Brooklyn Story (32 page)

“You shoulda called us from a neighbor's phone, Miss, as soon as you opened the door,” said the older of the two uniformed officers when they arrived. “Whoever it was mighta still been inside.”

“I wasn't thinking, Officer,” I said.

“Let's have a look around,” he said. We ended up back in the living room after a quick pass through the apartment. “So you say nothin's missing?” the older cop asked.

“Nothing,” I said, and then I remembered the orange juice. “Other than maybe some juice.” The cops glanced at each other with slight smiles. The older one turned to me. “Looks like some random mischief here,” he said. “Kids.”

“That's it?” I asked.

“Happens all the time.”

“What about drug addicts?”

“I doubt it. If it was, anythin' an' everythin' that could be sold, for any amount, would have been taken outta here,” the cop said, and then he pointed. “Like that old TV there, or the portable radio in the kitchen, not to mention your typewriter and Grandma's ring.”

I looked up at the cop's lined face. “Do you think you'll catch whoever did this?”

The cops glanced at each other again and then at me with tight lips. “With nothing stolen, there's not a lot to go on. Probably not much anyone can do about it,” the older cop said.

I had a different idea about what could be done, and as soon as they had left I summoned the nerve to make a phone call and then braced myself to speak to Tony. I prayed that Pamela wouldn't answer the ring.

“Yo,” Tony said.

“T-Tony?” I hadn't been prepared for the old feelings that stirred in me.

“Sam? Is that you?”

“Yeah … it's me. Am I botherin' ya?”

“Nah. I'm busy, but that's okay.”

Even though I was bursting to get to the reason for my call, I tried to make some small talk to break the ice. “What's new?”

“Nuttin'.”

“Jeez, Tone. We haven't talked in months. Somethin' must be new.”

“Sure,” he said, “a lot's new.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Nuttin'.” That was going nowhere, so I decided to get to the point.

“Listen, I need to talk to ya. We had some trouble here and I wanted you to check into it—that is, if you feel like it.”

“Like I said, I'm pretty busy with work and all.”

“The cops just left,” I said.

“Cops? Why were
rats
at your house?”

“Somethin' awful. Our place got broken into.”

“Too bad,” he said. “What did they make off with?”

“Nothing. We have nothing. That's what's so weird.”

“Ya got lucky, then. So what do ya wan' me ta do aboudit?”

“I thought you could look into it for me. You know everybody and maybe you could find somethin' out for me.”

“People break into houses all the time, Sam. Petty shit. Not much anyone can do.”

I didn't mention that the cops had said the same thing. I had been hoping for more from Tony, and then the conversation with Janice about how we gave Tony and Richie the right to control our lives popped into my head. I regretted making the call. “Well, I shouldn'ta bothered ya, Tony. Sorry.”

“Don' be. I'm just glad you're okay, Sam. Now I gotta go do sumthin' with my mom.”

“Sure,” I replied.

“See ya,” he said, and we hung up.

When I got to the salon after school the following Wednesday, I found out that Janice hadn't shown up for work and hadn't called in. I telephoned her and when I got the machine I left a message to call me right away.

It wasn't like Janice to disappear, I knew. She was too responsible and it just wasn't her way. I felt it had to be something serious with her family … or with Richie. I wanted to leave right away and go to her house but the salon was busy. I couldn't leave them doubly short-staffed if I wanted to keep the job that was helping me to save money for a new life. I pushed thoughts of Janice to the back of my mind and forced myself to focus on my work.

Time dragged as I painted the nails of the carefree women on my schedule. They must have known that my mind wasn't on the brushes in my hand because I had to redo my work more than once. I was relieved when closing time mercifully arrived
four hours later. I couldn't wait to get home and get some news about my best friend. After I bolted out the door and started hurrying down the street, I heard a familiar voice behind me.

“Yo, Sam.”

My heart skipped a beat. I stopped and turned around and my stomach fluttered. Tony, wearing a powder blue T-shirt and black jeans, stood with his arms crossed. My heart raced. The dick, I said to myself. He just had to wear blue, didn't he? It had always made his eyes more vivid and they came back to life that day. I noticed that his hair was darker—gelled back, just like a real Italian, I thought, and that turned me off somewhat. What had happened to his soft hair that had always set him apart from the other guys? “What are you doin' here?” I asked.

“I wanna talk ta ya.”

“You didn't care much about talkin' when I called last week.”

“I was busy, Sam. You shouldn'ta expected me to drop everythin' when you call outta nowhere.”

“I shoulda known better,” I said, and looked away. “Let's just forget it, Tony.”

“No, it's all right. I was jus' taken by surprise, is all.”

I faced him. “Listen. I can't talk now,” I said, and started to turn away. “I gotta go do somethin'.”

“Wait, baby,” he said as he grabbed my arm and moved closer. “I ain't gonna bite.” I crossed my arms. Damn! I said to myself. What is it with us Brooklyn Girls? I chastised myself. I couldn't deny that he looked good, even with his gelled-up hair. “I did some thinkin',” Tony continued, “about ya gettin' broke inta and all. I bet it was your neighbors.”

“That's real dumb, Tony,” I said. “They're harmless old people and keep to themselves. They even brought us some cannolis when we moved in.”

“Old people do weird shit. Look at my mom—she took a cruise to Italy to go look for her dead ancestors.” A devilish
grin spread on his face. “Which means I got the house to myself for a while.”

Was he coming on to me, I wondered, after months without any contact at all? Without even an attempt at an apology? No calls, no gifts? Nothing? I regretted again making that call after the break-in. I had opened the door, I guess. But it was just like him to go after what he wanted with no consideration for my feelings or for how badly he'd treated me. I tapped my foot. “What are you doin' here?” I asked. “Really.”

All hints of playfulness disappeared from his face and he gazed into my eyes. “I'm dyin' without ya, Sam.”

“I told ya we were over, Tone.”

“We're never over,” he said through clenched teeth. “We were meant for each other right from the start.”

I recalled in an instant the early days on Eighteenth Avenue, the Santa Rosalia feast where we had met and the good times we'd had after that. Were they really real, I wondered, and were they gone forever? And then I thought about the other, hurtful things that had happened. They were real enough, I knew. I fought back the tears I didn't want him to see. “I can't be with someone who messes around all the time,” I said. Once you eat the poison, I thought, you crave it forever.

“I've changed, Sam. I mean it.” I wanted to believe him but doubted that enough time had passed for that to happen.

“It's too soon, Tone,” I said.

“Okay, then we'll start slow. How 'bout a pizza?” I was worried about Janice and couldn't deal with anything else right then.

“Not now. I gotta get home,” I said, and started to turn away from him again. He jumped next to me and put his arm around my waist. I inhaled his familiar scent—the poison that I had craved. My resolve slipped. Damn! I said to myself once more.

“Hey, Sam, let's make a run for it!” Tony shouted. He took off and I ran after him without hesitating. What was I doing?
I asked myself as I struggled to catch up. We were like a couple of carefree kids in a playground, cavorting and laughing like a genuine couple, and it sure felt good. But it felt wrong, too.

When Tony got to the end of the block, he stopped and turned to face me. I ran to him with a big smile on my face and a bigger question in my heart. He caught me in his arms and we looked at each other with happy eyes. “Sam,” he said, “I got a present for ya.” He reached into his jeans pocket and slipped something that sparkled into my hand.

I stared down at three white diamonds set in a platinum ring embedded with diamond chips. “This has to be worth a fortune,” I said. “Was this off a truck, too?”

Tony glared at first but then smiled and made light of it. “Bizness has been good lately,” he said, and then lowered his eyes. “I got no one to share my success with,” he said.

“No lipstick buddies?” I cracked.

“Not a one,” he said as he looked up at me. That sounded genuine to me. He'd never show up in Father Rinaldi's confessional, I knew, but maybe he had been doing penance in my absence, I thought. “I keep tellin' ya,” Tony continued, “that lipstick belonged to somebody I don' know.” How could I believe him? As I looked down at this ring I wondered who suffered at his hand for him to get it. As reluctant as I was, I still believed him.

I felt that Tony was better than the typical Brooklyn guys. They were more crude and more ignorant, not to mention less attractive. But then Tony's dashboard slammed into my consciousness as it had my face and I thought differently. “This is too expensive,” I said. I handed the ring back to him.

Tony looked crushed. He put the ring back into his pocket. “Okay, Sam. I get it. You wan' me ta work for ya, don'tya? Fine. I'll do whatever it takes. The ring'll be waitin' for ya.” He put his hand on my shoulder for a moment. “Let me take ya home. Ya ain't livin' near here no more, ya know.”

There wasn't any harm in that, I felt. Besides, the sooner I got home, the better. I didn't want to miss a call from Janice. “Okay, thanks,” I said.

We didn't hold hands when I walked beside Tony to the Porsche and on our way to my new neighborhood. I had to admit, though, that it felt good to be with him. I even felt okay about Tony's new hair. I supposed it was inevitable that he'd start looking like the other Brooklyn Boys. At least it was still blond and those blue eyes still set him apart.

When we reached the corner of my street Tony pulled over and I said good-bye. He tried to pull me in for a kiss but I rebuffed his approach. I felt I wasn't ready to take him back, and probably never would be. Too much water under the bridge, I felt. There would be no hugs, no kisses, and no walking me to the door, either.

Tony didn't protest. I supposed he knew that we had gone as far as we were going to go and that he wasn't ready to confront Mom and Grandma, anyway. I could relate to that; I didn't relish the repercussions if I ever sprung our getting back together on them. I decided that if Tony and I ever did, I would have to break it to them gently and give them some time to accept it before they saw him again.

On Friday afternoon, I still hadn't seen or heard from Janice, although Mrs. Caputo had returned my message the day before and told me she was in New Jersey visiting a cousin. But I was very excited that afternoon and had to talk to my best friend, so I tried another call from the salon. “Is Janice there?” I asked her mother when she answered the phone.

“I'm sorry, Sam,” Mrs. Caputo said, “but she's in New Jersey like I told you.”

“I miss her a lot and need to talk to her.”

“She's taking a break from that idiot boy, and I hope she stays away for good.” Mrs. Caputo sounded angry and resolved.
I shuddered as I imagined what Richie had done. He must have really screwed up, I thought.

“She just quit her job and didn't tell me anything,” I said. “I'm worried.”

“I'll tell her you called,” Mrs. Caputo promised.

“Please tell her to phone me as soon as she can,” I said, and hung up, frustrated. For some reason, Mrs. Caputo wouldn't give me a number where Janice could be reached and insisted on relaying my messages. I wasn't so sure my girlfriend was getting them. I figured Mrs. Caputo must have wanted to cut off any association with Bensonhurst for a while. I hoped that wouldn't include me for long.

Life was lonely without Janice, my confidante, and I wished I could at least understand why she was away. I wanted to share with her how happy and fulfilled I was with my new life. I enjoyed my job at the salon and without a steady boyfriend, my spare time was all about finishing my novel and contributing to the school newspaper. Something special happened that day that had thrilled me and I was busting to tell my friend all about it.

Mr. Wainright stopped me in the hallway that day after an editorial meeting. “Great addition to the series this week, Sam,” he had started. “You really nailed the pressures of dating. I'm sure everyone can relate to the demands you described. Keep going.” I had felt proud and intended to do as he advised. All the way to Manhattan.

Throwing myself into that assignment had come naturally. After all, I had dated someone who had given me an awful lot of stress. I knew how it felt to deal with sexual demands and to suspect that a boyfriend had been cheating. Finding the lipstick fueled my passionate approach to, and honesty about, the topic. It had been difficult to admit in writing that I still had some feelings for a guy who had not only cheated on me but who had raised his hand to me, too.

But Mr. Wainright's affirmation wasn't the only reason for
my excitement. While we were talking, a gentleman dressed in an expensive navy suit and print tie joined us. “Professor Greenburg,” Mr. Wainright said with a smile, “I want you to meet Samantha Bonti.” I shook hands with him and gave my favorite teacher a puzzled look. “Professor Greenburg is the faculty supervisor for New York University,” Mr. Wainright continued, and my heart raced. He was talking about a famous university not far from where the Brooklyn Bridge touched down on the other side of the river. It was one of the best and it was … in Manhattan!