Brooklyn Story (9 page)

“Whatever. Whatcha gonna do now?”

I smiled. “I gotta go wash my hair and do my nails and all that kinda stuff,” I gushed.

Tony's face darkened and his eyebrows furrowed. “Who ya gotta look good for? Tell me and I'll break his face.”

“Jeez, Tony. It's you.” His question hadn't made any sense, but I felt flattered nonetheless.

“All right. But I need ya ta know if anybody tries ta get next ta ya, I'll break his face.”

“I know you will, Tony.”

“Good. I'll pick you up at seven. Wear sumthin' hot.”

Mom and Grandma were taking naps when I stole into the house. I changed my clothes, ran a brush through my windblown hair, and set out for Janice's. I should have called first but the truth was I wanted to see for myself what was going on. Why did I feel so uneasy, like I was on my way to the dentist?

When I walked up Janice's driveway and rang the bell, her mother came to the door. “Hello, Sam,” she said softly, eyes lowered.

“Hi, Mrs. Caputo. Is Janice here? I heard she has the flu.”

“Right. The flu,” Mrs. Caputo snarled. “Come in. I guess you don't know.”

“About what?” I asked as I entered.

“That asshole Richie. I swear I'll kill him if I ever see him again.” Her hands turned into fists as she held them by her sides.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Mrs. Caputo motioned toward the rear of the apartment. “Go in her bedroom and see for yourself.”

I headed to the familiar place where Janice and I had had so many sleepovers together, talking all night long about our dreams and giggling, too, about boys. We had done our hair there and let cucumber masks dry on our faces, and concocted harmless pranks and schemes, like the time we climbed out her window late one night into a tree and ran around the neighborhood with no purpose other than to see if we could get away with it.

I opened her door and saw that the windows were shut, the blinds were lowered, and the lights were out. A place that had always been so joyful seemed like a funeral parlor to me. I could barely make out Janice's form, huddled in her bed. I reached for the light. Janice turned away from me onto her side. “Janice, it's me,” I said. “What's going on?” She didn't move and didn't respond. “Geez, it's hot as hell in here,” I said, and opened the window next to her bed without taking my eyes off her. “Janice,” I said again. She turned slowly and I gasped. Her face was black-and-blue and one eye was so swollen it was almost closed. “Oh my God!” I shouted, and rushed to her side. I wrapped my arms around her. “What the hell happened?”

“I thought I was so smart,” Janice wailed. “I guess he really got me this time.” She made a sound like she was trying to laugh and in the next moment she was sobbing.

“How could he do this to you?” I demanded.

“It was my fault, Sam. I shouldn't have talked back to him in front of Vin last night. I know that. I just hate it when he acts like he owns me.” She sat up, grabbed a tissue, and dabbed her eyes. “Ow!” she cried. “Everything hurts so bad.”

“Your father know about this?”

“No. He's out with his friends. I begged Mom not to say anything. With the people he knows, there's no tellin' what he'd do.”

“He'll see for himself when he gets home.”

“No, he won't. I'm not comin' outta this room for a coupla days.”

I steamed. Where did Richie Sparto come off, doing this to her? “He had no right,” I said. “Wait'll I tell Tony. He'll take care of this.”

“Sure he will,” Janice said. “Richie's his best friend. Do ya really think he doesn't know?”

“You think so? But how could he go along with it?” I asked as I looked at my friend's bruised face. Tony couldn't possibly know the extent of it and do nothing, I thought. Tony was a peacemaker. “I'm gonna go tell him right away and you'll see. Richie'll never get away with this.”

Janice grabbed my arms and glared into my eyes. “Ya can't!” she begged. “If ya do, Richie'll never speak to me again. Ya don' know how it is,” Janice sobbed. “Please don' ruin it for me, Sam.”

I could hardly believe my ears. It was already ruined, as far as I could see. Would Janice really just go back and be with Richie again after what he'd done? I wondered. I stroked my best friend's hair.

“Don't worry, Janice. I won't say a thing. To anyone.” I also wondered if Tony would ever do something like that to me.

The doorbell rang at a quarter to eight Sunday evening. I had been ready for an hour but I stayed in my bedroom while Mom went to the buzzer. Although waiting had made me nervous, I was glad Tony was late because I needed the extra time to try on every outfit in my closet. Although I did not have a lot of great choices among my mother's hand-me-downs and discount store items, I managed to pull something together. I was poor, there was no denying that, but I always made what Grandma called “a suitable presentation.”

I had settled on a royal blue dress gathered at the waist and I checked myself in the mirror one last time. I fluffed my hair and ran my hands across the $1.99 number that Mom had purchased for me at our local St. Jude thrift shop, a favorite among the welfare recipients in the neighborhood. I looked pretty damned good, I thought. I wore a touch of light pink lipstick because I didn't want to give Mom and Grandma any ammunition against my new boyfriend. I'd apply a dark red shade on the way to the movie theater.

I glanced at my makeshift desk and my portable typewriter. Even though I had a lot of new material in my head, I had been too excited and preoccupied to write anything that afternoon. I'd catch up with my journal later, I decided, and
then Grandma's booming voice filled the apartment. “So you're Tony,” she shouted.

Everyone knew Grandma was hard of hearing, something she never admitted. She refused to wear a hearing aid, which made her talk even louder because she couldn't hear herself all that well. It was funny how she yelled the loudest when she was meeting new people. It was as if she figured they'd all hear better once they got to know each other. The elderly woman's eyes were so soft and loving, everyone was smitten with her.

When I walked into the living room, I saw Tony wedged between Mom and Grandma on the couch. I stifled a laugh. He looked trapped, but he was smiling politely and answering a question and they smiled in return. He really knew how to handle himself, I thought. Tony was the kind of guy, I guessed, who could sweet-talk parents until they stretched the curfew, reassuring them that their daughter would be in good hands. One look at Mom told me that she was being charmed. Thank God her female instincts had overtaken her biases for a change, I thought. Tony looked toward me. “Wow!” he exclaimed. “Ya look real good, Sam.” His head swiveled between Mom and Grandma. “Doesn't she?” he asked them.

“My
bubelah
is one gorgeous girl,” Grandma shouted. “She's a smart one, too.” Mom just nodded and then Grandma frowned as she stared at the huge cross on Tony's neck. She so desperately wanted it to be a Jewish star, wanted me to marry a Jewish boy. She had reservations about Italians, Sicilians most of all, and said they were sneaky, stubborn, and control freaks. I couldn't blame her for feeling that way after what my father had done to her daughter. Though there was plenty of other evidence around us to support her views, I wasn't inclined to make such sweeping judgments. Tony was different, I felt. He stood up and took my hand. Grandma's eyes narrowed. “You take good care of her, now.”

When we got outside, Tony helped me into the passenger
seat of his 1972 black and beige Toyota. I knew my family would be watching from the third-floor window and that they'd appreciate seeing me being treated like a lady. This guy would never do to me what Richie had done to Janice, I thought.

When Tony got in the car I opened my mouth and closed it again. I was dying to say something about Richie but remembered my promise to Janice. Instead, I thought of something casual to say as we drove down the block. “Hey, do they really have dikes in Holland?”

“Ya mean lesbos?”

“No, silly. I mean that story about the boy who put his finger in the dike to hold back the water.”

Tony grinned. “Musta been pretty smelly,” he said.

“Don't be so gross, Tony,” I said.

He laughed for a second and turned serious. “But it ain't funny,” Tony began. “I ain't never hangin' wid no queers.” The veins in his neck bulged as his hands twisted around the steering wheel. “None a my crew would put with that very long.”

There was silence for a long minute and then I changed the subject. “So what took you so long to get here? I was ready at seven.”

“Good. I like a woman who listens.”

“So where were you?”

Tony looked straight ahead. “I hadda, you know, do some stuff with Vin and Richie,” he said. He jangled the rosary beads that hung from his rearview mirror. All the guys in Bensonhurst had some sort of religious artifact on the mirror or dashboard to protect them. Mom had told me that Saint Christopher was the one who watched over you while you drove, and there were plenty of his likenesses in Bensonhurst cars.

“What kinda stuff?” I asked.

“Bizness. I was takin' care a bizness,” he said.

“On a Sunday?”

“Listen, Sam. I'm in business for myself, kinda. Me and the guys.”

“No kidding. What do you do?”

“Loan dough to dems that need some, and we're in the used radio trade, too,” he said.

“Oh. You some kind of entrepreneur?”

Tony grinned, sat back, and drove on with one hand as his other arm hung outside his side window. “I knew you were a smart girl,” he said. “That's exactly what I am. A ontra-pa-noo-er.”

I looked at his powerful hand on the wheel. “I thought you worked construction,” I said.

“Yeah, that's right. Union shit. But me an' the guys have some things on the side.”

Everyone knew that many Italians, especially those connected to the Mafia, had
gumadas,
or mistresses. I hoped that business was all that Tony had on the side. I stared at him while he drove and looked forward to another date. “So what movie are we seeing? I love movies. My favorite is
West Side Story,
especially when Maria sings to Tony.
Tony, Tony,
” I sang out like a fool, giggling at myself.

“Oh that,” Tony said. “We're not goin' to the movies.”

“But Mom and Grandma think I'm at the flicks.”

“What they don' know won't hurt 'em,” Tony said.

“I don't like lying.”

“Ya want 'em to think
I'm
a liar? They'll never let ya see me again.” Tony glanced at me with a smirk. “But if that's what ya want, I can turn around and take ya back home so you can be honest.”

My lips tightened. “No, that's okay,” I said.

“Good. You wouldn't really want to miss goin' to Platinum, would you?”

“You're taking me to Platinum?” I asked, my voice cracking. The thought of being at one of the hottest nightclubs around
thrilled me. The Harley ride had been excitement enough for one day, and now this!

“I was gonna, but if you'd rather be with your mommy, that's fine with me.”

“'Course I want to be with you, Tone. I was just surprised, is all.” I paused for a minute. “How'm I gonna get in?”

Tony reached into his pocket and handed a driver's license to me.

“Who's Priscilla Montiglio?” I asked.

“That's you. You're twenty-two.”

“I don't look twenty-two. And she has short hair.”

“Don' matter. I know the bouncer. The fake ID is just for show. Ya hand it to 'im when I tell ya.”

After Tony parked the car, he took my hand and led me past the long line of anxious clubgoers waiting to get in. When I handed the fat bouncer the fake ID, he smirked at Tony and then unhooked the velvet rope. Tony grabbed Priscilla Montiglio's ID back from the bouncer and tucked it away in his pocket after we entered the club.

Holding tight on to Tony's hand, I let my eyes adjust to the lights above the dance floor, the surrounding darkness, and the cigarette smoke, and my ears to the overwhelming din. The place was jumping as a young crowd gyrated on the dance floor. Everyone boogied to “Love Machine” by the Miracles:

(I, I,) I'm just a love machine
And I won't work for nobody but you

Boys in tight pants and nylon shirts that were half unbuttoned undulated to the music with girls whose breasts bulged out of short halter tops. I wondered how they danced in the high-heeled platforms they wore. I would topple over, I decided, and was glad I wore low wedge sandals.

Tony guided me past the bar and along the dance floor to a
restaurant area. A hand went up at one of the tables along the dance floor. Tony smiled and nodded toward Richie and Vin. We made our way to their table and sat down. In front of a club that was so alive, I felt like a queen again.