Bloodline (43 page)

She pulled away from Luciano, grabbed his hand, and pulled him to his feet. She licked a forefinger and touched it to his cheek.

“I don’t want that coffee now,” she said.

“Oh? What
do
you want?”

“You know very well what I want,” she said, and led him to the bedroom. Once inside, she turned to face him, and he said, “You sure you want to do this, kid? Once you do, there’s no going back.”

Tina smiled, dropped to her knees, and reached out her long delicate fingers for him.

Charlie had spent the night. In the morning, when Tina awoke, he was already on the phone. She lay in bed for a while, listening to his husky voice, barking out orders she did not understand. She was surprised to hear him identify himself as “Three-Twelve” on the phone.

After a while, she got up and made a pot of coffee, and when Luciano came into the kitchen she asked, “Would Three-Twelve like a cup of coffee?”

Luciano grinned and nodded. As she poured the coffee, he said, “You never know who’s listening in on telephones. So it’s best sometimes not to mention names.”

“But why Three-Twelve?”

“You think about it,” he said.

“I’ll think while I’m cooking breakfast.”

“Forget cooking. Get some clothes on.”

When Tina did, Luciano took her to the Plaza Hotel, where he seemed well known, and they ate breakfast there. And in the cab, it came to her and she said softly to him, “‘Three’ is for
C,
the third letter. ‘Twelve’ is for
L
. It’s your initials.”

“I always like a smart girl,” Luciano said.

He came to her apartment often after that, usually three or four times a week. She never knew when he might come, and without realizing it, she managed always to stay around her apartment, not even venturing out to the movies. When he did show up, seeing him was like opening a Christmas present. Sometimes they would make love as if he had to run to catch a train, and Charlie would leave right after. Other times, he spent the night, and Tina liked those times best because they would lie in bed afterward and talk, and Tina had few people to talk to anymore.

Luciano never quite admitted to her that he was a gangster. Instead, he described himself, as “a businessman who gives people what they want.”

“You sure do that for me,” Tina said with a giggle.

“Aaaah, you Sicilian girls just love getting laid. If it wasn’t me, it’d be somebody else.”

“No, Charlie, not anybody like you,” she said, and meant it.

One night, she remembered the story her father had told about how Luciano and Benny Siegel got together, and she just mentioned conversationally, “You and Benny seem very close. Did you grow up together?”

“Nahh, we met once having a fight over some woman. And we got to be friends. But Benny’s important.”

“Why’s that?” she asked. “Important” was the last word she would ever have applied to Benny Siegel.

“’Cause he’s Jewish. So’s my other friend, Meyer.”

“Why does that make them important?”

“Because it’s not gonna be too long before the cops and the law and everybody is after people in our business. What happens then is that everybody starts fighting to keep their own little piece. The Jews fight the Italians, and the Irish fight everybody, and we all hate each other and we all get hurt. But Benny, Meyer, I’m bringing them in with me. The Irish too. Your brother taught me that.”

“My brother? Tommy?”

“No. The one who’s the priest. I heard him one day in a sermon and that’s what he was talking about. Everybody getting together and being one big family. And I thought it works for the church. They got Irish and Italians and every kind of priest and they all seem to get along, and I figured if it works for the church, it’d work for our business too. Italians, Jews, Irish—someday, we’re gonna be all one big organization.”

“I thought the Mafia already was a big organization.”

“Yeah, but that’s what wrong with it. These guys at the top, they think it has to be just Italians or just Sicilians or just Sicilians from some little jerk-off village someplace, and they don’t get it. Capone’s like that in Chicago, fighting with everybody so just wops run everything. And it’s stupid. If we all get along, we all go a lot farther.”

“You’ve got good ideas, Charlie. Does anybody listen?”

“Nobody has to listen,” he said. “Not now. When the time comes, then they’ll all listen. Now shut up and fuck.”

Charlie took to giving her money to pay her rent, and with her meager savings almost depleted, Tina was grateful for it. Just before Thanksgiving, she had her second abortion. Charlie paid for it again.

She knew, of course, that Charlie had other women right along. There was one in particular whose name he would drop unwittingly in conversations—with the Russian-sounding name of Gay Orlova—and Tina knew this must be the showgirl whom Sofia had seen come into Mangini’s Restaurant.

In her innermost heart, Tina was jealous of the other woman, but she knew she had no right to be. Charlie showed her more kindness than he had any earthly reason to do, and, besides, when he was with Tina he was always enough man for her. Whatever he did, that was fine with her.

Because of her abortion, she missed Thanksgiving Dinner with her family, giving them an excuse that she would be out of town.

She went over a couple of days later, at dinnertime, and found her mother and father alone in the apartment.

Her father nodded to her. “Luciano give you the night off?” he asked.

“Papa,” her mother said sharply.

“Yes, he’s not coming over tonight,” Tina said, feeling her own anger rise.

Hate it all you want, Papa, but Charlie paid for me in the hospital, and when you couldn’t even find her, he found and punished the woman who tried to kill me. You’ve got no right to say anything.

“Probably with somebody from one of his houses,” Tony said.

“We don’t discuss how he makes his living,” Tina said.

“Well, maybe you ought to. He’s a pimp, for one thing. He’s a bootlegger, for another. He runs extortion rackets and people get killed. Innocent people. He’s the lowest form of crook.”

“Some people would say he’s an honest crook because he’s honest about being a crook. Not like some people, like some cops for instance, who pretend to be honest and steal everything they can.”

Tony stood up from the table, the veins in his neck pulsing. For a moment, Tina thought he was going to strike her. Instead, he sat back down heavily.

Tina crossed the room and kissed her mother fondly. “I have to go, Mama. Give Tommy and Mario my love.”

“If you ever went to confession, you could tell Mario yourself,” her father snapped.

“And thank God for what he did to my throat? No, thank you.” She looked at her mother. “You’re welcome to visit me anytime, Mama,” she said, and left. For a few days after that, she entertained her delegation of brothers who had come by “to talk sense” to her, but she quickly made it clear that she was all grown up and would live her own life. They did not come by so often now.

Things went smoothly between Tina and Luciano until just before Christmas, and then he began staying away for days at a time. When he did reappear, he seemed always in a hurry to be off again. A quick roll in bed, a change of clothing, sometimes a meal, and then he was gone. He said it was business, but Tina doubted it. She had seen lipstick on his undershirt, though even that was nothing new.

Then two days after Christmas, a Christmas that Tina spent alone, Charlie reappeared and announced that his business was all wrapped up for the time being. They made love all that day and the next and the one after that, stopping only to gorge themselves on food that Charlie had delivered. In between bouts of lovemaking and feasting, Tina showered luxuriously and sang out at full voice once, unaware of what she was doing.

That time, Charlie came to the bathroom door and opened it and seemed to be watching her. Despite the hot water, she felt a little shiver of pleasure. Charlie did that to her when he watched her; she knew he loved the way she was made.

“You’re singing pretty good these days,” he said.

Tina blushed.

“For a bullfrog,” she said.

Charlie only smiled and went back into the bedroom.

Two days before New Year’s he left in the morning without waiting for her to wake up. She had long since quit her waitressing job, and, as usual, Charlie left money for her on the kitchen table.

When he didn’t call that day or the next, Tina was annoyed. She knew she had no claim on him and that she was most likely just one of a string of women, but still she thought it would have been nice, just once, to have gone out to be with people.

That afternoon, on New Year’s Eve, she was in a deep depression when the telephone rang.

“This is Three-Twelve,” the deep voice said, and she could almost imagine him chuckling. “I’m sending over some things. Try them on real quick and make sure they fit. If they don’t, the messenger’ll take them back and get you a size that does. There’ll be a car around for you at ten.”

The clothes fit perfectly, to the relief of the visibly nervous messenger from the women’s clothing store. There was a midnight-blue evening dress with lots of sparkles and bangles—the kind of thing that would have been incredibly gauche if it had not been done exactly right.

The car was on time, with a driver she had seen before. His name was something Adonis, and she thought, in a smooth, oily way, he was very handsome. He pulled up in front of Ross’s on Fifty-second Street. Charlie’s club had been a small, ramshackle affair when she had been there before, but now it had an awning and lights and a doorman and swirls of well-dressed people coming in and out.

“Good evening, Miss Falcone,” the doorman said, tipping his hat as he opened the door. “Charlie’s inside waiting for you. Everybody sure hopes you like the joint.”

The nightclub, like the dress, had been decorated up to the edge of vulgarity and then beyond it to some sort of fantastic style all its own—all swirls and cut glass and a new polished black stuff called Bakelite, and it was all very exciting in its way.

Charlie was just inside the foyer, greeting guests, and it took him a couple of seconds before he could disengage himself from a very high-society couple and come over to her to escort her into the club’s main room.

“It’s marvelous,” Tina said.

“I was going to name it Tina’s Place, but I wasn’t sure if you’d like that. So I called it Ross’s instead.”

“Should I ask who Ross is?”

Luciano grinned. “Me,” he said. “Remember what I told you. It’s not just about Italians anymore. Uptown nowadays, I’m Charles Ross.” He leaned over and whispered in her ear. “And I’m glad you’re looking so good ’cause the place is filled with politicians tonight. See that one over there?” He nodded toward a sleekly good-looking man sitting at a corner table.

“Yes?”

“His name’s Jimmy Walker. He’s going to be the next mayor.”

He took her to his table and they held court with guests until after the balloons had fallen and the confetti had been thrown and the band had played “Auld Lang Syne.” Tina thought that either Luciano’s Russian girlfriend had been dumped or she was going to be in one terrible mood this evening.

Luciano asked her what she was smiling about, and Tina responded, “Just thought of something funny.”

“Tell me all about it later,” Luciano said, and gave a signal to the bandleader, who stepped to the front of the stage and announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, we are very fortunate to have with us tonight a brilliant star, back to grace the heavens of New York City. And if we’re lucky, maybe she’ll favor us with a number. It’s an honor to present Tina Falcone.”

The spotlight turned and caught them just as her name was announced. Tina gasped. She wanted to run. Luciano put his hand on her arm.

“Sing what you sang in the shower the other day.”

“I can’t,” she said.

“You do it,” he ordered sternly.

Dumbly, as if in a fog, Tina got up and walked to the stage. The crowd was still noisy. She looked at the bandleader, who said, “We’ll follow you.”

She started, without accompaniment, with “It Had to Be You.” The band came in after the first two lines, and by the time she reached the chorus the room had quieted down. As she finished the chorus, there was a definite hush. Tina was scared. Her voice no longer sounded like it belonged to her. There were too many burrs and cracks and trembles in it, and she thought the crowd was embarrassed for her, silent only to spare her feelings. Somehow she finished the song and the audience was deathly still. She wanted to run, to get anywhere away from that stage. She looked over at Charlie in desperation, started away from the stage, and then a voice from a far table—she recognized the man as the one named Jimmy Walker—yelled, “Bravo. Bravo.”

And the whole crowd erupted into a clapping, shouting, stomping frenzy. Tina began to cry. People began shouting, “Encore. Encore.”

Tina stepped back to the microphone and held up her hands for silence. She looked over at Charlie.

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. It is going to be a very fine New Year, isn’t it?” Her smile dazzled the room. “This song has special meaning for me. It is for my friend … and the best man I know … Charlie L—Charlie Ross.”

She turned back to the band.

“How about ‘My Man,’ boys?” she said.

*   *   *

S
OFIA HEFTED THE BABY
onto her left hip and leaned forward to pour coffee.

“He’s a fine-looking baby,” Mario said.

Sofia smiled and asked, “So how’d you spend New Year’s Eve, Mario? Out at your favorite speakeasy?”

“Maybe I should have been. You know your cousin, Salvatore—he’s calling himself Charlie Ross now—opened a new club uptown. And guess who the hit of the evening was?”

“I’ve already heard,” Sofia said. “Tina called me.” She hesitated. “She seems to be very happy with Charlie.”

Mario shook his head slowly.

“You don’t approve?” Sofia said. She put the baby into a playpen, where he lay quietly, looking at the overhead electric light.

“No, I don’t. She is hurting herself badly. Not just here and now but in the eyes of God.”