Down at the Twist and Shout Ch. 01

"No, Johnny, no, it's nothing like that, please, I'm alright, I swear!"

John relaxed; he'd seen no lie in her eyes, she really was OK. His eyes warmed, and once again his voice, his accent, and his smile were as light and bantering as before.

"OK, li'l sister, then whyn't y'all tell me what's goin' on."

Justine took a calming sip of her coffee and looked off into the distance, her eyes unfocussed.

"Ever since he lost his father's business it's been getting worse at home. He's so stubborn, he wouldn't take any offers of help, he won't let me help him, he just tells me it's none of my business and to shut-up, he knows what he's doing, and he doesn't need me poking my nose where it doesn't belong; daddy's friends, his old associates, they all tried to guide him, tell him things, show him what he was doing wrong, but he insisted that he was his father's son, that any business his father could run, he could run just as well. But he couldn't, Johnny, he's not his father's son, he made so many bad decisions..." her voice trailed off, and John noted with concern her eyes were bright with unshed tears. He took her hand and squeezed it comfortingly, and she tried to smile at him, but it was a poor effort at best.

"I tried to help him, but he wouldn't listen," she continued. "Johnny, he lost the stores, all of them; just one bad decision after another, and now everything his father and grandfather worked so hard for, everything they put away, all the investments they made, it's all gone. He owes everyone, and now he just takes any old job that comes along, but he can't even keep those; he starts off on this thing about how he ran his own multi-million dollar business, he tries to make them do things his way, he shoots his mouth off one time too many, and they terminate him."

As she recited this, John saw her lip quivering, and he realized she was holding back the tears only with an effort of will. He slipped his arm around her shoulder and held her comfortingly.

"Whyn't you tell me somethin', Justy? Mebbe I could have helped you out, mebbe talked some sense into that...into Carlo. Do you need me to talk to him, baby?" he asked her softly, "Or maybe see if there's anywhere I can slot him in, someone I can ask a favor if he needs a job?"

Justine shook her head.

"That won't work; you can't give him advice, and he'll just throw any offers back in your face; he's got too much fucking pride and not enough smarts to know when he's in a hole. He knows how to run the world, everyone else is wrong, and he's right, and I can't get through to him. Because of his goddamn pig-headed pride and stupidity we're stumbling along day to day, and he's not cutting it. So I need some advice, and you're the smartest person I know; I need you to help me, Johnny; I need you to tell me what to do, 'cause I'm out of ideas!"

"Anything, baby, you know that! Do you need money? I can..." But Justine cut him short.

"No, no thank you, baby, I appreciate the offer, but I can't take your money, you know that; thank you for offering, though, honey, and I love you for it. No, I need to know how I can legally, or at least safely, make enough money to keep us afloat; all mama's insurance is gone, everything she left me is gone too. He lost it all, and now we're broke; all I have left are a few dollars in checking and mama's engagement ring. I need to do something, Johnny, God knows, someone has to, but I don't know what, so this is where you come in, Johnny B. I need ideas. Have you got any?"

John squeezed her shoulder reassuringly.

"First things first; what can you do?"

Justine shook her head sadly.

"I have no marketable skills; you know I passed on college to marry Carlo; it seemed like such a good idea at the time..." she trailed off bitterly, her eyes glittering, then heaved a sigh.

"Thank you for not saying 'I told you so'; you tried to stop me, and I didn't listen, and now here I am. All I know how to do is cook and clean. I'm basically trained to be a wife, a wife whose husband won't touch her because he's too busy drinking in that goddamn bar he spends all his time in..."

John grinned at her, while his mind circled her admission that all was not well in the bedroom stakes. He briefly considered telling her that she didn't have to worry about money, that all her father's money was safe, in a series of trust funds set up by their mother against such an eventuality, with some very trustworthy people indeed looking after her best interests.

He knew now that keeping quiet had been a good, if instinctive, move; if Carlo knew she had all that money, he'd have pillaged it if he could, or made her hand it over to him, something John had suspected from Day One. Bruno Pellini had made no bones about how he saw his son, and his warnings about what kind of man Carlo was were being borne out by Justine's predicament.

Johnny smiled grimly to himself; there was no two ways about it, the day she got shot of that spoiled, worthless turd was the day she became a very wealthy young woman, her trustees would see to that; Johnny trusted them to finagle a way to cut Carlo right out of the loop, and, knowing just who was on the job, and what kind of skills they had, he had no doubt that they would make it come out right for Justine. In the meantime, he'd keep on keeping quiet about it, because if he told her, Carlo would get it out of her somehow, and it would all go to shit.

But right now, she had to do something of her own; she needed to prove to herself she didn't need that pointless husband of hers anymore.

"You say you can clean, and I know what a good cook you are, so here's a suggestion right off the top of my head: why don't you start your own cleaning or domestic care business? I'll front whatever startup capital you need. I know a shitload of very well-paid single guys who need someone to organize their lives and clean up after them; their momma's ain't around to do it for them, and they're incapable of doing it themselves. I think they'd pay to have a clean home and a proper, home-cooked meal once in a while. I know I would. Some of these guys pay a heap of money to some big franchised corporation just to have someone come in an' do their laundry, wipe down the counters, run a vacuum over the place, and leave; I'm sure you could do it for less, and do a better job, an' get paid cash in hand; I don't think we need to trouble the IRS with somethin' like this, they got more important stuff to worry about, an' it'll get you money to keep you afloat for now. What say you give it a whirl? If it works, you're set, if it don't, you're no worse off..."

Justine looked at him in stunned, hopeful silence, but then her face fell.

"Johnny, I need to earn money now. I don't have time to build up a business clientele; I need to be able to hit the ground running, and make money now, not down the road somewhere. Thank you for trying, babe, but..."

She stopped as John tapped her lip gently with his fingertip.

"Hold on there, baby-girl, I wasn't finished; I said I knew a whole heap of guys. You just sit, I got some numbers to check, and we'll take it from there. Sit!"

John padded over to his computer desk and pulled the massive, old-fashioned Rolodex flip-card index file close. Justine watched as he flipped through it, pulling out cards until he had a sizeable stack in his hand, and grinned over at his sister.

"OK, baby girl, this is what we gonna do; I'll call each name here tonight; they all work same kinda hours as me, so I won't go callin' them now, but I don't need to be at work until mebbe after midnight, so I got a couple hours to make some calls, and sell you as the perfect Domestic Goddess. These guys all know me, they'll listen, and we'll take it from there. Take my cards and my keys, go buy cleaning supplies, janitor buckets, mops, that kinda thing, whatever you think you'll need, and dump it all here. Now, you got to go, I really need to get some sleep, just go get what you need, order it if you need to, and have it sent here. Let yourself in when you're done, and we'll talk again tomorrow morning. Anything I miss out?"

Justine looked wide-eyed at him; he was serious, he was actually getting off his ass and doing something; she mentally compared him to her husband, how organized, decisive, and level-headed he was, as opposed to what a fucked-up, chaotic mess Carlo had made of their lives and their finances, with his pettiness, his stubbornness, and his self-centered, hard-nosed, wilful arrogance and refusal to listen, and the thought flashed across her mind, instantly suppressed:

"God, I wish Johnny was my husband; if he was, I'd never be in this mess, not now, not ever...

*

Justine was a hit almost from the get-go; John was right when he predicted they'd be breaking down her door, and pretty soon she was working flat out, for more money than she'd ever had, doing what she'd always done; his friends and colleagues were well-paid, well-connected, and almost completely useless in the domestic arena, and pretty soon Justine was indispensible.

Whether they brought women home, or just came home after a bad night doing what they did, it was to a sparkling clean home, with an eggplant parmigiana or lasagna piping hot and smelling delicious in the oven, and a couple bottles of wine chilling in the fridge, all ready for them to swing into action. She was in her element, she was doing something she knew how to do well, only this time she was calling the shots, and for the first time in a long time, she was happy.

Carlo didn't really notice her extended absences from the home; his time was taken up in Santini's down in Hell's Kitchen, and when he came home he was usually too trashed to eat, so he spent most nights sprawled on the couch, sleeping off the boilermakers while Justine scraped the meal she'd cooked him into the trash, washed-up, and went to bed alone.

Gradually, her days evolved into a particular routine; as word of mouth got around, her client base expanded, and she found herself having to perform more and more complex juggling acts to fit them all in, or at least work out who needed her least often; the people she worked for were so happy to have her they gladly paid whatever she asked, even when she gave preposterous prices to try and deter someone from engaging her services, because she was snowed under. The money began to pile up, even as more and more of John's associates found out about her and requested her services, and she was working herself into a frazzle.

Eventually John came to her rescue with a suggestion that made a lot of sense; most of her clients slept through the day and worked all night, so why not copy them, and clean their places at night? They'd be at work, she stood little chance of disturbing them, and she could charge even more; they'd pay, believe it.

Justine was doubtful, and a little leery at the prospect; not a few of her clients were the kind of men who could make life very difficult for a young girl working alone late at night, but John had spread the word: mess with Justine, or disrespect her in any way, and he'd come calling. Those who knew him knew what a potent and very real threat that was, and passed the word to those who didn't, and pretty soon some of the most dangerous men in the specialized world John moved in were bowing and scraping to 'Miss Justine' as though their very lives depended on it, which in many ways they did.

John also availed himself of her services; he needed his place cleaned too, he loved his baby sister's cooking, and he liked the idea of giving her money the only way she'd take it; if she was earning it. He liked the thought of his kid sister using his place as a bolt-hole too after a night spent cleaning other people's homes; often he'd come from work to find Justine still there, waiting for him with a coffee, a hot meal, and a willing ear, and he began to look forward to their loving, but innocent, trysts as they gradually reconnected as big brother and his baby sister; for him, it was the only way to finish the day.

It got to the stage where, if he came home as dawn was breaking and she wasn't there, he felt cheated, and the rest of his day was colored by a feeling of loss and emptiness, as if something important was missing.

It was typical of him that he refused to examine these feelings too deeply; Justine was married, she was his sister, and, beautiful and desirable as she was, that put her forever outside the pale. He'd tell himself that every time the thoughts arose in his lonely moments, he pushed those thoughts down where he didn't have to confront them, but the fact remained; little by little, and fighting it all the way, John was falling in love with his little sister, and it was something he couldn't allow to happen.

It was getting more and more difficult, though, to ignore his feelings for Justine; increasingly, with every morning chat over coffee, Justine would reveal, sometimes unwittingly, just how her life with Giancarlo was spiraling downwards, the arc of its self-destruction plainly visible even if she was reluctant to admit it; he hardly came home, and when he did he was half drunk, surly, aggressive, and unreasonable.

His attitude didn't turn physical though; drunk as a skunk or stone-cold sober, Giancarlo Pellini knew full well that laying a hand on Justine would be tantamount to signing his own death warrant; John Bastine took no prisoners, and gave no second chances when it came to his little sister.

As John and his sister moved closer together, helped in no small amount by her husband's reckless neglect and unwillingness to engage with her, so John began to wonder if perhaps his feelings for her could be so wrong after all; with mama dead, and her daddy passed away, without him she had no-one. None of his friends knew that 'Miss Justine' and John were half-siblings; half of them thought she was his girl anyway, the other half paid it no mind and stepped carefully around her; Big John was watching out for her, 'nuff said.

The more John thought about it, and the more careless and distant Carlo became, the more it began to seem possible that he and his beautiful, neglected half-sister could make something together.

Fantasies of them together occupied a goodly portion of his pre-sleeping hours. His mind constantly conjured beguiling images of how she'd look naked, the feel of her pale, satin skin against his, the heat of her body as it pressed against his, the scent of her excitement as they moved against each other, the softness and excitement of her lips against his, all these pictures, and more, came to increasingly occupy his mind and distract his attention. To him, Justine Pellini was the sum total of perfect womanhood, and he knew he wanted her.

He was adamant in his mind about one thing, though; Justine was a married woman, she'd made vows before God and in her mind, and he wasn't going to be the one to make her break them. If she came to him of her own accord, that was something else entirely, but he wouldn't do anything to make it happen; she had to come to him.

Pretty much the same kind of turmoil was seething inside Justine; Carlo had locked her out of his world, he barely acknowledged her existence, never remarked on her work hours or what she did; the only interest he showed in her was when he'd ask, seemingly casually and almost in passing, how much she made from her new job. Justine always managed to dodge or deflect the questions; she assumed that, because the bills were paid, and there were no more final demands to trouble him, Carlo had stopped caring what she did or where she went. Carlo gave the impression that, as long as the bills were paid and she stayed out of his face, everything was OK again, and he'd stopped caring, or so she'd come to believe.

The only person who showed any interest in her and compassion for her predicament was her Johnny, and she found herself powerless to resist being drawn to him; when she lay alone in her bed after working all night, and barely being acknowledged by her husband as they passed in the hallway, she recalled and replayed that day's conversation with Johnny, the play of light on his light brown hair, his soft Southern accent that he'd exaggerate just to see her smile when he did it, the way his steel gray eyes softened when he smiled at her as he talked, the air of calm competence that radiated from him.

"Why couldn't I have married Johnny?" she sighed to herself, before pausing in shock that she could even think such a thing, and not for the first time; no matter how many times she thought it, though, it was still unthinkable; he was her brother...

And that was when her eyes would fill and she'd lie alone in her bed and try and not cry at the hollow, empty, mockery of a marriage she had, shackled by vows she dare not break to a man she'd stopped loving, who'd stopped loving her, while the man she was coming to love in ways that shocked her to the core was forever denied to her by an accident of birth.

*

Justine wasn't stupid enough to tell Carlo how well her little business venture was going; in the little over a year and a half since she and John had put this together, she'd earned almost a hundred thousand dollars, their debts were being steadily reduced, they were keeping afloat, and she finally felt they were getting somewhere.

It wasn't easy, either; she worked twelve-hour nights, six, sometimes seven nights a week, and her clients, John's friends and colleagues, had shown their appreciation by paying her top dollar, cash, for the order she'd brought into their sometimes chaotic lives. They knew when they came in their laundry would be done, pressed, folded, and put away, their apartments would be sparkling clean, and, if they'd requested it, a hot meal would be waiting in the oven, and a dessert chilling in the fridge or cooling on the counter. They were willing to pay whatever it took to keep that kind of order in their lives, and the more she worked, the more the money rolled in.

The fact Justine was obviously someone special to Big John made her customers even more anxious to show their appreciation for the work she did; John Bastine was a name to conjure with, he was widely respected in the world they all moved in, and to be thought of as a friend and ally of John Bastine was desirable and highly sought after, because the alternative was something no-one wanted to even consider.

*

Her business prospered, and finally, and for the first time in her life, Justine felt like a winner. She was earning a lot of money, cash money, more than she'd dreamed this kind of work could ever net her, and more than enough to give them the kind of life they'd once believed they were going to have.

But Carlo wasn't interested, or so it seemed; the more successful she was, the more sullen and withdrawn he became, and the further away he pushed her; the last thing she was going to do, for all kinds of reasons, was let Carlo know they had that kind of money.

There was no way to hide that much money, not easily or legally. Justine was wary of getting a safety deposit box, and she couldn't very well put it in a bank; that would lead to awkward questions, beginning with where a young woman like her was getting so much cash from, so John had obtained a safe through one of his mysterious contacts in the security world, and installed it in his loft, which made life easier for Justine, and made sure she didn't have to try and hide that much money at home from her wastrel husband.

This arrangement worked fine for all; it meant Justine could stash her cash before she ever had to go home, in the safest place she knew of, and with it safely in Johnny's care, she could be absolutely sure Carlo had no way of getting to it. He'd tried to find where she was stashing her earnings, but all the obvious hiding places in the apartment were empty, and her checking and savings accounts usually held only a few hundred dollars, just enough to pay bills and buy groceries. Unknown to her, Carlo had tried on many occasions to find the huge amount of money he was convinced she was hiding from him, going through her closets and dressers time and again, even going so far as lifting the floorboards, looking for secret hiding places, but he came up empty every time. Wherever she was keeping her money, it was out of his reach.