“Loyalty helps you make the right decision every time,” I agreed.
“Exactly, Jon!”
“Is that one reason you’re excited about Maggie and Marco getting married?”
“Yeah, I guess. I didn’t think about it that way, but yeah. It’s a show of loyalty to the importance of our two families. It’ll tie ’em together with blood, with grandchildren. I’m real glad Marco and Maggie found each other. She’s almost too good for him,” he said with a sly smile. “Did you know I’m Michael’s godfather?”
“Maggie’s brother? No, I didn’t know that.”
“Yep, Michael was the first one to be born between Tony and me. Tony always seemed to be ahead of me.”
His comment illustrated how close Vespucci and Balducci were. As I questioned him, Balducci spoke at length about Marco’s time in Italy and his help in getting their business off the ground by working hard and making all the right political and business connections. But not once did Balducci mention the episode from Maggie’s teenage years between Marco and her that so enraged Vespucci. I had to assume it had been more than just a blip on their radar. My thoughts were brought back to Balducci as he explained that one of his happiest days was when Marco came home one day and said he’d run into Maggie.
I saw my opening, and figured I’d slip in, damn the consequences. “Did they pick up where they left off?”
Balducci fell silent, staring at me. For the first time in our interview, I saw a dark cloud cross his face, a look that said everything I needed to know if I questioned this man’s ability to do damage. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve gotten the impression that Maggie and Marco had a little something between them when they were teenagers,” I said, diplomatically.
Balducci considered my words. Finally, he said, “My son can be a bit impetuous. He doesn’t always know what’s good for him.” He paused, looking at his cigar for several moments. Then, he said, “I sent Marco over to Italy to become a man, to learn how to run a business. I figured if I threw him to the sharks, he would either learn how to swim or get eaten. But he also needed to learn the ways of the Old Country. Learn what it means to respect his elders, to respect the order of things. There are things you do and things you don’t do. Period. At twenty-one years old, my son didn’t understand that. He understands that now.”
I wondered how much of his decision to send Marco to Italy had been his and how much Vespucci’s, but I wasn’t about to ask that. I was as far out on the limb as I wanted to be and finished the interview soon after. When I said goodbye, he walked me to the door, a friendly look on his face.
“Jon, if you need anything else between now and the wedding, don’t hesitate to call. I’m excited because this wedding will connect our two families for life.”
I said I would call if I needed anything further. I walked down the steps into the affluent Bayside neighborhood, deciding to stroll past the houses before calling a cab to head back to Brooklyn. As my mind traced back over the interview, I tried to be objective, but I was having trouble. Why was I so concerned about what had happened between Maggie and Marco when they were younger? Did it matter now? Did it matter if Vespucci didn’t like his future son-in-law? Or vice versa? Why was I so hung up on the turmoil that I sensed was just under the surface?
As I dug down, I realized for the first time that my interest in the Vespuccis went well beyond what I’d been hired to write. In my line of work, it was almost impossible not to take sides, to form judgments of which I had to be hyperaware so they didn’t affect the outcome of the final product. Sometimes, I liked the bride more, sometimes the groom, and sometimes I didn’t like either. If I let my personal feelings interfere with my writing, it always got me in trouble. “The Internet Love Affair” and the Nickels clan were perfect examples. In the same vein, I worked hard at not getting attached to the players involved. Again, this was difficult to do, given the time I spent with my clients and the intimate discourse I shared with them. I became very good at presenting a welcoming persona while I kept my feelings at a safe, objective distance.
But the Vespuccis were getting under my skin, and in more ways than one. My feelings toward Vespucci’s career choice were ambivalent at best. The Mafia killed people. But so did the U.S. government. I decided as long as Vespucci didn’t hurt me, I didn’t care what he did for a living. Then there was Maggie. What were these feelings I had for her?
Not wanting to think about the answer to that question, I shifted mental gears, grabbing my PDA out of my pocket and checking the schedule for the next three days. I had several interviews with bit players, cousins on the Vespucci side, a couple of Maggie’s friends, and secondary family on the Balducci side. My final interview was scheduled with Vespucci the night before I left. But how far could I push him? Did I dare ask Vespucci directly if he liked his best friend’s son? Did I ask him how he felt about old man Balducci these days? Would I ask him what happened between Marco and him when Maggie was a teenager? Should I ask him if there was more to his hiring me than just the obvious? The thought of actually uttering these questions in Vespucci’s presence filled my gut with dread. I’d never have the courage to ask them. And what did it matter anyway? The Vespucci-Balducci story was a puzzle I didn’t need to figure out. All I had to do was write their love story, and then I could settle back down in Los Angeles, propose to Sara, and live happily ever after. Right?
The next few days went by quickly. My interviews with the extended family members were innocuous, providing little new information about Maggie and Marco. I didn’t see much of the nuclear Vespucci clan. Most of them were gone during the day when I was at the house, and many of my interviews with the extended family and friends were held over the dinner hour, so I didn’t get to eat with the Vespuccis. Nothing much of note happened until the morning of my last day in town when my interview with Vespucci was scheduled for that evening. I’d slept in, waking up late with a monster hangover. A couple of Maggie’s cousins asked me to meet them at a local bar the night before, and then they convinced me to do shots with them during the interview. The cousins were far more seasoned drinkers than I was. By the end of the night, I found myself stumbling into the Vespucci house, barely able to walk.
As I sat up in bed, my ears were ringing with a low hum, the outer edges of my head thumping. I had nothing on the slate until Vespucci’s interview in the evening, so I figured I’d try to sleep it off. I laid back down falling into a dreamless slumber until close to noon. By that point, my head was feeling better, though my body still felt ragged and off-kilter. I set my feet on the floor and inadvertently grabbed my head, realizing I was not nearly as recovered as I had hoped. I sat on the edge of the bed regretting my night. I knew there was a reason I didn’t like drinking. Slowly standing, I prepared to take steps down to the kitchen to eat. I wasn’t sure what was best for hangovers, but I figured an empty stomach didn’t help. I walked downstairs and noticed no one was home, so I found my way toward the kitchen. As I neared the hallway leading to Vespucci’s study, I heard voices. My stomach tightened, which didn’t help my hangover, and neither did the sound of Marco’s voice. Immediately recognizing that eavesdropping would not be viewed as positive, I turned back toward the stairs when Marco’s voice went up a notch, his words suddenly distinct.
“I don’t understand you, Tony. I’ve been putting up with this guy all month. He’s a civilian, and you’re letting him run around askin’ questions about us. I don’t like it.”
I froze. Throwing caution to the wind, I leaned forward, straining to hear all I could.
“Careful with your tone,” Vespucci admonished him. “I hired the guy because I knew my daughter would love the idea of having her own story. It’s romantic. You have a problem being romantic for my daughter?”
“Of course not. But I don’t like him. He’s trouble. I don’t like the way he looks at Maggie. Have you noticed? He’s got a thing for her.”
W
hat?
Vespucci’s low rumble responded, “You should expect that from most men. Maggie’s stunning. Is that the reason you came over here, to tell me that?”
“Dammit, Tony, you’re missing the point. This guy’s askin’ questions he doesn’t need to be askin’, and he’s talkin’ to people he don’t need to be talkin’ to.”
“Marco, unless you’ve got something to hide, I don’t see anything to worry about. He’s only asking questions about your and Maggie’s courtship and the upcoming marriage. That’s it.”
“Then why’s he going to visit Jim Mosconi?”
Marco’s question was met with silence. My heart was racing. How did he know I’d spoken to Mosconi?
So quietly I could barely hear him, Vespucci responded, “How do you know that?”
“I put a tail on him. That reporter is nosy. He doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone.”
For a moment, no one spoke. I’d heard enough. My feet were burning with the desire to get out of that hallway but Vespucci’s voice stopped me.
“Your concern is noted, but for now I want you to show Jon Fixx all the hospitality expected of us. He’s my guest. Understood?”
Several moments passed. “What about Mosconi?” Marco was not happy.
“What about Mosconi? He’s just a reporter. He’s no threat to us.”
I heard the scraping of a chair. My feet were moving. I’d definitely heard far more than enough. Realizing I didn’t have time to get back up the steps, I hopped back several feet, then began walking forward, putting my hand to my head as if in hangover pain, which didn’t take much acting on my part, my eyes directed at the floor. I slowly retraced my steps when I looked up to see Joey in my path, staring. His eyes revealed surprise, but his face showed nothing. We eyed each other, Marco’s visage suddenly appearing behind Joey’s in the hallway. Unlike Vespucci’s bodyguard, Marco was unable to hide his reaction, first surprise, and then anger at my presence in the hallway. “What are you doing here?” he growled.
I responded with a slight wince, raising my hand to my head. “Maggie’s cousins took me out drinking last night while we were doing the interviews,” I explained. “I just woke up. I was heading to the kitchen to see what I could find to help with the pounding.”
“Jon, that you?” Vespucci called from the study. “Come in here.”
Joey returned to the study ahead of me. I awkwardly turned sideways to pass Marco in the hallway and had to sidle past him with my back to the wall so as not to touch him. Vespucci sat behind his desk, his face like stone, revealing nothing. Joey stood to one side of the door behind me, as Vespucci made a quick motion with his hand, signaling for me to come closer. Marco followed suit, blocking the doorway. My heart was now pounding so hard against my chest I was sure they’d hear it, but I did my best to keep a calm face.
“I didn’t know you were home, Jon. I thought you were meeting Maggie in the city,” Vespucci said.
Through the haze of my hangover, I suddenly remembered saying something to Maggie the day before about meeting her in the afternoon. “Oh, right,” I answered. “Last night’s drinking put a hole in my memory.”
Vespucci studied my face. I remained as impassive as possible, doing my best to meet his gaze without faltering. I knew he was trying to read my thoughts, to gauge if I had caught any of their conversation, so I became a blank slate, not a difficult task at the moment with the thumping pushing on the edges of my skull. I had no idea what he was thinking, but I did my best to appear unafraid. I made the mistake of glancing at Marco, whose ugly scowl made me blink, then wince at the pain in my head. It took all of my willpower not to lift my hands to my head to allay the pounding. That would have been a sign of weakness, and I was unwilling to give that to Marco.
“I can’t meet with you tonight, Jon. I have some business I have to attend to.”
At this turn of events, I felt a mix of relief and consternation. Now, I would not have to ask my patron the difficult questions about Maggie and Marco. Now, I would not get the answers to the difficult questions I so badly wanted to know. Now, I would have to plan a third trip. Doing my best to seem unfazed, I responded, “I understand, Tony. But I won’t be able to finish the story without your input. You’re almost as important as the groom.” I looked over my shoulder, trying to make a friendly gesture toward Marco. I was met with a threatening glare. At that moment, I realized Vespucci’s good will was the only thing keeping me safe. I quickly turned back to Vespucci.
Vespucci smiled. “Of course, Jon. I’m sure we’ll have time to sit down before you have to write the finished product. Go take care of your hangover,” he directed me. “And don’t be embarrassed. You’re not the first man my nieces have put down for the count. Joey, can you show Jon what we’ve got in the kitchen to help a hangover, maybe one of your famous subs? Marco and I have some unfinished business to discuss.”
Joey led me out of the office and closed the door. I had to pass Marco as I left the room. I could tell Marco was furious, could feel his eyes on my back as I disappeared down the hallway. I followed Joey to the back of the house and into the kitchen. My heart was still racing from the close call, and I wasn’t sure if Vespucci knew I’d overheard them or not. If he did, I figured I’d know soon enough and there was nothing I could do about it now. I did my best to set my worry aside as I watched Joey pull the sub ingredients out of the fridge. Silently, I watched him throw together several professional looking submarine sandwiches and set them on the table. Then he grabbed three Cokes from the fridge, sat down at the table, and started eating.
Joey looked up from his plate. “They’re not gonna get up and walk over to you.”
I grabbed a sub, realizing as I did how hungry I was. My hangover was already receding.
“Thanks, Joey. It’s really good.”
Joey didn’t respond. A moment later, Vespucci stepped into the kitchen.
“Joey, you should have opened a sub shop,” Vespucci remarked.
“I agree,” I said, my mouth full.
Vespucci settled into his seat, popping his Coke open, taking the last sub.
After a few moments, the nervous energy still rolling through my system needing an outlet, I asked, “Marco’s not joining us?”
“Do you want him to join us?” Vespucci asked.
Surprise must have registered on my face. I was not sure why he had phrased the question that way.
Before I could think of an appropriate response, Vespucci said, “He had to go back to the factory. They’re working on a big job right now that needs a lot of babysitting.” Vespucci then shifted gears. “So you’ve met with enough people and gotten enough information that you must have an opinion now. What do you think of Marco and Maggie?”
Not sure what Vespucci wanted to hear, I immediately went to safe ground, answering with as innocuous a response as I could. “I think they’ll give you beautiful grandchildren, Tony.” Over the years, I’d learned the strong desire for grandchildren was a near universal among the parents of the bride and groom.
“That’s not what I mean, Jon. I want to know what you think about their relationship. You’ve been around a lot of engaged couples, right?”
“Yes, I have.” Joey was staring at me.
“Are they good for each other? That’s what I’m asking you.”
I felt the ground move beneath my feet. At this point, I wasn’t sure who intimidated me more, Vespucci or Marco. Before I could stop myself, I was looking over my shoulder to see if Marco was lurking in the hallway, if Vespucci was setting me up for a trap. Vespucci’s voice snapped my head back forward.
“Jon, as Maggie’s father, I have concerns about them and I want to put my concerns to rest. You’ve spent a lot of time with soon-to-be newlyweds and you must get a good idea of which couples are right for each other and which aren’t.” Vespucci paused. “I want to know what you t
hink. It won’t leave this table.”
I nodded, trying to gather my thoughts so I wouldn’t say anything I would regret later. “I haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary, if that’s what you’re asking. Maggie and Marco seem like most engaged couples before the wedding.”
“Do you think they’re in love?”
Of course they were in love. Wasn’t that why I was in New York? “Don’t you?”
Vespucci’s eyes never left my face. “Of course I do. But I’m not the expert. That’s why I hired you.” Abruptly pushing his chair back, Vespucci stood up. Joey followed suit. “I have to go. I’m glad you don’t see any issues.” The frown on his face indicated otherwise. He walked toward the hallway entrance, Joey one step behind.
I felt like I’d just angered Vespucci, though I wasn’t sure why. But I didn’t want them to leave without saying something. I tossed out, “Thanks for the sandwich, Joey.”
“Anytime.”
Vespucci stopped at the kitchen doorway, his voice nonchalant, and said, “Jon, you sure you didn’t hear us talking in the study?”
My heart skipped a beat, but I did my best to remain calm. “No. Did I miss something good?”
“Not really. But if you had heard anything, we’d have to kill you.”
With his finger pointing at me like little kids do, Joey took aim and fired, a deep “boom” escaping from his mouth. I jumped up in my seat, embarrassed and frightened at the same time.
Vespucci chuckled. “Just kidding, Jon.” He turned to go, and then suddenly stopped, as if the thought had just occurred to him. “Jon, why do you think my future son-in law dislikes you so much?”
“He doesn’t like me?” I asked weakly.
In response, Vespucci stared at me for several moments, then disappeared down the hallway, Joey in step behind him. I realized I was holding my breath. I exhaled, wondering what the hell had just happened. I wasn’t sure if his questions about Maggie and Marco indicated simple fatherly concern for his daughter’s happiness, or something more. Why did he tell me Marco didn’t like me? Did he know I’d overheard them? Was he playing Marco and me off each other? Glancing at the clock, I decided to make an unplanned visit.
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