"Do you care?"
"Yes, I care. You may be able to live with it, but I can't."
"You tell me how you're going to live at all because right now we've got nothing. You're the one who needs cash to start up in Rome, you! Well, you'll have it."
"Have you no morals?"
"Don't give me morals. Whoever buys the company will do what they like. What do you think the Corleones would do, export Italian candy? Grow up, Sophia, just grow up."
Rosa tapped her mother's knee. "Why Barzini? Why did you choose him?"
Teresa shrugged. Sophia lit a cigarette and opened the electrically operated window. "I've got a damned good idea. . . .Teresa pursed her lips. "He was the first in the U.S. to make an offer after Papa's death. Barzini is a front man; he doesn't act on his own but is used by various families as a negotiator."
Sophia flicked the ash from her cigarette. "I read Barzini's original offer; it was an insult. We can't sell to him; it's against everything Papa fought for; it would be sickening."
Teresa said coldly, "We'll need your signature. Are you saying you won't give it?"
Sophia gave her a disgusted look and stubbed out her cigarette. "Yes, I guess that is exactly what I am saying. There's got to be some legitimate trader who'll give us a fair price."
"And what straight guy is going to want to put a cent in a company with our connections?"
Luka had said not a word. Now he stared at Sophia through the driving mirror and said, "Teresa is right, and remember, you will need Barzini's protection. You cannot start looking around for other buyers, not now. It's too late."
The rest of the journey passed in sullen silence.
Graziella insisted on preparing dinner and nearly blew up the small kitchen because she didn't know how to light the gas stove. She clattered around as she cooked up a huge pot of spaghetti.
Luka arrived, almost hidden behind a bouquet of roses. Graziella took them in her arms, laughing delightedly. He had also brought wine, mozzarella cheese, and fresh-baked bread. He was drawn into the kitchen to taste the spaghetti sauce.
Sophia could hear Rosa calling her. Teresa tapped on the bedroom door and entered.
"Are you coming to eat?"
"I'm not hungry."
Teresa closed the door and sat on the edge of Sophia's bed. "If you want out, that's your business, and we'll see if we can somehow raise enough for you to return to Rome and start up again."
"With what? I have no designs, I don't even have a workroom, and I used every last cent to pay off Mama's fine at the court. I'm broke, Teresa, but I still can't agree with what you're doing."
Teresa sighed and looked at Sophia seriously. "Do you want a word of advice? If I were you, I wouldn't go back into the fashion mainstream. I'd use more off-the-rack designs, you know, chain-store things. That's where the dough is."
"You know about a lot of things, Teresa, but don't tell me how to run my business."
"Maybe someone should have told you a long time ago. Then you wouldn't have bankrupted yourself. Those silk things, you know? Those swathed tops were lovely, but who can afford five thousand dollars for them? Your market's too small."
Sophia lit a cigarette. "A lot of women can, Teresa. I used to, and the women I want to sell to spend sixty thousand dollars in one season, and that's not accessories, that's just dresses."
Teresa's mouth turned down at the corners, and she snapped, "So don't fuck up our chances of wearing them. If
Barzini arranges a buyer, we accept it and start living. You won't stop me, stop any of us, is that clear?"
Sophia remained silent during the noisy dinner. Graziella had cooked enough for twenty, and she watched and listened.
Just as Rosa was about to clear the table, Graziella askec her to remain seated. "So, Johnny, what do you think aboui this Barzini deal?"
Luka hesitated, then said quietly, "The deal was discussed in Palermo. Now you change your minds. You are safe for the moment, but if you start shopping around, you could be in very dangerous position because it will get back to Sicily. They will know that there is no deal. Take Barzini's offer."
Graziella nodded and turned to Teresa. "So, what do you think? If the price is good enough, what then?"
Teresa was tight-lipped with frustration. "Exactly what we agreed before we came back: We accept it, get out, and cut our losses."
Graziella now looked at Sophia. "But Sophia does not agree. So now you, Rosa. What do you think?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know. ... So we have two against, one for and one don't know."
"There's Johnny's vote, if that's what you're taking. He in for a cut, too."
Graziella nodded. "Since his signature is not required on the documents, I don't think we need to know right now."
Teresa sighed. "So you're against it, too, are you, Mama!
Graziella pursed her lips. "You are right about certain thing the difficulty of finding a legitimate buyer, for one. Then there is the time factor; it is imperative we move fast. So we are left with the question, Do we let Barzini arrange a buyout by whoever he represents, or do we refuse because of our moral obligation to Don Roberto?"
Teresa had heard enough. She pushed her chair back, but Graziella slapped the table with such force that the plates jumped Sit down, sit down. . . . Give me the courtesy of at least listening to what I have to say."
"I was just going to put some coffee on."
"The coffee, Teresa, can wait. What we are discussing ht cannot, and without my signature and Sophia's you can't sell.
I would rather die than let this man use our name; I would prefer to see everything wiped out."
Teresa was about to interrupt again, but Sophia touched her hand. "Go on, Mama, finish what you have to say."
Graziella continued. "Let us suppose we sell to whoever Barzini brings into the deal; we sell, take our money, your inheritance, and you are free. If the companies are then used by narcotics traders, what would the drug enforcement agencies need? What information would enable them to arrest and charge these so-called importers? Not in small swoops, but with a net that could draw the big fishes as well as the little ones? We could give them the information to set up the trap."
Sophia leaned back and lit a cigarette while Teresa and Rosa carried the plates into the kitchen and whispered to each other.
Teresa returned with coffee. Putting the cups down, she asked no one in particular how risky it would be if it were ever discovered.
Sophia poured the coffee and passed a cup to Luka. "Well, Signor Moreno, since you are getting a cut, why don't you tell us? Better still, save all our skins by offering to give the information to the police."
"All right, if you want me to."
Sophia gave a soft laugh. "I was joking."
"I wasn't. I could see that the right people received whatever information you wanted to give."
Again Sophia laughed. "My God, I think he's really serious."
Luka flushed pink. He couldn't cope with her banter. "At least none of you would be at risk."
"Thank you, Johnny, I appreciate that. We all appreciate your offer, but until we decide what we are going to do, our acceptance would be premature."
Graziella smiled warmly at him, but he looked yet again at Sophia. She was turning her gold cigarette lighter over and over on the cloth, in deep thought. He could see the sweep of her dark eyelashes, so long they seemed to rest on her cheek.
"Okay, anyone want to disagree with Mama's suggestion?" asked Teresa. Nobody did. Teresa drained her coffee cup and rose. "Fine, then it's agreed. If Barzini comes up with a good
enough deal, we accept, we do whatever Mama wants."
She walked out, and they all decided it was time for bed. Rosa had hoped to sit alone with Luka and was disappointed when he followed Sophia into the hall.
"I have something for you," he said.
Sophia opened her bedroom door awkwardly; she was carrying her coffee cup, and he held the door for her. There
was a small suitcase, closed, on her bed.
"What is it?"
"Something you wanted. Good night."
He closed the door behind him, and she looked at the case, puzzled. She put her cup down and opened it to discover books of Nino Fabio's drawings, loose sheets of his designs, hundreds of them.
Teresa was finishing washing the dishes while Rosa dried the cutlery.
"Where's Johnny?" Sophia called from the hall.
Rosa dried her hands, her face tight with anger. "He's left. He's gone."
The telephone rang, and Teresa froze. "This could be Barzini." She hurried into the small room she used as a study.
Sophia had gone back to her room, where the drawings were spread out on her bed. She was sure she had an entire season there, maybe more. She searched her handbag for her address book, then picked up the telephone.
Teresa was still on the phone in the study, and just as Sophia was about to hang up, she heard a man's voice saying, "That is an awful lot of money, Signora Luciano. I don't know if my friends would be prepared to go to that."
Teresa's voice was clearly audible: "In that case, Mr. Barzini, am I to assume that you are no longer interested?"
"I will have to discuss it further."
"You won't take long? I think I mentioned our financial situation."
"Gimme a few hours, maybe less."
Sophia walked straight into the study without knocking. Teresa put the phone down and looked up with a tiny smile.
"I hope to God you know what you're doing," Sophia said.
"I do. . . . Was that you on the extension?"
"Yes, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to listen in, but I was about to call Rome. Johnny just presented me with a suitcase full of Nino Fabio designs. It's sort of crazy—"
Teresa looked puzzled. "How come? I thought that was what you wanted."
"Because before we left Rome, Nino flatly refused to let me have even one design, and now I've got a suitcaseful. It just doesn't make sense. I mean, how the hell did he get them?"
Teresa agreed that Sophia should call and find out and handed her the telephone. "But don't tie up the phone for too long, in case Barzini tries to get in touch again."
Teresa went into the kitchen. Everything had been put away, and she smiled her thanks to Rosa. She looked at her watch.
"I'm waiting for Barzini to call. Sophia's on the phone to Nino Fabio; apparently Johnny's given her all his designs." She listened and was relieved to hear the extension ping.
Teresa returned to the study just as Sophia was coming out. "Did you call Nino?" But before Sophia could reply, the telephone rang. Teresa snatched it up, then composed herself before she spoke.
"Yes, speaking. . . . Oh, yes. . . . Yes, everything." She looked at Sophia and gave her a thumbs-up, then continued. "Thank you very much, I can't tell you how we appreciate this. . . . Yes, thank you. ..." She let the phone drop, then clapped her hands. "We did it. Barzini has agreed! Rosa! Rosa!"
"How much? How much, Teresa? How much}"
"Wait, wait, Mama, Rosa, come in here1."
Rosa appeared with Graziella just behind her. Teresa was half laughing and half crying. "We did it! Barzini has agreed to pay us fifteen million dollars. What a Christmas!"
Rosa hugged her mother and cheered. Graziella beamed and turned to Sophia. "Good news! Now we celebrate, right? We did it good."
Sophia gave a small smile. "Yes, Mama . . . Why don't go buy some champagne?"
She left the room and paused at the small table in the hall where Luka had left a note of his address. "You want me to come, too, Aunt Sophia?"
"No, Rosa. I won't be long."
Sophia hurried out, and Rosa went to the table. The note was gone. Graziella patted her shoulder as she passed, heading toward her bedroom. "Rosa, help your mama with the contracts; we've got to sign each one."
"Grandma, did you take Johnny's address from the hall table?"
"No. . . . Did you hear me say to help your mama?"
Rosa walked into the study. "Mama, did you take Johnny's address from the hall stand?"
"No. I'm going to need your signature, Rosa, and Ma-
? »
mas—
Rosa tapped on Graziella's door and peeked around the door. "I think Sophia's gone to see Johnny. She said she was going to get some champagne, but she's gone to see Johnny."
"Maybe she's gone to tell him the good news."
Rosa shrugged and muttered something about Sophia's getting a bottle of champagne.
"I think celebrations are a little premature."
Graziella watched her granddaughter wander around the room, then sit at the small dressing table. She began picking up brushes and combs and replacing them; then she pulled her hair back from her face and coiled it into a bun like Sophia's. She pursed her lips, watching her reflection in the mirror.
"Sophia's very beautiful, isn't she?"
"Yes . . . You know, when I first saw her, she was a few years younger than you, and so thin, her little face so pinched—"
"I like Johnny, Grandma."
"I think we all do; he's a nice boy, hard worker. That's just what he is, though, Rosa, a worker, understand me? When the day comes for you to find someone, he must be worthy of you because you are all we have left, Rosa. Through you the Luciano line will continue; only you can produce a Luciano family, children. That is the most important thing in the world, children, a son. . . . When the time is right, we will return to Sicily and find you a husband, so don't get ideas about Johnny. Stop them right now."
Rosa leaned over the bed and kissed Graziella's cheek. "Yes, Grandma . . . Good night."
She had no intention of obeying her grandmother. When
she got her share of the money, she could do what she wanted; she would be free.
Sophia paid off the cab and wished she had asked the driver to wait. The rooming house was in a rundown area, just a row of bells by the side of a paint-peeled door. Many of the bells were smashed, and garbage bags and broken bottles littered the steps. She pressed the button for room 18 and waited. She pressed again and heard Johnny's distorted voice asking who was there.
"Just let me in."
The buzzer went two or three times before the lock sprang back. Inside, the dark lobby stank of stale, rotting food and urine. Only one naked bulb lit the stairwell. Sophia began to walk up the dark wooden steps.
By the time she reached the third-floor landing he was waiting for her, smiling his delight. He swung the door to his room open wide, then looked at her in concern.
"Is there a problem? Everything all right?"
She brushed past him. "How did you get those drawings? You'd better tell me."
"Does it matter?"
"Yes, it matters. Don't tell me he just gave them to you because I know he wouldn't. . . . He's dead, he's dead!"
"How do you know?"
"I called his workrooms, I called him, that's why."
"Do you want to sit down?"
"No, I just want you to tell me the truth."
"I also got you this. He signed it, just in case there should be any trouble."
She snatched the single sheet of paper from his hand. "What did you do, Johnny? Tell me!"
He skirted the room with its naked, dim light bulb and single bed, as if cowering from her. Eventually he stood with his back to her, looking out of the grimy window over the fire escape. "I thought you wanted the drawings. I thought that was what you wanted."
The neon lights of a hotel sign outside lit his frame with an eerie, bluish light, off, on, off, on. . . . One moment she could see him clearly; the next he was in shadow. She sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her hand over the rough gray
blanket. "I don't believe this is real. I don't think I am here—"
"It's a dump of a room," he said softly.
"I need a glass of water."
He left the room, and she remained sitting on the bed, patting the blanket. Her head was throbbing. She stared around blank
ly. His clothes, everything belonging to him were neat and tidy.
He returned, carefully carrying a paper cup. She coughed, and he went to take her hand. She drew away from him.
"Please don't touch me . . . Don't ..."
He seemed hurt. He lowered his head, pouting.
"Stop playing games, Johnny. Drop your little-boy-lost act. Look at me. . . . Look at me, Johnny, because I want the truth."
He lifted his head. His body swayed slightly, and he suddenly appeared to be very young, younger than his twenty-six years. When he spoke, she could hardly hear him.
"Sophia, don't be nasty to me." His eyes pleaded with her like a bewildered child.
"Did you kill him?"
"Yes."
She tried to put the paper cup down on the bedside table, and it toppled over. The next moment Luka was kneeling at her feet, both arms wrapped around her legs.
She protested, "Please don't do this. Please don't."
He pressed his face against her thighs and shuddered. His arms tightened around her.
"I did it for you, to prove that I was important. When I saw you go off with that man, I had to do something to prove to you. . . . I did it for you."
Sophia eased herself away from him, and he sat back on his heels.
"Do you have anything to drink?" Her tongue felt swollen, and she couldn't swallow.
He leaped up and hurried to the door. "I'll get you some more water."
The moment he moved away she stood up. "No, no, I'll be all right. I have to go. They're waiting for me. ... I said I going out for champagne. . . . Barzini called Teresa; he's offered a lot of money. Please stay away from me, don't come near me!"
"Shussssh, someone could hear you." He opened the door a fraction and looked out, then closed it and locked it. "What are you going to do?"
"It doesn't matter what I am going to do."
"Yes, it matters. I did it for you."
She felt her anger rising. "What do you think I can do with the designs now? Do you think I could even contemplate using them after I know what you've done? Don't say it, don't dare say it again. I never asked you to do anything for me—"
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