Brooklyn Story (12 page)

“You mean walnuts.”

What was it about Brooklyn guys? I wondered. Why did they always have to be right? “No. I mean pecans, Tony. Like in vanilla pecan.”

“Whatever,” Tony said.

We ate as we continued talking. “Hey, Tone,” I said, “I decided to write somethin' about you.”

“Yeah?” he asked, breaking into a grin. “Hope your readers can stand to read about such a handsome, cool guy.” I laughed and drank some ice water.

Tony put his spoon down. “What's so funny?”

“Nothin'. Just you,” I said. He looked upset. “Hey,” I said, “I wasn't laughin'
at
you. You just make me laugh sometimes.”

“See? That's just it,” Tony said. “Any other girl laughs at me like that, fuhgeddaboudit. She's history. But with you, I don't know, you just … I feel sumthin' for ya.” Tony reached for my hand. “And I don' want nobody else near ya.”

“Well, I'm not seein' anybody else.”

Tony smiled. “So what're ya writin'?” he asked. “Sumthin' romantic? Making me a hero?”

“Wouldn't you like to know.”

“I don' want my girl embarrassing me,” Tony said. “Anyways, when you get it finished, lemme know. I know a guy in publishing, a sales rep. He owes me a favor.”

I stopped eating and gazed at Tony with wide eyes. “You know someone in publishing?” I asked when I had caught my breath. “Is that true?”

“Ya callin' me a liar?”

“No way, Tony. I just never dreamed … Is he in Manhattan?”

“You think he's in Timbuktu?”

I could not wipe the grin off my face. “I mean, Bensonhurst's okay and all,” I said, “'specially now that I met you, but I know I'm meant to be across that bridge.”

“After you graduate, I'll set you up a meetin' whenever you're ready.”

“For real?”

“Sure. Just make me look good in your book.”

I looked out of the window next to our booth. “Writers have to be honest, Tone,” I said.

“Then it should be no problem. Right?”

“Right,” I said without looking at him. I could barely contain my racing thoughts and my excitement about getting a real chance to fulfill my dream. Mr. Wainright had cautioned me several times that it was hard for a writer to get her work seen and that I shouldn't get frustrated. But I would have a connection as soon as my book was finished!

Half the sundae was melting in the bowl when Tony and I left the ice cream parlor. He didn't go for sweets all that much and the very idea of meeting a New York publisher had distracted me. Tony opened his car door and got behind the wheel as I let myself in on the other side. He didn't start the engine and just stared at me.

“What is it, Tony?” I asked. “Is everything okay? I liked the pistachio, honest. I just got full and—”

“Fuhget the ice cream. Ya look fantastic, Sam,” Tony said. He leaned over and licked my ear. I pulled back. “Whatsa matter?” he asked. “Ya don' like that?”

“It just startled me, is all,” I said.

Tony leaned close to my ear again. “I just keep thinkin' about ya, and that's unusual for me. I wantya so bad, Sam,” he
whispered. “I can hardly control myself. Lemme try that again.” I didn't move. Tony licked the edge of my earlobe and then I turned my face to him. Our lips almost touched. “You're killin' me, Samantha Bonti,” he moaned, and he kissed me while his hands traced my breasts over my white blouse. Ripples of pleasure shot through my body. He collected some of my hair, kissed it softly, and whispered to me again. “Sam, you're so beautiful tonight. Ya got the softest skin I ever felt and you're makin' me crazy.” I didn't resist as his fingers stroked my naked forearms. That feeling I had up against the van the night of the feast came back and I squirmed in my seat as I felt the warmth and moisture in my underpants. I put my arm behind Tony's neck and rested my head on his shoulder. I wanted him but I was afraid.

“Wait a sec, Sam,” Tony said. He started the car.

Thank God, I said to myself. I knew if we had kept going, I might not have been able to resist him, and that was not how my first time should be. He drove off the main street and stopped the car on a dark side road.

“What are ya doin', Tone?” I asked. “I gotta get home.”

“In a minute. But right now, you listen to me. I wantya ta be my girl.”

“Yeah, Tony,” I said, taking his hand. “I want that, too.”

“You're different from those other sluts,” he said, squeezing my fingers. “You're innocent and pure and I don' want anybody else touching ya. The thought of it makes me so mad, I swear I'll kill anyone who comes near ya. All ya have to do is tell me. That's how much I care about ya.”

I was speechless and my body tingled. Tony sounded like he meant what he was saying. He'd never looked more serious and I had seen his stone face at the feast and in the movie theater. He kissed me again as his hand slid under my skirt. I pushed him away.

“Jus' a little bit,” he pleaded. “Please, baby. I just need to
touch ya down there. I won' do it for long, I promise.” His finger slipped into my underpants and I slumped against the seatback.

I was the last holdout among my girlfriends. I knew most of them had lost their virginity in cars and trucks and that Dara had lost hers at fourteen in a smoky basement when a friend of her father's lured her there, gave her wine, and took advantage of her. I had always imagined making love for the first time on a king-sized bed with lots of pillows in a luxurious place like the Pierre Hotel in New York City, with room service, a view of Central Park, and beautiful music piped in.

“Tony,” I said, catching my breath. “Please, not like this.” His hand lingered for a few moments before he slid it away. “You're right, Sam,” he said. “You're much too special to do this in a car. But you're driving me crazy!”

I was relieved, and again pleased that he hadn't forced himself on me. Tony wanted me, I wanted him, but he obviously felt like I did—that it was definitely not the place or the time. I reached over and took his hand but he pulled it away. “Listen,” he said. “I got somethin' really important to tell ya and I need ya to concentrate.”

“Sure.”

“Ya wanna be my girl?”

“Aw, Tony,” I said. “I know I'm young and all, but I want that more than anything.”

“Good. But I want ya to know there are certain rules ya hafta follow if we're gonna go out.” He looked so serious it made me feel nervous. “First, I want ya home every night. School is the most important thing for you.”

“'Cause I'm gonna be a writer.”

“Don't interrupt,” Tony said. “The thing is, I don' want ya hangin' out with your friends at night. They might steer you in the wrong direction and now ya got
my
family to hang out with.

“Number two, I need respect—for my friends and family and me—all the time, no matter what. Ya gotta problem, ya work it out with me privately. Ya never mouth off like Dara or discuss our stuff in front of our friends like that Janice did, and ya never tell your girlfriends what goes on between us. Ever. Got it?”

I didn't think that there had to be strict rules that went along with a relationship. I felt doubt, and I didn't want to feel doubt, but that's what was overshadowing me at this very moment. So what did I do? For the first time in my life, I ignored it and just passed it off as the way it was in Bensonhurst, and if that was the way it had to be with Tony, so be it, as long as I was with him. So I said, “Sure, Tone.”

“Finally, most important, Sam, don' cheat on me. Ever. You unnerstan'? 'Cause that would be the worst mistake of your entire life.” I knew that was a guy thing, that he needed to be sure I wouldn't make him look small in front of his friends. Grandma had told me the Brooklyn Boys were a pretty insecure bunch. Maybe Tony would grow out of it. Regardless, he didn't have to worry. I wouldn't cheat on any boyfriend I had. Tony exhaled slowly.

“You look like you're glad to get that talk over with,” I said. “Was it scary?”

He laughed. “Yeah,” he said, “real scary!” He growled and curled his fingers into monster hands. I pushed away from him toward the door on my side, pretending an attempt to escape. He pulled me by the hem of my skirt and stroked my bare leg.

I pushed him away. “Tony,” I said, “I thought we decided to …”

“Just one touch. I need to feel your skin again.” He bent his head down to the area on my thigh where he was stroking and inhaled deeply. I felt the heat between my legs once more. “Ya smell so sweet, Sam. Jus' like baby powder.” Tony sat up and started the engine. “I mean it, Sam. You're killin' me,” he said.
“I swear to God if another guy comes close to ya, he's a dead man.” I shivered, but couldn't help feeling flattered as I had before. “That's how much I care about ya.”

The ride home was silent. When we pulled up in front of my apartment house, Tony stopped the car and reached over to kiss me. His hand inched back up my skirt and he slid two fingers inside my panties. I tried to pull away but he stopped me with his soothing voice. “C'mon, Sam. Just a good-bye touch.” He adjusted his crotch with his other hand. “You don't know how I get.”

“I gotta go in, Tone,” I said.

“I know,” he said, accepting his frustration. He reached over and opened my door. “Ya better go now, Samantha Bonti, 'cause if you don', I might never let ya go.”

I got out of the car and started toward the entrance but turned around when I thought of something else to say. I leaned forward and looked into the car. “Why don't ya call me when you get home?”

“I gotta go out and you're gonna be fast asleep, right?”

“Where ya goin'?” I asked.

“Never mind. Just remember, you're my girl now. Anythin' happens, you come to me. You're my girl.”

Tony's girl watched as Tony drove away.

On Monday, I had a hard time concentrating on my school-work all day because the excitement of the previous week hadn't worn off. The anticipation of seeing Tony again heightened as I left the school when classes had ended.

My head swiveled from side to side as I made my way to the curb. There was no telltale roar of a motorcycle that I half expected to hear and Tony was nowhere in sight. I took one last slow look around before hopping onto the bus that took me home.

“Did I get any messages?” I asked Mom before I dropped my schoolbag and took off my sweater. She sat in shadow on the frayed couch as the light from the window behind silhouetted her frail upper body. An empty wine bottle and almost empty wineglass stood on the scuffed side table. A cigarette with a long ash dangled from her lips.

“Yeah,” Mom muttered as she scanned the open newspaper in her lap. My eyes widened and my heart skipped a beat. “Janice called,” Mom deadpanned as she raised her head to look at me. My face went blank and my shoulders slumped. “Whatsa matter?” Mom asked with a smirk. “Ya was expectin' someone else?”

“No,” I lied, and collected myself. “What'd she want?”

“She said she was going out and she'd call back.”

I poked my head into the kitchen. “Where's Gram?”

“At bingo with Mabel,” Mom said, her head lowering again. “It's just you and me tonight.”

That prospect didn't thrill me. It was hard enough being around Mom when Grandma was there to keep the peace. Lord only knew what would transpire when she wasn't. Maybe Mom would just go to bed early, I hoped, and I wouldn't have to deal with her mercurial moods and her meddling. The last thing I wanted was to have her close by when Tony called. Regardless, I decided I'd make the best of it. “What's for dinner?” I asked.

“Whatever you make.”

The way she said it didn't sound like a promising start to the evening. It seemed I would have to carry the load if we were to have a civil time together. I reminded myself that my mother was too far gone from her Woodstock days, from her glue-sniffing and drug use with her friends, from her sleeping around. I steeled my resolve. “No problem,” I said as I went into the kitchen.

“So,” Mom called out from the couch, “ya waitin' for a call from that boyfriend of yours?”

Maybe it would be better to talk from a distance, I thought. “Not really,” I lied again over my shoulder as I put a pot of water on the stove. Pasta with broccoli instead of the grilled cheese that Mom would no doubt have made was just the thing to keep me in a positive frame of mind.

“Yeah, right,” Mom said. “You're not foolin' anyone.”

I hadn't been able to conceal how I felt about Tony over the last week. Not because of anything I had said—I hadn't mentioned a word to either Mom or Grandma. There was just a little more bounce to my step, I knew, and a perpetual positive attitude about everything in the face of the usual carping Mom threw at me. Hell, right then I was still tingling from Tony's kisses two nights before. I was sure it had been obvious to Mom even in her haze. “So what if I am?” I shouted.