by Adam Pepper
At the front of the room was a large desk. Behind the white Formica table sat a woman with a telephone in one hand and a pen in the other. She didn’t look up. She wasn’t speaking but seemed to nod her head every few seconds as if the person on the other side of the phone could see her.
“Excuse me,” Nicole repeated. The woman held up one finger, but Nicole wasn’t satisfied. “Excuse me. We need help!”
The woman cradled the phone against her chest and finally looked up. “I will be right with you,” she said, her tone drawn out as if she was exhausted. In all fairness, I’m sure she was, but she could have sounded just a hair more sympathetic.
“There is a woman suffering here,” Nicole said. “Can we please get some help?”
The sounds of my mother’s agony pierced through the noisy, crowded room. I turned and looked at her. Mrs. Griffin was holding her like a baby, the two of them somehow squeezed into one chair as my mother could barely hold up her head.
In my life I’d always held my emotions in check. I’d been tested many, many times. But the chaos of the scene. The sounds of my mother’s cries, and the sheer callousness of the room was more than I could handle.
I found an empty seat next to a sneezing young Puerto Rican kid and sat down, buried my head in my hands, and just wept like a child.
Nicole finally got the attention of the nurse in front, and she was raising up quite a storm. A second nurse came over, and the voices increased in volume. All I could really hear was Nicole. She was something else. Her father had taught her one thing: how not to back down to anyone.
“Okay,” I heard a voice say, “Bring her inside.”
“Sean,” Nicole said.
I sniffled, wiped my eyes and composed myself, then quickly ran to the front.
“They are bringing your mother inside.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“She’s going to be okay.” Nicole pulled me close and hugged me.
We were hand in hand, Nicole squeezing, as we walked over to my mother. A nurse had wheeled over a wheelchair, and she and Mr. Griffin were helping my mother into it. Mom continued to moan as they lowered her, and then she screamed out as her butt made contact with the chair.
“I think you should wait here, son,” Mr. Griffin said.
“No, I want to go with her,” I said.
He stood in my way and said, “It’s best, son.”
“It’s okay, Sean,” Nicole said. “She’s going to be okay now.”
“I love you, Mom,” I called out as I watched the wheelchair roll up to a doorway and then disappear. I found the nearest empty chair and simply collapsed into it.
* *
Time slipped into a blur. I think I fell asleep, cockeyed and cramped on the hard plastic chair, my body leaning into the nearby wall. A couple hours passed. Nicole was there the entire time in the seat next to me. Every time I stirred from my pseudo-slumber and looked over, there she was, mustering up a smile of reassurance.
“It’s gonna be okay, Sean,” she said, several times.
I knew she didn’t really mean it. What did she know? She wasn’t a doctor. She didn’t know shit, other than where to get a great slice of pizza on Tremont Avenue. But that wasn’t what mattered. What did matter was she was there, next to me, sitting on that hard plastic seat in the crowded emergency room of Jacobi Hospital.
Nicole Torretta was there for me. It was more than a token gesture. It was a genuine expression of our blooming love. She was capable of more than just being the selfish brat everyone thought she was. She was my girlfriend. And if the situation wasn’t so shitty, I guess that knowledge would have felt really nice.
Mrs. Griffin sat on the other side of me, quietly reading a beat-up paperback with a handsome man on the cover. Mr. Griffin emerged from the doorway and walked to us. I shook off the fatigue and stood up. Nicole and Mrs. Griffin did as well.
Mr. Griffin motioned with his hands for us to relax. His walk was slow and deliberate with just a hint of a goofy bounce. When he reached us, Mrs. Griffin was the first to speak up.
“So? How is she?”
He fiddled with glasses and took a deep breath. “She’s resting comfortably. They gave her something to help with the pain.”
“Oh, thank heavens for that,” Mrs. Griffin said.
“But what’s wrong with her? What happened?” I asked.
Mr. Griffin shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He pushed the lenses back on his face and shrugged. “They don’t know yet, son. They just don’t know. She’ll undergo some tests in the morning. She’ll be staying here tonight.”
“Oh,” I said.
“They’ve admitted her to a room.”
“Can I see her?”
“I don’t know if you want to just now, son. She’s got a couple of roommates, and it’s pretty crowded in there. Anyway, she’s asleep now.”
“Oh.” I looked at Nicole, and she put her arm around me.
“The private rooms are too expensive. You know, I had a hard enough time getting her squared away.”
Without a steady job, my mother didn’t have any kind of insurance or anything. Not that she’d ever needed any before.
“How much does a private room cost?” I asked.
“Don’t worry about that. It’s a fortune. She’ll be okay. Your mom is tough.”
“Are you sure I can’t see her?”
Mrs. Griffin tugged at my shoulder, gently pulling me towards the door. “It’s best this way. I’m sure you can see her in the morning.”
Mr. Griffin grabbed my other shoulder. I didn’t exactly fight them, but they weren’t taking no for an answer either. They just sort of led me outside.
Once out in the air, Nicole and I slowly walked to her car. Mr. and Mrs. Griffin walked the other way.
“Goodnight, son,” Mr. Griffin called as he waved.
Mrs. Griffin added, “Your mom will be fine. You go home now and get some rest.”
We walked up to Nicole’s car. She put her hand out and said, “Do you have my keys? I think maybe I should drive.”
I pressed my hands against my pants and found the keys, then handed them to her. “Yeah. Okay.”
The ride home was much different from the ride out to the hospital. Nicole drove slowly. She stopped at every light and slowed for each stop sign. She turned on some music, and it played softly. We didn’t speak, but she looked over at me every chance she had to take her eyes off the road.
Finally, as we rode up Hollywood Avenue, she asked, “Are you okay, Sean?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t pretend you’re okay when I know you’re not.”
“I’m not pretending.”
“It’s okay to be scared. This was a scary day.”
“I know. Thanks.”
She parked the car, and we walked to the door. I found my keys and we walked inside. Without turning on a light, I walked straight up to my room. I didn’t look behind me, but I heard her following. I got to my room and exhaustion took over. I plunged down on my bed.
Nicole reached down and took off my sneakers. Then she undid my belt and slid down my pants.
“I can stay,” she said.
The offer was a good one. I wanted to say yes. I wanted to taste her and enjoy her, relieve the stress that built up from the never-ending day. But instead, I barely managed to say, “Thanks anyway,” before I passed out.
Chapter Thirteen
* * *
My phone rang several times, but I ignored it. I was just too exhausted. My body refused to move. But when I heard it ringing for the fourth or fifth time in an hour span, I came to my senses. It could have been news about my mother.
I jumped out of bed and grabbed the phone from my night table.
“Hello.”
“Shamrock. What’s up?” It was Vinny Macho.
“Not too much.”
“I’ve been calling you all morning, man.”
“Sorry. I had a long night.”
“
I heard, Shamrock. I’m really sorry to hear about your mother.”
“Thanks.” Then I thought for a moment and asked, “You heard about my mother?”
“Yeah. Yeah. That’s why I need to talk with you. I’ll be over in ten minutes.”
He wasn’t asking.
“Okay.”
I jumped in the shower; then I got dressed. My toast was popping out of the toaster, and my coffee was just starting to brew when my doorbell rang. With a butter knife, I slid some jelly across the toast. The bell rang repeatedly, so I stuffed the toast in my mouth while I walked to the door.
“Hey, Shamrock,” Vinny said as I opened the door. Scrubby Mike stood behind him.
I walked back to the kitchen, and he followed me as far as the living room. Scrubby stood in the doorway, not walking inside the house or closing the front door.
“Come on, kid. We need to go.”
“What’s the rush? I’m eating my breakfast. I just got up.”
“Take it to go. Come on.”
Again, he wasn’t asking. Vinny was usually pretty laid back, at least towards me. But when he said something, he expected to be obeyed.
I grabbed a mug and poured my coffee; then I walked to the coat closet and grabbed my leather jacket.
A bright white Camaro was double-parked and running in front of my house. Orange racing stripes zigzagged down the side of the two-door vehicle, and white smoke ran in a steady stream from two exhaust pipes that ran along each side of the car.
“Get in the back, Scrubby,” Vinny said.
“Aw, fuck, man,” Scrubby said.
“Just do it.”
Vinny walked around and got in. Scrubby opened the heavy passenger door, pushed back the beige leather front seat and slid into the back.
“I hate it back here.”
“Just shut up.”
I got in the passenger seat and closed the door. Vinny gassed the pedal and the car roared. He put it in gear and the car bucked; then the wheels let out a chirp as we took off.
I didn’t ask where we were going. Loud dance music blasted from bouncing oval speakers that were mounted on the doors, making conversation impossible anyway. We drove up to Tremont, and when Vinny turned left, heading east, I figured out our destination.
The Camaro stopped in front of the Cucina. The engine cut off, the music quieted, and for a moment all was silent, other than a ringing in my ears.
Scrubby leaned forward in the seat, pushing it into my back. Then he said, “Let’s go.”
Vinny opened his door, stepped out and lit a cigarette while I unlocked the door and tried to squeeze around the folded seat.
“Come on, man. Let me out.”
I wanted to tell Scrubby to fuck off, but instead, I pushed the seat towards him and quickly slid my body out of the car. As soon as I let off the seat, he thrust it forward and it banged into the dashboard.
“What the fuck is the matter with you?” Vinny said. “Can’t you get out of a car?”
“It’s fuckin’ tight back there, Vinny,” Scrubby Mike said while lighting up a smoke of his own.
Vinny grunted and turned towards the door. Scrubby eyeballed me as he sucked on his Marlboro Light. I followed Vinny. Vinny flicked his butt and walked inside the restaurant.
Vinny stepped up to the bar and ordered a Seven and Seven. Scrubby followed and ordered a beer.
Coming in from the back staircase, I saw Gucci Mike. He walked up to me and said, “Let’s go.”
“Okay,” I said and started to walk towards the steps.
Scrubby turned to follow, but Gucci Mike said gruffly, “Wait here.”
Scrubby threw up his arms and said, “Why?”
“Mario wants to speak to him.”
“Okay.” Scrubby sounded like a kid who’d been picked last on the playground.
We walked towards the back of the restaurant, and I was surprised to see Nicole, sitting by herself in a corner booth, reading a magazine while eating a slice of pizza. It was barely noon. She didn’t look up from her magazine as Gucci Mike and I walked past.
The stairway down to the private dining area was dark, and once downstairs, it didn’t get any brighter. The hallway opened into the dining room, and there was the room’s familiar dimness; just the light of Mario’s fake candlestick at the edge of his corner booth.
His back to the room, I could see Mario’s shoulder and the side of his head. His fat ass didn’t quite fit on the bench, and you could see the overflow of blubber sticking out. Gucci Mike led the way and stopped in front of the table. I slowly walked up, turned towards Don Mario and waited.
Mario took a gulp of red wine, then pushed the plate in front of him towards the center of the table.
“The calamari’s cold,” he said.
“You want I get you some fresh?” Gucci Mike asked.
“Nah. Just leave us.”
“Okay.”
Gucci Mike picked up the plate and walked out of the room. I stood, waiting.
Mario turned his neck slightly towards me but didn’t actually look at me as he said, “Sit down.” He gestured to the seat across from him.
I sat down.
Finally, Mario looked at me. His hands were clasped together on the table in front of him, and he stood still. It was like he had x-ray vision; I felt his eyes burning a hole right through me to see into my soul.
I tried not to stare back, but I didn’t want to look away either. Instead, I focused on his neck. It was safer than staring him in the eye.
Mario poured a glass of wine and pushed it towards me.
“Thank you, but I don’t drink.”
He snickered. “That’s right. I forgot.” He slid the glass back towards himself and poured the contents of the glass into his own wine glass. “You know, Shamrock, some people consider it an insult to turn down a drink.”
“No offense intended, sir.”
He nodded. “I know. That’s why I’m not insulted.”
“Good, sir. I assure you none is intended.”
“I’m very sorry to hear about your mother.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“She okay?”
“I’m not sure, sir. I’m going to check on her as soon as we finish here.”
“Good. That’s good. A good man always looks after his mother. That’s important.”
“Yes, sir.”
“My daughter seems to have taken a liking to you.”
“Yes, sir. I like her, too.”
“You like my daughter?”
“Yes, sir. Very much, sir.”
“Very much?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How much?”
“Very much. That is, I think the world of her. She is very special, your daughter. But of course, you know that already.”
“Yes. I do know that already. But do you?”
“Sir?”
“Do you know how special Nicole is?”
“I believe I do. Yes.”
“Nicole is accustomed to a certain lifestyle.”
“Yes. Of course she is.”
“I can’t have my daughter off with some peasant. Understand?”
“I think so, sir.”
“Nicole needs to be well taken care of. She needs the finest life has to offer. Can you provide those things for her?”
“I’ll do my best.”
Mario paused, then took another slug of wine. “You’ll do your best.”
“Yes, sir.”
He breathed heavily. “I believe you. That’s why I’ve decided to give you some more work. If you are going to provide for my daughter, you are going to have to earn more. Understand?”
“Yes, sir. Whatever it takes. I welcome the opportunity.”
“Good. And about your mother. I’m going to have Vinny give you some money for her care.”
“Sir. That isn’t necessary. I can take care of her.”
“No. I insist.”
“I can’t take charity, and I don’t want to owe shit to Vi
nny.”
“I understand. It won’t be charity. And it won’t be a loan. No juice. Just an advance on the money you are going to earn. And believe me, you will earn the money. Okay?”
This time, I paused, and for the first time looked Don Mario directly in the eyes. He stared back. Was it the glare of a lion, about to spring on a hapless gazelle? Or did he see Nicole as the gazelle, and me the lion, and himself as merely the protecting father?
I didn’t say a word, but I nodded in agreement.
“Great. Then it’s settled.” He leaned his head back and emptied the glass of wine.
“Daddy?” The voice was coming from the hallway. She called again, “Daddy? Are you in there?” It was higher in pitch than usual. She emerged from the entranceway and walked up to us. Her speech was practically baby talk as she asked, “What are you two up to in here?”
Don Mario turned to his daughter and said, “Me and Sean are just getting to know one another. Isn’t that right, Sean?”
“You bet.” Now it was Nicole who I couldn’t quite look in the eye.
She seemed to sense this as she spoke with a hint of tenseness, but her voice still had a kidlike tone. “Is he being nice to you?”
I looked towards Mario, then at Nicole and smiled. “Of course.” I stood up from the table and said, “I better get going.”
“Of course,” Mario said. “You’d better go check on your mother.”
“Oh, Sean. Let me drive you.”
“Sure.”
“Daddy, I’m going to take Sean to the hospital.”
“Okay.” As we started walking away, he added, “Sean. Don’t forget to check in with Vinny on your way out.”
“Okay.”
Nicole looked at me, but I looked straight ahead, pretending not to notice her interest. We walked up the steps, and as we passed the bar, I nodded to Vinny. Vinny put down his drink and started walking towards me.
“Go start the car,” I said to Nicole. “I’ll be right out.”
“What’s going on?”
“Please. Just go start the car.”
“Fine.” The cutesy voice was gone, and a cranky princess took its place, but she did as I asked.
Vinny offered his hand to shake it, and when I did, I felt a wad of bills in his hand.
“That’s for your mother. It should cover a week or two at that hospital.” As I pocketed the money Vinny continued, “And this is for you.” He handed me a slip of paper and a car key. “I need you to repo a car for me.”