack of the door hammering back against the frame steals, not only Grace’s, the whole bar's attention. The Don strides in refusing to meet anyone's eyes, instead heading straight for the table occupied by the eight men and trembling Grace. From the corner of his eye, Marcus notices the anxiety pooling on his lover's palms and swiftly squeezes her thigh in reassurance. Following Vinnie is his wife, Cecil, who looks just as bored as he does. Her open hand bangs at the edge of the bar as her smokers voice demands a gin and tonic. Grace couldn’t help but feel more afraid of Cecil than she did her husband. 

“Right, let’s get to it. Junior has a baseball game in an hour and Cecil will kill me if we miss-.” Vinnie’s words grow quiet until completely stopping, as he spots Grace looking at him through doe-eyes. “This is?” His eyebrow arches in a threat towards Marcus, seemingly unamused with the unexpected guest. 

“Grace, my girl…I’ve told you about her before…we were out when you rang.” Marcus answers in a blasé tone. Knowing Vinnie for such a long time Marcus understands a lady at the table doesn’t bother him much; he doesn’t care for much apart from family, money and rules. Never has Vinnie lay a wrong hand on a woman, especially Cecil. Cecil has a stronger fist than he does, so he doesn’t push the limit in fear of her knocking his teeth out one day. 

“Course.” Vinnie offers Grace his hand with a polite smile before continuing. “Sorry to interrupt your day. You don’t mind sitting in, do you? We won’t be too long.” 

Before Grace can answer Cecil approaches the table with two gin and tonics, batting her lashes towards Grace and handing her a glass.

“Come on Sugar, why don’t we leave the men to talk toys? Come join me at the bar and you can tell me where you bought that gorgeous dress.” Cecil demands more than asks, so naturally, Grace pats Marcus’ knee over the beige pants as her way of nudging him from the booth to let her out. 

As the women settle at the bar, the men become evidently rowdier than what they were when Grace sat there. She watches the group as they mock one of the other, already drunk, men. Her eyes follow every move Marcus makes in amazement at catching him caught up in business. With her so focused on the boy, who makes her heart melt, she doesn’t notice Cecil’s narrowed stare at the side of her head. Cecil has become most weary with newcomers since the multiple girls the men have brought around couldn’t help but squeal like a pig in order to receive money or faux fur coats. She’s all too aware they start off shy and innocent only to turn into Cleopatra herself once greedy hands meet money. 

“You’re very pretty Grace.” She tells the girl with confidence, wanting her to open up a little. “Where did you grow up?”

“Oh, born and bred right here, in this town. Though…my mother tells me we have a little French in us.” There is a quiver to Grace’s words that Cecil spots immediately. The older woman waits a while longer before commenting, deciding what approach would best fit the girl with the princess name. 

“Grace…what are you doing here?” She asks, in a more sombre tone. 

Grace swivels her chair more towards Cecil in worry, afraid the woman twenty-one years her senior is offended in some way, only to meet sympathetic eyes. She thinks over the question in wonder. What is she doing here? She’s in love with a man, and that’s all she knows for sure. The small-town girl doesn’t agree with his occupation nor his beliefs. She doesn’t care much for diamonds or gold or vintage cars that cost a bomb. She loves a man; a man who thrives off of a life that consists of looking over his shoulder upon leaving a building. A man who could have a hit sent for him with just a wrong lick of a trigger. A man who holds her tight as though all too aware she could vanish before his eyes with a click of nimble fingers. 

“I don’t quite know how to answer that.” She admits as the brim of her eyes begins to well up in frustration. “I love him. I understand I don’t look cut out for his jo-his lifestyle but…I love him. I-I care for him. I mean…is it as bad as they make out on the movie screens? Who would you say is the Joe Pesci of the group?” She asks, with a shrug of her shoulder and pout of plump lips, amusement staining her tone. 

Cecil fails to stop the thundering laugh that escapes her at the girl’s, surprising, lighthearted switch of conversation. The pair sit at the bar, as the men begin to finish up, laughing over the tragedy of their adorations. Once their giggles settle, Cecil grips onto Grace’s elbow in determination. 

“Look, I’ll look after you…I’ll always be here… but if you wanna leave at any moment-if you aren’t up for the interrupted sleep, constant anxiety or moving to different cities to escape a rival gang…then Sugar please-my god- please leave.” Cecil begs. The more experienced woman can see her younger self in the golden-eyed girl and can't help but feel the need to warn her, save her, in some way. Never has she ever prepared any of the girls for what they’ll see or hear. Yet, with Grace, a notion of guilt ripple through her limbs at the thought of her hurt. She picked up on her trick of turning the situation around, making a joke out it, in order to get through it. But, the only person it will damage is herself. “Please, no matter how much you love him or how much he loves you…promise me you’ll bolt the minute you know you can’t take it no more.”

Grace’s body vibrates with a variety of emotion; relief over Cecil’s support, joy over her acceptance, worry over what’s ahead for her love and life. From her peripheral vision, she spots Marcus strutting towards the two women, ready to leave. Her focus circles in on Cecil’s pleading gaze at the last second before giving her confirmation.

“I promise.” It’s firm and resilient, and evermore assuring for Cecil’s ears. 

Just as the pair join gentle hands, to solidify the promise, Marcus taps the inside of Grace’s arm with a grin. Now a little boozy from a couple of beers, he beams at the bright-eyed girl in utter devotion. 

“Come on, baby. We can leave now…bye Cecil, send Junior my luck.” He grants with a wink in the older woman’s direction, before dragging a chuckling Grace from the room. “So where are we off to next? Paris? Japan? How about Greece?” 

“I say we go to the movies and see all three.” She bites back cheekily, swaying with happiness beside a man she is sure she will love for years to come.