Speak Low by Melanie Harlow Page B

tonight.”
    I glanced at Joey to gauge his reaction to that, but he kept his eyes on the dance floor and his expression blank. If it bothered him to hear her call Enzo my man, he didn’t show it.
    Evelyn and Ted decided to dance too, which left Walter and I alone in the dark booth to wait for our cocktails. He tried to make conversation with me, but I couldn’t tear my eyes off Rosie and Joey. The band had eased from a hot-tempoed jazz number into a lazy, suggestive blues, and Rosie was draped on Joey like a jungle monkey. My whisky arrived, and I took two huge swallows.
    By the time they were done dancing, my whisky was gone, my head buzzed, and my tongue itched to let loose on Joey Lupo. Exactly why I was so angry I couldn’t articulate, but somehow it seemed my right to be mad. Rosie led him back to the table by the hand, and they slid in across from Walter and me.
    “Joey, can I speak to you in private for a moment?” I attempted to look calm and sweet.
    “Oh, don’t be a spoilsport, Tiny,” Rosie piped up. “We just sat down. Let the boy have his fun, why don’t you?” She rubbed his arm and smiled at me with the devil in her eyes.
    I wanted to kick her under the table, but I kept my eyes on him. “It’s important. Please?”
    “All right.” When Rosie’s face fell, he patted her hand. “I’ll be right back.”
    She pouted. “You better. I won’t wait around too long, you know.”
    Detaching himself from her grasp, he stood. “Need another drink?” He gestured toward my empty glass.
    “Good idea.” I slid out and made for the bar, and Joey followed. When I reached the crowd, lined three deep waiting for the bartenders’ attention, I turned on him.
    “What the hell, Joey? I hear nothing from you or Enzo all week and then you show up at his club? And with that….that”—I waved a hand in Rosie’s direction—“tarantula on your arm?”
    “She’s more like a peacock, actually.”
    “Whatever. The point is, what are you doing here and why are you with her?”
    Joey looked amused. “You know, your jealousy might actually be kind of endearing if it didn’t make your face turn all red like that.”
    My mouth dropped open but I snapped it shut immediately. “ I am not jealous of that two-bit man-eater.”
    “Oh. My mistake, I guess. Now what do you want to drink?”
    “Whisky.” I probably shouldn’t have ordered a second glass so quickly, but rational thought had been supplanted by confusion and irritation and—yes, fist-clenching jealousy. I could admit it to myself, although I’d be damned before I’d let Joey see it. While he paid for the drinks, I took a few deep breaths, rubbed my lips together to make sure my lipstick was still on, and adjusted my posture to read cool instead of hot.
    “Here you go, Little Tomato.” Joey handed me a glass of amber liquid and clinked it with his own. “Salute.”
    I took a small sip. “So if it wasn’t Rosie who invited you here tonight, who was it? And why didn’t you call me?”
    “What is this, the Inquisition? For your information, I was invited here by the cake eater himself, and he told me to come alone.”
    “What? Why?” I nearly choked on my whisky. In my mind there was only one reason why Enzo would invite Joey here alone. How could Joey be so dumb as to actually show up by himself? Wouldn’t he see the trap?
    “He said he had some information for me.”
    “About what?”
    “He didn’t say exactly, only that it was something I’ve been looking for.” He drank again. “I assume he’s ready to finish up the opium deal.”
    “And Rosie? How’d you end up with her?” I couldn’t resist asking.
    “I walked in here looking for Enzo, and Rosie accosted me.”
    I squinted at him. “Accosted you?”
    He gave me a crooked smile. “I can’t help it if I’m irresistible. It’s the hair, you know?” He ran a hand along the side of his brown curls, which had been tamed into submission with hairdressing. “Or maybe the