Brooklyn Story (15 page)

“A minute can change someone's life. Remember Judas.” I didn't know a lot about scripture, but I knew about Christ's traitor, who regretted his act a moment after he did it. “It cost him his soul,” Father Rinaldi finished.

“He had to see someone there, is all,” I offered. “Something about work.”

Father Rinaldi glanced at my jeans. I was happy then that I didn't have on any new heels. “And what might that work be?” he asked.

“Construction.”

“Nothing wrong with good, hard work, Samantha. Makes us better people. Christ Himself was a carpenter.”

“I know, Father.”

“And you sure labor over your typewriter, don't you?” Father Rinaldi asked.

He did know everything. I smiled to myself. “That's for sure,” I said.

“But are you sure Tony isn't mixed up in easy money?” My honesty was being tested, I thought.

“I don't really know,” I said. Which was the truth; I had seen and heard some things, but none of it had amounted to very much. Regardless, it didn't have anything to do with me.

We sat back in silence for a few moments. The stuff about radios might have been all bluster and boasting for all I really knew. Not an uncommon trait for many men in Bensonhurst. Even if Tony had his hands on hot merchandise now and then, that was just reality, I thought. It was what was and what had been for generations. Not my reality, not Manhattan reality, and certainly not Father Rinaldi's reality, but reality just the same. For a lot of Brooklyn Boys, that would be their reality until their dying days, and it would be passed on to their off-spring. Such boys didn't have God in close support as a priest did, nor the towers and cables that, at that moment, I thanked the Lord I had. Father Rinaldi would reach out to save as many as he could, I knew. That was his hard work. Mine was getting across a bridge and taking Tony with me.

Father Rinaldi turned toward me again. “I don't like a lot about what I hear,” he said. “I don't want you to get hurt, Sam.”

My eyes met his. “I won't, Father,” I said. I was too smart for that, I knew.

“I have faith in you, child,” Father Rinaldi said, and I followed his glance toward the statue of Mary far off in the front of the church. “And I have faith that our Blessed Mother will watch over you.”

I knew, as well, that She would.

“You're percolating, Sam!” Janice said as we sat with legs tucked under us atop her bedspread.

“I guess it's been obvious to everyone,” I replied.

“Nothing wrong with that. Enjoy.”

“Well, I don't enjoy everything about Tony,” I said.

“Yeah, I heard about the rink. Richie said that guy had it comin' to 'im.”

“Not at all,” I said, remembering Nick's bruised ego and body. “Christ, we were jus' talkin'.”

“Then be careful who ya talk to,” Janice said with a chuckle.

“I'm serious, Jan. There was nuthin' goin' on other than friendly conversation. Can't a girl have that?”

“Not with boys. If you're serious about Tony, that is.”

“I found out about that. Big-time.”

“Better get used to how you have to behave. It's not hard once you get the hang of it,” Janice said, and then rubbed my jeans. “Just like it ain't hard to get used to having nice things.”

We both chuckled. “Wait 'til you see the shoes!” I said, forgetting for a moment that Janice had a closet full of Sugar styles. “My God!”

“It's just the start, believe me. It seems like every time I see Richie he's got somethin' for me or gives me serious cash to shop.”

I decided not to hurt my best friend's feelings by asking if her boyfriend was still trying to make up for the beating he gave her. I glanced around Janice's bedroom, which was half the size of my apartment. “I don't know where I'll keep the stuff,” I said. “I share a closet with Grandma and we're out of space as it is.”

“You'll figure something out,” Janice said, and then twirled her new, diamond-chip-studded gold necklace. “Besides, jewelry fits anywhere.”

“That kind of stuff is a long way off for me, I'm sure.”

“I'm not,” Janice said, and then shifted onto an elbow. “So how'd your mom react when she saw your swag?”

“With the usual skepticism,” I said as I reclined on my side as well. “Gram was more neutral, but her frown made her feelings an open book.” I decided I'd keep Father Rinaldi's comments to myself.

“Speaking of books, how's yours comin' along?”

“The new chapters are practically writing themselves,” I said, and we laughed aloud together.

“I want to see them as much as your shoes,” Janice said. “Ya really know what you're doin', Sam.”

I perked up. “My school stuff's clicking, too.”

“What are you working on?”

“A series on dating.”

“Seems to me that'll write itself, too, huh?” Janice asked, and we giggled together once more as we had done for two years.

Janice was right, I thought, as I rode the subway home. There weren't any writing blocks for me over the previous couple of weeks. My hand had raced across my journal with all sorts of new material about Brooklyn Boys, about relationships, about the excitement of discovery … and about the thrills of melting in a man's arms. I couldn't wait for the next installment.

“Any calls?” I asked Mom and Grandma when I came through the door.

“What, no kiss?” Grandma asked, sitting on the couch with her feet in a tub of hot water.

“Sorry, Gram,” I said, and leaned over to give her a quick buss on the cheek.

Mom sat on the other end of the couch and ran the fingers of both hands through her hair. She actually looked good for a change, wearing a short-sleeved white cotton blouse and three-quarter yellow slacks. And there was some life in her eyes, too. Grandma must have kept close tabs on her today, I thought.

Mom looked at my face and saw the want of an answer to my question. “That boyfriend of yours called,” she droned, “but said there was no message.”

I did my best to hide my disappointment. And then I was struck by the thought of how much Mom had talked to Tony. Did she try to pry? I wondered. Did she make any cracks? I decided I wouldn't go down that road. It wasn't worth it. “What's for dinner?” I asked, but what I really wanted to know was what Tony wanted.

“Blintzes and latkes,” Grandma said.

I looked at her varicose veins and gnarled feet. “You didn't have to go through all that trouble,” I said. “I would've cooked.”

“Who knew when you'd be here,” Mom cracked as she rose and headed for the kitchen.

Grandma gave me a wink. “She's always where she's supposed to be, isn't that right, my Samelah?”

“That's right, Gram,” I said, and knelt in front of her. “And right now, I'm supposed to give your legs and feet a nice massage.”

“Oh, no. I'm fine,” Grandma said with no conviction in her voice.

“I know you are,” I said as I grabbed a towel and started to dry her feet. “But we'll kill some time while Mom gets dinner on the table.”

Grandma stroked my hair as I ministered to her. “You're so beautiful,” she said. “It's no wonder every boy wants my granddaughter.”

“I only want one, Gram.”

“I know, I know. Don't worry, he'll call back.”

“I know he will,” I said.

Grandma leaned forward and whispered, “Remind me later to give you the money I won at bingo.”

“You don't have to do that, Grandma.”

“Hush, child. If you're gonna be out socializing, I want for you to have a few spare dollars in your pocketbook.”

I hugged Grandma's legs and rested my cheek on her knees. “You're the best, Gram,” I said.

Later, halfway through dinner at the kitchen table, the ringing phone jarred me. I resisted the urge to spring to the receiver. I let Mom pick it up. “Hello,” she said, standing in the doorway, and listened while she lit a cigarette. “No,” Mom started, taking a drag. “We can't do anything at this time,” she finished, and then hung up.

“Who was it?” Grandma asked as Mom returned to her seat, beating me to the punch.

“The church,” Mom said.

“What did they want?” Grandma asked. Who cares? I thought. If it wasn't Tony, it didn't matter to me.

“A donation,” Mom said as she stubbed her cigarette.

“Typical,” Grandma muttered.

“And the Jews are any different?” Mom asked.

I tuned them out for the next few minutes. That story was already written, I thought. The one with Tony was just beginning and my family had no idea that I passed the time as they bickered pondering my boyfriend. When their argument escalated, I was jolted from my reveries. “Can't we just have a peaceful meal?” I sighed as I put my fork down and looked from one to the other.

“We're just talking, Sammy,” Grandma said. Sure, I said to myself. And I know what just talking can lead to. “Now finish your food before it gets cold.”

“I will, so long as you two don't give me any agita,” I said.

“We can't upset our baby's tummy now, can we, Joanie?” Grandma asked playfully with a nod toward her daughter. She always had a way to lighten the mood, and I was grateful to pass the rest of the meal with idle chatter. Then I rushed to do the dishes. I wanted to be finished before Tony called back and avoid the grief I'd be given because of an unfinished chore. Mom went into the living room with a box of hair dye while Grandma took her time standing up. “You'll watch some TV with us?” she asked.

“I've got some work to catch up on, Gram,” I said as I started the hot water. “I'm on deadline.”

“Then go,” Grandma said as she shuffled toward the sink with stooped shoulders. “I'll clean up.”

“You sit down,” I said over my shoulder. “This won't take me long.”

“God bless you, Sammy,” Grandma said as she detoured to the living room.

I made quick work of the dishes and then went to my desk, which had been calling to me the whole time. Each key of the typewriter that I struck at my small desk moved both the piece I was writing and time along. When I took a break and checked the clock at eleven thirty, I couldn't believe how fast the evening had gone. Mom and Grandma must have fallen asleep on the couch, I supposed, which was why I hadn't been interrupted. Tony must have been tied up and couldn't phone back. As I put my papers away and straightened my desk, I regretted having missed his call earlier. I wanted to take his voice to bed with me.

I wasn't happy the next morning about not hearing from Tony, but I was more than satisfied with the dating article I turned in first thing at school. Satisfaction turned to thrill when Mr. Wainright came up to me during lunch and said it was good enough to show to a couple of his friends in magazine and book publishing. And I knew where those people would be—in the real world of Manhattan!

“Don't get overly excited, Samantha,” he said after breaking the news. “You've got potential, but you'll have to produce a lot more, and get better every day.”

“I'm willing to do whatever it takes,” I replied.

“I trust you will.”

“You can count on me, Mr. Wainright,” I told him as he walked away. I was so excited and distracted with consideration of the possibilities that I couldn't take another bite of my usual salad. I positively floated through the rest of the school day.

By the time I burst out of the school doors I was bursting inside. I just couldn't wait to spread the news to Grandma and Janice. Even Tony would be proud of me, I thought as I skipped along the sidewalk to the curb. I couldn't help perking up my ears and scanning a wide area in search of him while
I located my school bus. When my hopes went unfulfilled, I headed toward the open yellow doors.

Two short honks in rapid succession attracted my attention. I stopped and checked the area once more, but couldn't identify the source of the horn among the usual array of sports cars and luxury sedans that awaited some of my more fortunate classmates. I started toward my bus once more.

When the honks repeated, something told me they were for me and I stopped again but with more determination. Wedged between two buses that were behind mine was a champagne-colored Eldorado convertible with its top up and I peered through the windshield. My heart skipped a beat when I saw Tony behind the wheel and my excitement doubled. I smiled and went to the passenger side, my lips widening with each step. I stooped to peer through the open window.

“Get in,” Tony said through pursed lips as he stared straight ahead.

I decided to postpone telling him the news that all but sprang from my mouth. I wondered what was up as I kept my words in check, but that couldn't quell my bubbling inside. “This is a real treat, Tone,” I said as I sank into the leather bucket seat. “Is this yours?”