“When I was first pimping girls and photographing them for my fledgling skin mag, I couldn’t afford a professional. I did hair and makeup on all my girls. It not only made sense economically, but it was a good way to create intimacy. Make a girl beautiful, she’s yours for life.”

“When was this? Before we were married?”

“Before we were living together …” He put down the scissors. “You were still in Chicago with Gabe, and I was in New York.” He started cutting again. “It was right after the trial. I wanted out. Joey eventually let me go but didn’t give me squat. Which was fine. He didn’t owe me anything. I was spending everything I had on you and Gabe. Money was going fast.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Course you didn’t. I never told you. I was just about to crawl on my hands and knees and beg him to take me back when the son of a bitch died and left me money.”

“Very convenient,” I said.

“I didn’t kill him. No one was as surprised as I was when I found out. I thought he’d written me off. And FYI, he died of a heart attack. He had a terrible diet, smoked like a coal factory, weighed about two-eighty on a five-ten frame.” He stopped cutting and examined his work. “Perfect.” He put some gel into my hair and started blow-drying it.

Warm air coursed through my tresses. My head felt like it had lost ten pounds.

“Of course, all of it was drug money and had to be laundered. I dumped about a third into my porno mag. Then the internet came along and that went bust. An epic failure. Luckily, I had bought some property near Columbia. Sold that for a profit. Plus, I had some illegal brothels upstate that were bringing in cash. Made enough off those to finally get something here and do it legally. That’s when things started taking off. But I couldn’t have done it without Joey’s money. I am grateful to the old motherfucker.” He took a section of hair with a round brush and began to straighten it out. “I know you think I’m hard on Juleen, but it’s a hard world out there.”

“She’s eleven.”

“And I was an orphan at thirteen.” I didn’t say anything. “She’s under my roof. It’s my rules. You don’t like it, you know where the door is.”

“Am I arguing?”

He took another section of hair. “What do you need to make this work—you and me?”

“A nicer attitude would be a good start.”

“Sorry, I’m tense. What do you need? Besides getting Sanjay. I know that’s the only reason you’ve agreed to marry me. And I’m okay with that. Our relationship has always been contractual. Tell me, what do you need to make this contract work?”