“Not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Jimmy, we can just talk. I think we need to.”
He agreed with that. He also agreed to come over. His legs were already ahead of his brain, walking down 8th Avenue to 19th Street, where Francis X. Frisano had taken a studio sublet. Jimmy approached the building, pressed the buzzer, and gained admittance without having to announce himself. Frisano knew it was him, expected him, and wanted him, he supposed. Jimmy tried to fight all the urges swirling within him. It was business, a professional call. Nothing existed between them anymore. Two months had passed since they had shared anything intimate. Nothing could happen. His body spoke otherwise, even as he knew his heart couldn’t handle the complication. It was beating hard as he made his way to the third-floo
