She halted half a block from the house and considered other possibilities. They were limited. If she went to a hotel or tried to leave town, Bonnatti might find her. No. What she needed was the protection of a respectable member of the community. If there was only herself to consider she would take her chances. But there was Steven to think of.
She started to walk again, her step firm. And soon she was ringing the doorbell of the Park Avenue House, and there was the familiar face of Roger, the butler, staring, half recognizing her but not quite sure.
She was cool, poised. “Is Mr. Dimes at home?”
“Who shall I say is calling?”
“Carrie.”
“Carrie?” His eyebrows shot up. “Is he expecting you?”
“Yes.”
Roger ushered her and Steven into the hall She took a deep breath and wondered again what she was going to say.
“One moment, please,” intoned Roger politely.
The moment stretched like a lifetime. Maybe Bernard Dimes would refuse to see her and solve the problem of what she should say altogether.
Roger returned. “This way, please.”
She followed him into the study, pushing Steven in front of her.
Bernard Dimes got up from behind his desk. The sleeves of his silk shirt were rolled up, and his desk was piled high with papers. Steel-rimmed glasses decorated his aquiline nose, and his gray hair was somewhat mussed. She had never seem him like this before. “Carrie!” he exclaimed warmly.
“Mr. Dimes.” She glanced uneasily at Roger.
“Will you be requiring anything, sir?” Roger asked.
Bernard glanced at his watch. “Is tea ready?”
“Right away, sir.” Roger withdrew from the room as Bernard emerged from behind his desk. “This is a very pleasant surprise,” he said.
“I hope so.” She gazed around the paneled study, unable to meet his eyes.
“I hope so too.” There was a long awkward silence. He noticed that she looked tired and drawn and seemed somewhat jumpy. He approached her and took her by the arm. “Are you all right?” he asked concernedly.
She shrugged, ready to say yes, of course I am—when suddenly the cool and the poise and the control all went flying away. She stood before him, her face crumpled, and the tears came.
“What is it, Carrie—” he began.
Roger came into the room holding a silver tray of tea. Bernard pushed the stroller in the butler’s direction and said, “Take the child downstairs.” Then he led Carrie to a chair and made her sit down.
“Why don’t you tell me all about it,” he said gravely. “Talking always helps, you know.”
As soon as Roger left she was sobbing out the whole story, no holds barred. And it did help. It was like a heavy burden being lifted from her shoulders. Bernard listened intently, fed her hot sweet tea, snapped at anyone who phoned, wiped her tears away with a soft linen handkerchief, and seemed truly concerned.
The light outside the study window faded, and dusk arrived. She was at the end now, telling about Leroy and Steven and Enzio Bonnatti. “I came to you,” she said simply, “because I know you’re a good man… and there is no one else…. But I understand if you can’t help us….” She felt so very tired as her words trailed off into nothingness. “Really I do. I understand….”
He said in a low firm voice, “I can help you, Carrie. I want to help you.”
“Thank you.” She grasped him by the hand. “Thank you… so much…. I just felt sure you would…. I just felt so sure…. ”
One year later to the day they were married. It was a simple ceremony at City Hall. Five-year-old Steven jumped around excitedly.
Bernard invented a new background for Carrie. It amused him. According to his story, she was an African princess whom he had met on safari in Kenya. It was amazing how many people believed this to be true.
The world of the theater was shocked. Bernard Dimes getting married! To a negress! And the rumors about her past… scandalous! But they couldn’t possibly be true, could they? Bernard certainly wasn’t saying.
Several tall elegant blondes swept around New York in a fury. They had all tried so hard for so long to land him. What did a black girl have that they didn’t?
So the two sets of stories about her circulated, and Bernard loved every minute of his friends’ and acquaintances’ confusion.
“I’m frightened,” Carrie said.
“Of what? The past? It’s behind you now. You have me to take care of you.”
She listened to her husband. He was a wise man. She could not believe how fortunate she was. He had taken her and Steven in a year previously without any fuss. Sent her to his beach house on Fire Island, where she had learned to enjoy solitude for the first time in her life. Every weekend he had arrived from the city with gifts for her and Steven, until gradually the child emerged from the shell he had retreated into and once more became a normal talkative little boy.
Sometimes she worried about Bonnatti. “Your connections with those people are over. They can’t touch you. They can’t hurt you. You’ve got to understand that,” Bernard assured her.
Slowly she began to believe him.
Bernard’s house was situated on Ocean Beach, which had a cosmopolitan community. The pace of life was right for her, and Steven adored it. He especially enjoyed Bernard’s weekly visit, and so did she. She found herself waiting breathlessly for the ferry to arrive late on Friday afternoon. She longed to see the tall distinguished man who treated her like a human being and showed her every kindness. He never approached her sexually. He slept in the guest bedroom and insisted that she and Steven share the main one. This delighted her at first, but eventually began to bother her. Had she been wrong? Didn’t he want her? Was it because of her past?
After six months she could bear it no longer. She went to him one night in a long filmy nightgown, her jet hair loose and flowing. He was asleep, snoring lightly.
She sat on the side of his bed and gently touched his face.
“What is it?” he asked, struggling to become fully awake.
It was ridiculous, but she was suddenly shy. “Don’t you want me, Bernard?” she whispered.
He sat up in bed and took her face in his hands. “Yes, I want you. I want to marry you.”
She was surprised and thrilled. And yet somehow she had known he would ask her. She felt that she wanted to give him the most pleasurable night of his life.
He was a restrained lover. Gentle, undemanding, fast.
It didn’t matter one little bit. She lay in his arms and shivered with ecstasy. As far as she was concerned, it was the most wonderful night of her life.
Now she was Mrs. Bernard Dimes. And at thirty-one years of age she could finally start her life.
Gino
1951
The Mirage opening was an extravagant affair. True to his word, The Boy produced a planeload of stars—and the stars produced extensive press coverage of the event. Exactly what The Boy had predicted.
The natural follow-up to this was excellent business, with people all over America clamoring for reservations.
Jake sat back and smiled. “I told y’ I was buildin’ a gold mine!” he boasted on the phone to Gino a few months after the opening. “The joint is burstin’ at the seams! We’re the only hotel doin’ capacity. What d’y’think of that?”
“I think that’s very good news,” Gino replied evenly. He had placed his men in key positions on the staff, and reports filtering back to New York were that the golden pot could be even fuller. Jake was definitely taking. What a dumb fuck he was.
“Whyn’t y’show a little enthusiasm,” Jake urged. “Jesus! I’ve worked my balls off on this goddamn hotel, an’ we’re all makin’ a friggin’ fortune. The syndicate should be proud of me.”
“Oh, they’re proud of you, all right. I’m sure they’re gettin’ ready to show their appreciation in a very special way.”
Jake was pleased. “Yeah?”
“Yeh.
” He hung up the phone and wondered at The Boy’s stupidity. So smart in some ways, and yet so dense in others. Unfortunately he would have to be made an example of. You didn’t steal from your own. Not if you wanted to live, you didn’t.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. It was Nanny Camden with Lucky. “She’s just going for her nap, Mr. Santangelo,” Nanny said.
He looked at his little baby and grinned. Only a few months old but the kid had style. “Hey, she looks better every day. Probably gonna be a movie star!”
“Yes, Mr. Santangelo,” Nanny said dryly. Every father she had ever worked for thought his daughter possessed special possibilities.
“Have a good nap, sweetheart,” he crooned. Nanny took the child from the room.
A few minutes later, Maria came rushing into the living room of their New York house, a little gift he had bought her because he didn’t care to winter in East Hampton, although she would have happily lived there all year round.
“Gino!” she exclaimed, looking like a blond fairy-tale princess in her high fur boots and fitted cloth coat trimmed with astrakhan. “I have wonderful news!”
Whenever she walked into a room he smiled. “What is it, sweetheart?” he inquired lazily.
Her cheeks were glowing from the crisp January day, and her beautiful blue eyes sparkled. “I’m pregnant again!” she announced triumphantly. “And this time I’ll have a boy! I promise!”
He was overwhelmed by the news. “You’re kidding!” He leaped up, kissed and hugged her. Her nose was cold, and she snuggled up against him like a puppy finding warmth and refuge.
“Isn’t it marvelous?” She sighed. “I’m so happy!”
He undid the buttons of her coat, slid his arms around her slender waist, and squeezed. “What’s all this about havin’ a boy? I don’t care what it is, boy—girl—twins.”
“You want a boy,” she teased. “All men want boys.”
He squeezed her harder. “Bullshit!”
“Not so tight, you’re hurting me.”
“I am?” He took his arms from around her waist and began to massage her breasts. “That better?”
“Gino! Not now.”
“Why not?”
“Because… anyone could walk in.”
She had a strong streak of prudery in her which he loved. “It’s our house,” he pointed out.
“I know.” She tried to squirm away from him. “But it’s daylight… and… everyone’s around.”
He tried not to laugh. “So I’ll lock the door.”
She looked at him shyly. “All right.”
He was surprised by her sudden acquiescence. They had been married exactly one year and two months, and she still excited the hell out of him. She had a natural enthusiasm for sex but a certain reluctance to let herself go. It was the most stimulating combination.
She still refused outright to have anything at all to do with oral sex, but he was bringing her around. He knew that when he got her to a certain point she would become totally and absolutely his. Slowly he started to undress her.
“Lock the door,” she whispered.
He did so quickly. Meanwhile she closed the heavy damask drapes and went to lie on the soft flowered couch.
He approached her gently, stroking her thighs, removing her clothes, making her take little gasps of pleasure.
She tried to take off her boots but he stopped her. “Keep ’em on, they look sexy.”
“Gino!”
Carefully he moved his hands over her flat supple stomach, marveling at the fact that another child was growing inside her. His child. He bent to kiss her belly, and gradually he moved down until he reached the silky golden bush. For a moment he thought she was going to let him progress further, but she reared away and pulled him up to kiss her on the mouth.
“Why not?” he mumbled. “It’s supposed t’be a celebration.”
“Not now,” she whispered, “not here.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, Gino! I don’t know.”
“You’d love it.”
“One day.”
“When?”
“Soon, I promise. Just give me time….”
“Sure.” He ripped off his clothes. “We got the rest of our lives, huh, sweetheart?” Then he was riding her beautiful body smoothly, bringing her to an orgasm that left her weak and exhausted.
“I love you,” she murmured.
“Yeh. An’ I love you too—you an’ Lucky an’ whatever you got wrigglin’ around inside you.” He held her for a while until the telephone interrupted their reverie. “Yeh?” he growled.
“Gino. This is Enzio. I want a meet.”
“Important?”
“Very.”
“Riccaddi’s.”
“Six o’clock?” “Y’got it.”
Enzio Bonnatti had his problems. Dealing in narcotics and prostitution, among other things, put him in a far more dangerous position than Gino. He had to struggle to keep his hold at the top, but keep it he did, eliminating enemies like so many flies on a hamburger. He favored violence as an answer to any problem. Gino disagreed with him about that. “There’s two ways to power,” he would say. “Blood and murder—which only brings more killings—or you can use your brains an’ make big dough, like me. That’s the guy who’s gonna stick around forever.”
Enzio would laugh. “Easy, my friend, if nobody gets in your way. But the fuckers always do.”
Enzio was right. They always did.
He sat at a table in Riccaddi’s, a strong-looking man, with a napkin tucked into his shirt collar and a full plate of Barbara’s delicious spaghetti bolognese before him.
Gino slid into a chair on the other side of the table.
“Ciao, Enzio.”
“Greetings, my friend.”
“Is Francesca well?”
“She is. And Maria?”
“Perfect. Got a bellyful again.”
“Congratulations. We toast the unborn one.”
He signaled for an extra glass, which he filled with rich red wine.
The two men clinked glasses solemnly. “Salute,” Enzio said, and added, “May you be blessed with a boy.”
Gino laughed. “What’s all this boy shit? I don’t care what it is!”
“I have two sons to take over when I go,” Enzio pointed out gravely. “You hafta think of such things.”
“Well, I ain’t goin’ anywhere for a long long time. Y’can lay odds on that.”
“Good. Then I suggest you take care of your friend in Vegas without waiting too much longer.”
“Yeh. I know, I know. Only I wanna be sure I have the right guy ready to step in an’ replace him. Runnin’ that whole Vegas setup ain’t as easy as it looks. There’s a lot of temptation, an’ I don’t want us to have t’go through the same exercise twice.”
Enzio twirled long strands of spaghetti around his fork and stuffed his mouth full. Dribbles of sauce landed on the napkin. “There’s a rumor, came to me today, that The Boy has sold his piece of the operation to Pinky Kassari in Philadelphia.”
Gino was incredulous. “Pinky Banana? I don’t believe it!”
“You better believe it. My source is very reliable.”
“Aw, come on, Enzio, I just spoke to Jake. He would’ve said somethin’—”
“He’s screwin’ around—an’ I don’t like it. I don’t like it one little bit.” Enzio twirled another forkful of spaghetti and crammed it into his mouth. “You want to deal with it or shall I?”
Gino was glowering. His mind was racing. The Boy had turned out to be nothing but a cheap two-bit hustler. And what about all the dough he, Gino, had put in Pippa Sanchez’s direction? Not so much as a word from her that The Boy even knew Pinky Banana, let alone that he was selling out his piece of the action to him. “I’ll get on a plane tonight,” he said tightly. “It’s my responsibility—I got the syndicate together. Don’t worry about a thing.”
“I ain’t worried, Gino. Like you, I’m just pissed off th
at this yiddish dogshit should think he can get away with it.”
“Yeh. But he ain’t gettin’ away with it.”
Enzio mopped his dish clean with a piece of sourdough bread. “That’s what I hoped you’d say.”
Plenty of time to think on the plane.
Plenty of time to work out the perfect plan of action.
Red and a new recruit known as Little Willie sat across the aisle playing a mean game of gin rummy and downing straight bourbon.
The Boy presented no problem, really, although Gino felt a certain regret that he would have to be got rid of. A shame. But it was the jerk’s own fault.
Pinky Banana might present a problem. It depended on the deal he had going with The Boy.
Pinky Banana. A slob with a gun. That’s how Gino remembered him. It was difficult to imagine him now being referred to as Mr. Kassari and running a mob. But he had made his mark in Philadelphia and was looked on as one of the top boys there. Boy. He must be forty-four now—they were the same age. Gino had only one thing to say to him: Take your money back, Pinky, and get the fuck out of our operation.
He checked into the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, Red and Little Willie in adjoining rooms. He still kept the rented house in Bel Air, but he had no desire to advertise his presence in Los Angeles. Better he should take The Boy by surprise.
While Red arranged for a private plane to fly them to Vegas, Gino phoned New York and spoke to Maria for well over half an hour. Her voice on the phone was soothing, for he was more than a little disturbed about what had to be arranged. “I’ll be back in a few days,” he assured her. “Get plenty of rest, drink a lot of milk, and take those vitamin pills the doc recommended when you was pregnant with Lucky.”
She laughed softly on the other end of the line. “Gino! You sound like someone’s mother!”
He was not amused. “I give y’ good advice, y’ sneer. What kind of a patient are you, anyway?”
“I’m not a patient,” she chided gently. “I’m a perfectly healthy expectant woman.”
“I love y’ when you’re all blown out an’ fat.”
“Gino! Goodbye.”
He got horny just talking to her. He took a cold shower, dressed carefully, and checked with Red on the arrangements.
Chances Page 42