Tony Partly Cloudy (3 page)

Tony was flustered. He had never mentioned his plans to Nona Maria – not about going to college, nor about pitching the idea to his father.

“But I... how did you... ?”

But she was asleep again. Snoring faintly, and smiling in her sleep.

NATIONAL BUST FRANKIE’S BALLS DAY
WAS APPARENTLY EXTENDED into a month-long event, if Frankie’s mood on subsequent evenings was any indication. With application deadlines looming and his father remaining volcanically unapproachable, Tony finally went ahead and mailed in several college applications. His hope was that if by some freak accident he actually got accepted anywhere, his father might be swayed into at least discussing the idea. First get accepted, then figure out how to pay for it – that was Tony’s revised plan.

Each day when he returned home from work or school, Tony would check the dining room table, where his mother put the day’s mail. Weeks, then months went by, eroding Tony’s hopes. He no longer spoke of his aspirations to Vinnie, and Vinnie never inquired, apparently having forgotten their conversation at Luigi’s. But that was typical Vinnie – he couldn’t be expected to remember much more than his own name, address, and phone number, and sometimes even that was a stretch.

One night Tony came home from Mario’s cold and wet, drenched from a downpour that pummeled his neighborhood with grape-size droplets of frigid water. The weather had fouled his mood, not because he disliked rain, but because he hadn’t expected it. He had worn a light denim jacket that day, leaving his more rain-worthy gear at home.

To avoid dripping on his mother’s living room rug, Tony had gone around back, so he could come in through the kitchen. Now he stood on the back porch, soaked to the skin, fumbling with his key. Why hadn’t he seen this storm coming? Although neither the paper nor the local TV stations had predicted rain, Tony was still angry with himself for not having sensed any upcoming change in the weather. Some freakin’ gift, he thought as he kicked off his waterlogged shoes on the back porch and wrestled out of his sopping jacket. Not that he really believed all the gypsy stuff Nona Maria spouted. I mean, she wasn’t even a real gypsy, was she?

Opening the door, he nearly ran her over. Nona Maria stood just inside the doorway, blocking his entry.

“Holy crap!” Tony said involuntarily. Quickly recovering, he said, “I’m sorry, Nona. You just startled me. I didn’t expect you to be standing right there, you know?”

Nona Maria’s eyes shone bright and clear, set in a face resembling one of those dolls made from a dried apple. Jesus, had she been standing there while he had been thinking less than complimentary thoughts about her? Had she somehow...
sensed
those thoughts? No – no way. This was just a coincidence. It wasn’t like she could read your mind or anything, right?

Just as Tony thought this, Nona Maria cocked her head quizzically. This was getting too creepy.

“Listen, Nona Maria, you might want to step back – I don’t want to drip on you. I’m freakin’ soaked.”

The old woman stood motionless for a long moment, then smiled, making way for him. “I get you towel,” she said, turning to bustle from the room.

Alone in the kitchen, Tony peeled off his shirt, and began wringing it out over the sink.

“Here is towel,” came a voice from behind him. Nona Maria held a large bath towel out to Tony.

“Thanks, Nona!” Tony began to towel himself off, welcoming the cotton’s warmth on his cold wet skin. Smelling cigarette smoke, he asked, “Is Papa home from work already?”

Nona Maria nodded. “In living room. You dry off. You change clothes. Then you tell him.” She had been smiling since he had arrived, Tony realized.

“Tell him? Tell him what?” Tony asked, the towel falling across his face as he worked on drying his hair. Lifting the towel, he saw that she was gone. Good thing, because he needed to take his jeans off. Hurriedly he stripped off his wet jeans and tossed them into the sink. Then he wrapped the towel around his midsection, and walked out into the dining room, heading toward the hallway to his room.

He stopped when he saw it.

Sitting on the dining room table was a large envelope, big enough to hold a magazine. And on the envelope was a familiar circular logo. The logo for Kean University, one of the few nearby universities that offered a meteorology program.

“Oh Jesus,” Tony murmured, his stomach involuntarily squeezing his dinner like a tube of toothpaste. “Jesus,” he repeated, lifting the envelope. It was heavy and thick. Was that good? It had to be good, right? I mean, how many pages did it take to tell somebody
no way José
?

Tony stumbled down the hallway to his room, clutching the envelope, quietly chanting, “Oh Jesus. Oh Christ. Oh Jesus Freakin’ Christ...”

Closing the door to his room, he set the envelope down on his bed gently, reverently. He loosened the towel, letting it drop to the floor, then wriggled out of his underwear – he didn’t want to plop down on his bedspread in his wet Fruit of the Looms.

Then he sat on the edge of the bed, naked. He lifted the envelope, then looked at himself. It seemed somehow inappropriate to read a potentially life-changing document with his dick hanging out, so he went to his dresser and selected a pair of underwear. He put them on and sat down on the bed again. But a moment later he was on his feet again, yanking the closet door open and grabbing a pair of jeans off a hanger. As he pulled them on, his eyes drifted to the row of shirts hanging in his closet. But he stopped. “Open the freakin’ envelope already!” he said, louder than he’d meant to.

Exasperated, he sat on the bed once again, and grabbed the envelope. Then he slid down into a seated position on the floor, his back slouched against the bed as he tore the envelope open. There were two thick folders inside, brochures or something. But on top of them was a single sheet of paper – a letter, again with the familiar logo, addressed to Anthony Bartolicotti, from the Office of Admissions.

We are pleased to inform you
...

“Holy shit!”

Tony read the letter three times, to make sure that all the formal, elegant words on the page were not just some polite way of telling him to go screw himself.

“I’m in. I don’t freakin’ believe it. I’m in!”

He hadn’t realized he was shouting until he heard the knocking on his door.

“Tony? Are you okay in there?” It was his mother.

“Yeah, Mama, I’m good. I’m fine. I’m—”

“What’s all the yelling? Do you have friends over?”

Tony laughed. “No, Mama, it’s just me. I’ll be out in a minute – I just gotta get changed.” He read the letter two more times, then grabbed a shirt from his closet. Setting the letter on his dresser, he read it a sixth time while buttoning his shirt and running a hand through his still-damp hair.

He gathered up the contents of the envelope, keeping the letter on top. Then he opened his door, and began to walk toward the living room, looking for his father. “Okay, Tony,” he said aloud. “Here we go. It’s show time.”

♠ ♥ ♣ ♦

Frankie sat in his recliner watching television. At his side, a cigarette burned in an ashtray next to an empty highball glass. He didn’t look up when Tony entered the room – nothing unusual there. Nona Maria was in her rocker, but not dozing. Her eyes were bright, her smile unyielding. Tony heard his mother clanging plates in the kitchen, and realized his wet clothing was still in the sink. That can wait, he decided. He sat down on the couch, and waited for a commercial. No one spoke.

Finally an ad for a new light beer came on, and Tony took the plunge. “Hey Pops, how you doin’?”

Frankie turned to face his son. “You don’t want to know.” He picked up his cigarette and took a drag, leaving it dangling from his mouth as he turned back toward the television.

Tony knew that could mean any number of things, from a relatively harmless
I don’t feel like talking
to a potentially seismic
my day sucked in ways that you can’t imagine, and I’ll crack the skull of anybody who so much as looks at me funny
. But Tony also knew he could grow old waiting to catch Frankie in a good mood, so he forged ahead.

“Pops – I was wondering if maybe you and me could have a talk about something. Something kinda important. You know, at some point when it’s, you know, convenient and all.”

Slowly Frankie turned to face him again, scowling. “You in some kind of trouble?”

“No, Pops – nothin’ like that! It’s nothin’ bad. It’s good – real good. I mean,
I
think it’s good.” Tony was babbling, and he knew it. “But I need to talk to you about it. It doesn’t have to be right now, you know, if now is not such a good time and all.”

Frankie stubbed out his cigarette and picked up the remote. Without bothering to consult Nona Maria, he clicked off the television. “Nothin’ on but freakin’ reruns anyway,” he muttered.

Frankie swiveled his chair to face Tony, a king addressing his subject. “So what are we talkin’ about here?”

Tony took a deep breath, then began. “Well, I guess you know that I’m a senior this year, right?” Frankie did not respond. Swallowing, Tony went on. “So anyways, with me graduating and all, and doing pretty good in school these last couple years, I... I thought it might be – uh – interesting to maybe apply to a couple of colleges. You know, just to see if maybe I could get in.” Frankie was still silent, his face impassive.

Eager to fill the silence, Tony said, “I don’t know if you remember me bringing this up a while back, but I really do kinda want to try going to college. I mean, there’s a lot of professions now where you really gotta have some kind of degree to even get a shot at a job. It’s different than when you were a kid.” Tony felt a certain righteous expertise with this last statement, having endured countless
when I was your age
lectures from Frankie.

Frankie still hadn’t made a move, hadn’t uttered a sound.

Tony said, “So what I did, I applied to a couple schools.” He quickly added, “It didn’t cost nothin’ – I just sent in some paperwork, you know, with stuff like my grades, my test scores. Stuff like that.” This was a white lie: each school had an application fee, which Tony had paid from his earnings from Mario’s. He looked at his father, who was still doing an excellent impression of one of those big stone faces guarding the coastline of Easter Island.

“So, the upshot is, I got in. One of the schools accepted me. And it’s a really good school. Kean University – it’s over in Jersey. It’s one of the only ones around here that has a real meteorology department.” Tony’s excitement had overcome his fear, and he reiterated, “I got in!”

Slowly, Frankie reached for his cigarettes, taking his time in selecting, then igniting a fresh Marlboro. He took a long drag, then exhaled. He took the cigarette from his mouth in the overhand grip used by men who had seen military service. Then he turned toward the kitchen and shouted, “Hey Rosa! Get out here! You need to hear what your son Tony just told me!”

Your
son Tony? Oh shit, Tony thought.

Tony’s mother hurried out into the living room, wiping her hands on a towel. “What are you yelling about now?” she demanded.

Frankie smiled. It was not a pleasant expression. Frankie didn’t do warm and fuzzy – his smile was somehow more terrifying than his scowl. “Your son Tony,” he repeated, punctuating his words with a drag on his cigarette, “has something to tell you.”

Rosa turned to face her son. “Well?”

Tony hesitated, so Frankie jumped back in. “Seems your son here wants to go to
college
,” he said, twisting his last word with an overenunciated irony.

Rosa stopped wiping her hands, and a smile crept onto her face. But it was an odd smile: smug, and somehow wicked. Jeez, what did
she
have against him going to college? Tony hadn’t expected any opposition from her, much less this snide attitude.

“Oh really?” Rosa asked, her smile widening. Ignoring Tony, she focused on Frankie. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Frankie, shifting in his seat and reaching behind him. “I owe you fifty bucks.”

Tony stared in disbelief as his father pulled out his wallet, and began extracting bills. Tony shook his head and stammered, “What the—”

“I been telling her no way,” Frankie said, his cigarette bobbing from his lip as he spoke, moving like a flipper on a pinball machine. “No way he wants to go to college. Not my Tony. He’s gonna pick up his Class B and drive for the line, just like his old man did. That’s what I been telling her.”

Rosa smiled at Frankie with triumphant delight as she took each bill from him. “And I been telling you, times have changed. This is the twentieth century. And my Tony’s a smart boy – he could do real good for himself.”

Frankie bristled. “Hey! I done good for myself. Hell, I—”

“You done real good,” Rosa said, cutting him off. “You married me, didn’t you?”

Tony couldn’t remember seeing the two of them smile so much. They were disagreeing, but they were smiling. What the hell was that? Love, maybe? And now each of them was calling him
my
Tony? Grownups were freakin’ weird.

“So...” Tony began, hesitant to intrude on their little lovefest. “You’re okay with me doing this?”

“Well,” Frankie said, pausing to put his cigarette down, “your mama seems to think you’re smart.” From his expression it was impossible to tell if he was teasing or being serious. “And your grandmother keeps telling me this is something you really want to do.”