still ill • michael gray

Chapter 1

Jazz music blares from the big band. Professional swing dancers do tricks I couldn't ever imagine doing, as I am a truly awful dancer, but I do love watching.

One of my best friends in the whole world, Caroline, sits next to me at the table, she leans over to say something in my ear, but I don't look away from the entertainment, "Bea, I haven't seen that boy before," I glance briefly over my shoulder at the young man she points to before returning my gaze to the dance floor.

"And what makes him so special? There are new boys in this club every single night."

"Well he can't stop looking at you," The one thing I don't like so much about Cara is that she feels an overwhelming desire to find me a man. Truly I don't want one and I'm perfectly happy on my own. As a socialite raised to a wealthy family, I already have everything.

"Most can't," I answer and gesture to the dozen different glasses and lone champagne bucket in front of me, "I don't think I've had to buy more than one drink for myself in over a year. I'm sure damn near every boy in New York with two pennies to rub together has bought me at least one drink."

"He doesn't look like an Upper East Sider, but he does look rich."

"Well perhaps he's from out of town and is just visiting."

"Maybe you should talk to him and find out."

"Here's the deal," I sigh, "I'll talk to him if, and only if he buys me a bottle of champagne worth more than fifteen dollars at any given time tonight."

"Now Beatrice you're setting your standards too high," she groans. "This is why you're going to be single for the rest of your life."

"I'd rather my standards be too high than too low."

The night passes by, and mysteriously not a single new drink has been served, just as I'm about to finally order my own drink, a waiter approaches with a champagne bucket, "Finally," I breathe, but then I remember my deal and I pray it isn't the man Cara pointed out. "Excuse me, who bought this?" I ask over the music. My stomach sinks when he points to him. I stare down the man, who has the nerve to smirk at me, while the waiter asks if I have any more questions, and I do, and it's the most important question of the night. "How much does this champagne cost."

"Seventeen dollars, Miss. Is there anything else I can get you?"

I shake my head and I can hear Cara snickering, "That'll be all."

"It looks like you finally found someone who meets your standards," she grins cheekily.

"Christ," I rub my forehead in dismay.

She gives me a shove that almost knocks me out of my chair, "Go talk to him."

"Fine..." I drag myself to my feet and walk towards him slowly. I notice a cane resting against his chair. He watches me, his eyes feel like they're burning holes through my chest. I take a seat at the empty chair next to him, earning me curious looks from the other men at the table. Some of them I know personally, the rest I've seen around. There's one thing I know for sure about all of them, they're all gangsters, young guns of the ruthless Italian families.

One of them, Antonio, laughs, "Jeez Michael, you must be really special, I've spent fifty dollars on drinks for this woman and she hasn't even spared me so much as a conversation."

"Shut up," I glare at him, "it's because a woman of my class shouldn't consort with gangsters."

"Then you're with the right kind of guy," Antonio remarks, "Michael here only handles the legal side of his family's business. Accountant in the streets, gangster in the sheets."