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..and on the eighth day.. (Troy, Genovese)


League Member
Feb 19, 2004
North Shore, MA
Summer in the Northeast. It had the potential for being pleasant, mild and comfortable.Potential was the key word. Natasha Genovese had hoped that the weather would be better for her meeting with Lindsay Troy, and for the most part she was happy. Today was the first day the weathermen had been correct in over a week. If only she could be paid as well for doing so poorly.

For now, sunshine lined the streets of the North End of Boston. The temperature was a far-cry from the 90 degree heat of the past few days. For some reason Natasha still felt a pressure upon her. It had been days since her meeting with Sullivan. Mid-seventies weather always used to lighten her spirits. By today her smile should have been found.

Not quite.

That meeting left a lingering viscous taste in her mouth. She had not been physically fighting but she was certain that taste reminded her of something base. No matter for now, there were more important things to concern herself with. This could be a beginning of...


Genovese had walked briskly from the subway station at Haymarket and towards the outdoor veranda of the Florentine Cafe. She noticed Troy, sitting at a table by a large open window. A glass of wine sat in front of her, the color of which reminded Genovese of exactly what she was tasting all this time...

Blood. She always tasted blood before a business deal. Her father mentioned the trait many, many times over the years, but Natasha had always brushed it off as the rantings of an old Sicilian forced to live with a Russian wife. Now she wasn't so sure.

The door of the restaurant was opened for Natasha. Unfortunately, this wasn't going to be a private meeting. Troy was very visible. She noted at least three tables of young men coyly vying for her attention and failing miserably. Any of those men could be working for Miles, Sullivan, or Castinetti.

She had to think fast. Pulling her cell phone she typed a text message and sauntered over to Troy. A smile crossed her lips. Funny what will give a girl a case of good humor.

"Lindsay, glad to meet you here! Mind if I sit?"

Natasha didn't wait for an answer, instead she placed herself quickly and fumbled her phone in the exchange. Coincidentally the LCD ended up next to Troy's glass.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, can't seem to keep my hand on that phone. This is the third time today I've dropped it."

Troy looked down, as she handed back the phone a few words stuck out in blue backlight...

"Are we being watched?"

Lindsay offered a smirk at the message and discreetly shook her head as Natasha took the phone back. "You should be more careful with that. You never know when one of these things will land the wrong way and break."

Troy had been mildly surprised when Genovese called her, mainly because Natasha would have had to have talked to her sister at the Tampa office to have gotten her cell number in the first place. But her mild surprise grew when Natasha wanted to set up a meeting in Boston as soon as Troy could have gotten there.

Lindsay had picked the time and the place. The Florentine Cafe was a regular dining spot of hers when she was in the capital city of Massachusetts. She and the management were on a first-name basis, and she could be assured of the best service, the best experience, and the benefits of peace and relative quiet while she was there.

As an added bonus, the young suits behind her had been checked up on and verified as clean of any ties to people who might make her life difficult.

"So, Miss Genovese, can I buy you a drink? A lite lunch? I'm sure you need to be getting back to the office, but there's no reason for you to work on an empty stomach."

This time, Troy provided a wink as Natasha sat down.

The chairs here weren't the greatest and the choice of locale could probably have been a bit more private. Still, sometimes the best hidden deals are done in broad daylight. Maybe Troy knew something she didn't know. Maybe they were both screwed and didn't know it yet.

In any event, if they were to be found out, at least Troy had decent, if not good, taste. The wine selection at the table was light and brisk. Just the kind of thing you'd expect for an early afternoon meeting. A few moments pass before Genovese reaches into her bolero pocket and palms the Davidoff cigar given her by the boss.

"Since this is such a wonderful spot and there's so much more to enjoy here once business is dealt with, I think it's best to get down to it as soon as possible". With that the cigar is placed center table. Care was obviously taken to show the label face up. Upon it reads "Davidoff" but more telling is the name beneath it.. "Sullivan". She would have liked to be more indirect about this, but the venue.. the risk.. expediency.

"You see, I'm not one to smoke. However, our lord and master saw fit to advise me that I should begin. I'm of the impression that you, like myself, can see straight through this veiled attempt at humor. Perhaps now is the time we run this place... like women."

"Now Quentin doesn't strike me as the kind of man who would make that sort of off-color comment. On the other hand, he is friends with Craig. I can see where some of the humor would..." Troy smirks. "Rub off."

"And this is humorous to you?"

"In a way, yes."

A waiter appeared with a bowl of soup and a plate of bruschetta for Troy. After setting the napkin over Troy's lap, he turned to Natasha and offered her something off the menu, including two recommendations from the specials list.

"I'll have what she's having, thank you."

The waiter left. Natasha scanned Troy's eyes with her own, trying to read where she was going with this part of the conversation.

"You see Natasha, Quentin's comment may have surprised me, but the situation didn't. The man knows what buttons to push, when to push them, and who will let him get away with it. That's part of his job description; don't let him or anyone else tell you different. It's an old approach, tried and true. Play down to the women; speak to them as if they're ignorant, but don't forget to check out the goods as they leave the room. Most of the time, it works. It works because some women in this business don't know any better, so they accept the fate that the bosses give them. Or, they're skanky pieces of self-loathing ass who don't care how many shots in the mouth they take. Great taste, less filling, and they don't have to work hard at all."

Lindsay picked up her spoon and brought it down into the broth, stirring the contents of the bowl in an effort to cool the soup off. Genovese allowed herself to partake of a sip of wine. She found it to have a very complex taste. Why shouldn't it? Apparently Troy had her own history and complexities as well.

She didn't feel good about this conversation and maybe she misjudged Troy. It was entirely possible that she was happy in her place with NFW. Still there remained the questions of complexity, and the fact that neither were necessarily safe after meeting with the other. Once they began speaking, there was a line crossed... She just had to hope that line was enough.

"But sometimes..." Troy smugly smirks. "Sometimes this plan backfires. And it backfires because some women don't sit back and take the options that their bosses give them. They make their own way, they do their own thing, and f*ck the world if the general populus has a problem with it."

The waiter returned with a similar spread for Natasha. One courteously placed napkin later and the women were left alone once again.

"You're pissed because Sullivan insinuated something that you found offensive." Troy lifted a spoonful of soup to her mouth, chewed slowly, and swallowed. "You want to stick it right back to him. 'How dare he' was your line of thinking. Am I right?"

With her glass finding its way back to the table, Genovese took a moment to reflect. It wasn't that she needed to ponder the question... of course she wanted to take a piece of Sullivan's pride in exchange. This was a matter of respect. She didn't need Troy sizing her up as an emotional reactionary, for it did her no good to gain a measure of revenge by being taken advantage of.

"The fates were female, were they not?"

Troy nodded, and broke a piece of bruschetta. "They were. The Greeks also worshipped Athena, the goddess of wisdom and Artemis, the goddess of the hunt."

Now it was Natasha's turn to smirk. "As well as Hades, who imprisoned Persephone.. it was the fates that forced the hand of Zeus to barter for our seasons...Should we be happy with a season in hell?"

The broken piece of bruschetta was put down, and Troy lightly wiped her hand on her napkin. She lifted her hazel eyes to meet Natasha's. "The God of War wasn't popular on Mount Olympus, and he had been bested in fights before. If one were to ... call down the thunder, so to speak ... how would this unpopularity play into the plan?"

"The god of war, still needs his troops. If the body doubts the head.. and remember, man thinks with his head, and acts upon his loins."

"That's entirely too true."

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