Page 67 of College Town

“Where’d you get this stuff?” Lawson flicks the edge of his own plate. “I don’t remember Eastman having Italian takeout this good – which, now that I mention it, talk about a cliché, mafia man.”

Tommy snorts and stabs a broccoli floret. “Ha ha,” he deadpans. “It’s from that new place. Estelle’s.”

“Shit.TheEstelle’s? The place that has reservations backed up until after New Year’s?”

“You don’t need a reservation for takeout.”

“Yeah, but you need a black card for the bill regardless.”

Tommy shrugs. “I like to feed my people well.”

“Listen to you: ‘my people.’”

“What else am I supposed to spend my money on?”

“Hookers and blow?” Lawson suggests.

Tommy makes a face, then bites his lip, then smiles. “Jesus,” he says, fondly, and eats more pasta. He’s taking bigger bites, now, like a man who’s suddenly realized how hungry he is.

“Sooo,” Lawson says. “Natalia’s awesome.”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, nodding. Then he pauses and scrunches up his face. Cutely. “You think she and Dana would like each other?”

“That’s exactly what I asked myself,” Lawson laughs. “I think they could take over the world together.”

Tommy smiles. “Right? It’s terrifying.”

“They might hate each other, though.”

“They might,” Tommy agrees. “Like two suns trying to occupy the same solar system.”

Lawson nods.

Tommy swallows an obscenely big bite of food that definitely gets Lawson’s imagination going, then sets his fork down and says, “HowisDana?”

Lawson rears back, feeling as if he’s been struck. Shit, he shouldn’t have brought her up. He shouldn’t have…

Tommy’s brows notch together, and his face goes long and sad. “I’m not – I’m not asking as Tom Cattaneo,” he says. Then, more earnest: “Law, I’d never hurt her.”

“I know.” But they both know that Tommy can’t micromanage every aspect of this weird, violent life he lives now, Lawson’s presence here a perfect case in point.

“I just,” Tommy continues, awkward, pained. “She was my friend, too, you know? Not like you and she are friends, but I…” He rubs at his forehead, at the lines there, pressed deep by time and stress.

Tommy tips his head to the side. “How is she?” he asks, in a scraped-raw voice. One that says Lawson can reveal as much, or as little, as he sees fit.

Lawson sits with it a minute, watches Tommy tuck down into himself and get smaller.

He says, “She’s doing amazing. Way better than me.” Tommy looks dour until Lawson smiles, then he hitches a sad smile in return. “She’s all about the numbers: she’s an accountant here in town. I’m guessing you know that?” He lifts his brows.

“I…yeah.” Tommy nods, chagrined. “I did a little research the other night.”

“She’s very successful,” Lawson says. “Still gorgeous. Still far, far wiser than me.”

“Not a high bar to clear,” Tommy says, softening it with a smile.

Lawson laughs. “Yeah, that’s true.” Then he sobers. “She’s been at my side forever. She…she’s a real one, you know?”

Tommy nods. “She always was.”

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