Post by Cross Recoba on Jan 6, 2016 17:27:22 GMT -6
Originally aired/published: 02 December 2015
The Annual Italian-American Business Community Dinner had a longstanding tradition at The Sands Hotel. Al Costello had never forgotten his roots - this was something that everyone could agree on. This was his way of honoring others who had forged their way to success. No expense was spared for the event with music, food and drink signed off without worrying about the bottom line figure.
The night always took place on Thanksgiving weekend, The Sands would be a quiet place for domestic tourists and even foreign visitors dipped at this time, a by-product of their own traditions and the upcoming festive season. The night had gone as expected so far. The meal had finished and the guests had now settled down in the bar for the main part of the evening for drinks and networking.
Cesare had seen his business reap the benefits of this community over the years. What was predominately a group of shop owners, restauranteurs, and taxi rank owners had evolved into a collection of doctors, lawyers, and businessmen. Cesare looked around the room and wondered what his father would make of the evolution. When the first meeting took place they were a group out to better the reputation of their kind; journalists would be invited, briefed, and schmoozed in order to further promote the event. These days it had a more relaxed feel, the significance of the night had dropped down the journalistic spectrum replaced by more modern topics designed for the clickbait audience that brought about the only profitability left within the industry.
For Cesare, the event brought about a chance to further expand his clientele. Costello would make sure that the dishes served each year came from his kitchen. It allowed Cesare to debut his Winter menu to an influential crowd and set-up the conversations about future business.
He’d known Costello for as long as he could remember being alive, he remembered the ageing man being a regular visitor to his family’s café at least once a week from when Cesare was in grade school and Al was just a regular guy. Now he ran The Sands, the same guy who would drill him about his math homework, and would always take time out from his business to talk to him about his day. He also had a stake in The Venezia, his father instructing him when he retired that even if the business was flourishing that it would be extremely unwise to buy-out Costello. Cesare had never considered doing so but he’d never questioned why, not even when his father was on his death-bed.
He saw the old man and smiled at the memory; the smile dissipated when he caught the eye of his companion. The blonde mop of Santino sat at his shoulders and even this choice of style was an irritant to Cesare. It summed up the smug arrogance of a guy who, in Cesare’s eyes, saw himself as untouchable because of what he did for a living.
Cesare remembered when Santino first came to Vegas, he was eighteen and seemed to have been raised right and he seemed shy at first glance. He was deferential to everyone he met and Costello had clearly taken him under his wing, most likely as a favour to a friend. Recoba had once been a high-school football prospect in Illinois, an injury robbing him of the chance to take up the scholarship he had been offered and with it went his desire to excel at school.
There didn’t seem to be an exact moment when he changed from the boy-next-door type to the arrogant and brash man that was seated no more than twenty feet away from where he stood now but Cesare suspected that he’d always been egotistic but had let down the guard as the years went by.
His involvement within Costello’s business was officially as the VP of Operations and Communications but what kid at 21 was a vice-president of anything? Especially one without a college degree. Al had a longstanding programme around investing in youth but these came to exemplary students. Recoba was a better than average high-school student, the whole thing didn’t sit right with Cesare at all.
Costello was starting to show signs of his age now, previously spry and energetic even when his peers had retired and anointed heirs to their empires. As he talked with his associate the old man held his drink in one hand and steadied his balance on his cane, the legs that had carried him so far were beginning to fail him. It was a sight that saddened him for many reasons. Cutting out emotion left Cesare with the reminder that the man most tipped to take over the business upon Costello’s departure would be Recoba. That knowledge never failed to make the blood of Cesare boil.
******
“So, Al, I have something I need to run past you”
Santino was deferential in his delivery whilst he tried to gauge for a reaction.
“I’ve accepted an offer from Evolution Wrestling…”
Costello took a sip from his glass and leant against the bar. He smiled as a sign to Recoba to reveal more.
“It’s fairly new but it operates in the South-Western states and is in Mexico for the rest of the year. That could be useful if we ever need to do business down there. It wouldn’t going to be as suspicious if I make trips there when this company is looking to establish a brand down there. “
“Cross, if you want to fight competitively why not take part in the blood sports that you bring to The Sands?” Costello countered.
On Recoba’s instruction they had brought cage-fighting as one of the events you could see when you visited the hotel. Whilst Costello liked the packed houses it brought, and with it the adrenaline filled hope of its patrons, he had a distaste for it and viewed it as ‘barbaric’.
Recoba had a point, when he first approached Costello to enter the ring it was under the pretence of generating cash through controlled substances, that only worked on the small stage. Once it was found that Cross had an aptitude for the sport it became something they could use to their advantage.
“Look at it like this, Al, if this place has legs then they’ll be looking to expand, expansion costs money, places like this will be favorable to offers of investment.”
Costello looked past Recoba to measure his words in his head. The cage-fighting had added business to his hotel, and extra interest in the hotel that could come from this wouldn’t be the worst by-product of the moonlighting.
“Santino, you’re an adult now, you can make your own decisions. If you’re going to get back in the ring that’s your choice alone to make. All I will point out to you is that I can’t have you stretch yourself too thinly. So if it’s my blessing you’re looking for then you can have it. But…”
“Nothing counts before the but...”
“You’ll need to realize that your first priority is here. Evolution Wrestling isn’t something I want to be concerned about too much, but if it starts to affect business here negatively I can’t afford to ignore it.”
“Al, it’s a given…”
“Then let that be that.”
Costello raised his glass to acknowledge a patron of the evening across the room.
“Well, if that’s everything then you’ll have to excuse me, I should probably catch up with my guests.”
*****
The night always took place on Thanksgiving weekend, The Sands would be a quiet place for domestic tourists and even foreign visitors dipped at this time, a by-product of their own traditions and the upcoming festive season. The night had gone as expected so far. The meal had finished and the guests had now settled down in the bar for the main part of the evening for drinks and networking.
Cesare had seen his business reap the benefits of this community over the years. What was predominately a group of shop owners, restauranteurs, and taxi rank owners had evolved into a collection of doctors, lawyers, and businessmen. Cesare looked around the room and wondered what his father would make of the evolution. When the first meeting took place they were a group out to better the reputation of their kind; journalists would be invited, briefed, and schmoozed in order to further promote the event. These days it had a more relaxed feel, the significance of the night had dropped down the journalistic spectrum replaced by more modern topics designed for the clickbait audience that brought about the only profitability left within the industry.
For Cesare, the event brought about a chance to further expand his clientele. Costello would make sure that the dishes served each year came from his kitchen. It allowed Cesare to debut his Winter menu to an influential crowd and set-up the conversations about future business.
He’d known Costello for as long as he could remember being alive, he remembered the ageing man being a regular visitor to his family’s café at least once a week from when Cesare was in grade school and Al was just a regular guy. Now he ran The Sands, the same guy who would drill him about his math homework, and would always take time out from his business to talk to him about his day. He also had a stake in The Venezia, his father instructing him when he retired that even if the business was flourishing that it would be extremely unwise to buy-out Costello. Cesare had never considered doing so but he’d never questioned why, not even when his father was on his death-bed.
He saw the old man and smiled at the memory; the smile dissipated when he caught the eye of his companion. The blonde mop of Santino sat at his shoulders and even this choice of style was an irritant to Cesare. It summed up the smug arrogance of a guy who, in Cesare’s eyes, saw himself as untouchable because of what he did for a living.
Cesare remembered when Santino first came to Vegas, he was eighteen and seemed to have been raised right and he seemed shy at first glance. He was deferential to everyone he met and Costello had clearly taken him under his wing, most likely as a favour to a friend. Recoba had once been a high-school football prospect in Illinois, an injury robbing him of the chance to take up the scholarship he had been offered and with it went his desire to excel at school.
There didn’t seem to be an exact moment when he changed from the boy-next-door type to the arrogant and brash man that was seated no more than twenty feet away from where he stood now but Cesare suspected that he’d always been egotistic but had let down the guard as the years went by.
His involvement within Costello’s business was officially as the VP of Operations and Communications but what kid at 21 was a vice-president of anything? Especially one without a college degree. Al had a longstanding programme around investing in youth but these came to exemplary students. Recoba was a better than average high-school student, the whole thing didn’t sit right with Cesare at all.
Costello was starting to show signs of his age now, previously spry and energetic even when his peers had retired and anointed heirs to their empires. As he talked with his associate the old man held his drink in one hand and steadied his balance on his cane, the legs that had carried him so far were beginning to fail him. It was a sight that saddened him for many reasons. Cutting out emotion left Cesare with the reminder that the man most tipped to take over the business upon Costello’s departure would be Recoba. That knowledge never failed to make the blood of Cesare boil.
******
“So, Al, I have something I need to run past you”
Santino was deferential in his delivery whilst he tried to gauge for a reaction.
“I’ve accepted an offer from Evolution Wrestling…”
Costello took a sip from his glass and leant against the bar. He smiled as a sign to Recoba to reveal more.
“It’s fairly new but it operates in the South-Western states and is in Mexico for the rest of the year. That could be useful if we ever need to do business down there. It wouldn’t going to be as suspicious if I make trips there when this company is looking to establish a brand down there. “
“Cross, if you want to fight competitively why not take part in the blood sports that you bring to The Sands?” Costello countered.
On Recoba’s instruction they had brought cage-fighting as one of the events you could see when you visited the hotel. Whilst Costello liked the packed houses it brought, and with it the adrenaline filled hope of its patrons, he had a distaste for it and viewed it as ‘barbaric’.
Recoba had a point, when he first approached Costello to enter the ring it was under the pretence of generating cash through controlled substances, that only worked on the small stage. Once it was found that Cross had an aptitude for the sport it became something they could use to their advantage.
“Look at it like this, Al, if this place has legs then they’ll be looking to expand, expansion costs money, places like this will be favorable to offers of investment.”
Costello looked past Recoba to measure his words in his head. The cage-fighting had added business to his hotel, and extra interest in the hotel that could come from this wouldn’t be the worst by-product of the moonlighting.
“Santino, you’re an adult now, you can make your own decisions. If you’re going to get back in the ring that’s your choice alone to make. All I will point out to you is that I can’t have you stretch yourself too thinly. So if it’s my blessing you’re looking for then you can have it. But…”
“Nothing counts before the but...”
“You’ll need to realize that your first priority is here. Evolution Wrestling isn’t something I want to be concerned about too much, but if it starts to affect business here negatively I can’t afford to ignore it.”
“Al, it’s a given…”
“Then let that be that.”
Costello raised his glass to acknowledge a patron of the evening across the room.
“Well, if that’s everything then you’ll have to excuse me, I should probably catch up with my guests.”
*****
