Skells

by F. P. Lione

  I stopped at the bakery on Hylan Boulevard in Grasmere to pick up the cake. My grandmother had ordered a full sheet cake with two fillings, half chocolate cannoli cream and half fresh strawberries. “Congratulations Tony and Michelle” was written in red gel, and blue and pink icing flowers decorated the four corners. Michele’s name was spelled wrong, and I wondered if Grandma spelled it wrong on purpose. There were also two trays of Italian cookies and fresh Italian bread.

  The American Legion hall was about two miles from the bakery, on Clove Road. It was a red brick building with the post number on it and a flagpole out front with the American flag and the black POW-MIA flag under it. There was a parking lot to the side, already half full.

  I spotted my cousin Paulie Two Toes outside, smoking a cigarette and talking on his cell phone. We call him Paulie Two Toes because he had a run-in with some fireworks on the Fourth of July when he was fourteen. He put an M-80 under his mother’s macaroni pot and stepped on the pot to hold it down, and he blew off all but two toes, hence the name. Actually, he’s my second cousin. His mother, Aunt Rose, is my father’s cousin and the side of the family Dad always tried to keep us away from. Paulie’s the oldest of three sons, a schmuck wannabe who got arrested last year for running numbers out of his city job. I guess he’s following in the footsteps of his uncle Henny, Aunt Rose’s brother, who’s also a bookie. He was dressed in a black silk turtleneck and gray pants. His black hair looked styled with cement, and I could see his pinky ring glinting in the sun while he moved his free hand around so he could talk.

  “How ya doing, Paulie?” I asked. He put the phone between his chin and shoulder and shook my hand. He held up his hand for me to wait. He finished his conversation, cursing out whoever was on the other end of the phone and telling them he couldn’t do anything about it, he had to be with his family today.

  “Women,” he shook his head. “I should just kill myself and get it over with.”

  “Who was that?” I asked, wondering if he was here alone.

  “My girlfriend,” he said and spit on the sidewalk.

  I wondered if his wife was already inside.

  “Here, gimme some of that, you’re gonna drop the cake,” he said, taking the cookies and the bread from me.

  “Thanks, Paulie,” I said, feeling the acid rise in my throat at the thought of Michele’s family and the guys from work seeing my relatives in action.

  “Hey Tony, I hear the wedding’s in November,” Paulie said as we walked up the front steps.

  “Yeah, the Saturday before Thanksgiving.”

  “That’s kinda soon.” He lowered his voice. “She in trouble?”

  “Paulie, it’s seven months from now. If she was pregnant, she’d be having the baby by then,” I said, wondering why everyone said that. It was so stupid—if I had to get married, why would I wait seven months to do it?

  The post had two floors. Upstairs was used for catering and I guess their meetings, and the downstairs was a full-service bar.

  Grandma was already there putting the tablecloths on the tables. She had eight tables set up, four on each side of the room, with room to dance in between. She was a scary sight in a red velour jumpsuit that showed off her potbelly, gold shoes, and tangerine hair.

  “Tony, put the cake in the fridge,” she said, pointing me toward the kitchen. She took the bread and cookies from Paulie, kissed his cheek, and set them up on the dais where the sternos were set up for the food.

  Denise was in the kitchen, putting foil trays into one of the ovens. She was wearing a sleeveless dark red dress and had her hair up in one of those complicated dos lacquered with hair spray. She looked nice, and I told her so.

  “Thanks.” She kissed my cheek. “I just hope everyone on our side doesn’t show up wearing red. Grandma told me she wore red so no one in Michele’s family could put the horns on her.”

  “Why does she think that?” I said, exasperated. “Half of them aren’t even Italian! She’s getting nuts in her old age.”

  “She was always nuts, but you—being the first grandchild and the apple of her eye—were never on the receiving end of it.” Denise smiled when she said it, but there was a bite there.

  “Are you sure she was always nuts?” I asked.

  “Absolutely. You’re only seeing it now because you’re marrying someone her and Dad don’t approve of, and that takes you out of the favorite slot and puts you on the ‘we barely tolerate you’ slot.” She smiled and said, “Welcome to my world.”

  “I’m gonna go help set up,” I said.

  Grandma had most of the work done. The room was decorated with white and silver streamers draped from the four ceiling fans to the corners. There were white tablecloths on each table with the birdbath centerpieces in the middle. Silver and white balloons were tied to the backs of the chairs, and the tables were scattered with silver matchbooks with silver wedding bells on them that said, “Tony and Michelle April 29, 2001.”

  A bartender behind the bar on the back wall was talking to one of the waitresses.

  Vinny was in the back of the room with Christie and my cousin Gino, who everyone calls Brother because he’s Paulie’s brother. They were setting up what I thought was the deejay equipment.

  “Hey, Brother,” I said, shaking his hand. “You playing deejay tonight?”

  “Yeah, and I brought my karaoke machine.” He had the screen so people could read the words and a fat binder full of songs.

  “Smile, bro,” Vinny said, pointing his video camera in my face.

  Great, an open bar, a karaoke machine, my family, and a video camera to capture it all on film.

  My mother came in carrying a tray and a shopping bag. The hostility she used to bring with her to family parties was gone, and instead she looked like she wanted to run out of there. She looked good, her hair was styled and tucked behind her ears. She was thinner now and dressed in a knee-length, dark blue dress that was tailored but wasn’t showy. Denise went over and kissed her, took the tray, and they disappeared into the kitchen together.

  Mike Ellis, who I’ve been best friends with since I went to St. Michael’s, came in with his girlfriend, Laura. I’ve only seen him a couple times since I quit drinking, and we haven’t had much to say to each other. I’m guessing my grandmother invited him. She’s probably hoping I’ll get nostalgic by seeing him, get smashed out of my mind, and dump Michele.

  “Hey, buddy!” He gave me a big smile as he walked over. “How come I have to hear from your grandmother you’re getting married? How you been?” He hugged me, and Laura kissed my cheek. She looked the same as she did last time I saw her, anorexic, streaked blond hair, long acrylic nails, and dressed in black. Mike looked bloated, and I noticed the lines around his eyes and mouth seemed more pronounced.

  “So where is she? I hear she’s got a kid,” he said, looking around. His eyes stalled on Denise as she came out of the kitchen. She stopped when she saw him, and I saw a look of disgust pass on her face before she looked away.

  “She’s not here yet, and his name is Stevie,” I said.

  “Who? Oh, the kid, yeah, can’t wait to meet him.” He smiled, and it looked like his lips were sticking to his teeth. “I guess this means you won’t be coming down the Shore anymore.”

  “I guess not. We’re getting too old for that, Mike. We’re those old people we always thought were losers ten years ago when we first started going down there,” I said.

  That’s the thing about the Jersey Shore. You go there with your parents as a kid and you’re scared of the older kids, who act like psychos. Then you go down after senior prom and become one of those psychos and make fun of the over-thirty crowd that never got married and still hangs out down the Shore.

  My father came in with Marie, looking like Robert DeNiro with arm candy. He was dressed in a black suit and crisp white shirt, his hair was slicked back, and either he got himself a suntan or his blood pressure was up.

  Marie was wearing half a dress, a black tacky thing with no back
to it and enough cleavage showing to make it look like a baby’s bottom was sitting on her chest. She had her hair longer now, ironed straight. She was heavy on the makeup, and someone who didn’t know her might say she was beautiful. I watched her eyes narrow when she spotted my mother coming out of the kitchen with Denise, then she plastered on a smile and looked adoringly up at my father. I walked over to say hello to my mother first, then said hello to my father and Marie.

  People were coming in all at once now. Fiore and Donna, Rooney and his wife, Connelly and his girlfriend, O’Brien, and McGovern and his wife all walked in at the same time. Michele, Stevie, her parents, and her grandparents were behind the guys from work, and I saw Aunt Rose wearing a flowered muumuu and a red rose in her hair.

  Michele was wearing a light pink suit with matching shoes and a pair of legs that made my mouth water.

  Stevie looked adorable. He was wearing a little suit and tie, and he had his hair spiked up.

  “Hey, buddy! Wow, you look sharp,” I said.

  “Yes, he does,” my mother said, smiling and walking toward us.

  “Grandma Mariryn, I have a surprise!” he singsonged. Grandma Mariryn?

  “What is it?” she played along.

  “Look!” He pushed his sleeve up and showed us a Bob the Builder watch.

  We all made a big deal over it, saying, “What a big boy” and “What time is it?” He was smiling like anything but couldn’t tell us what time it was.

  “And I have a surprise for you,” my mother said, holding a shopping bag behind her back.

  “What is it?” He sounded almost hysterical.

  “Let’s see,” she said as she handed him the bag.

  “Bob the Builder construction site!” He ripped it out of the bag. “Mom, look at it! Thank you, Grandma Mariryn.” He hugged her around the waist.

  “You’re welcome, honey.” She looked happy, and I felt guilty for thinking what rotten parents her and my father were. They were, but at least she was trying with Stevie.

  “Can I play with it?” Stevie asked, looking at Michele.

  “How about we play with it later if you get bored. We don’t want to lose any of the pieces,” my mother said. “I hope this is okay,” my mother said to Michele. “Maybe I should have asked you first.”

  “No, it’s fine. It was very thoughtful, thank you,” Michele said.

  My uncle Mickey, Gino and Paulie’s father, came in with his wife, Elena. I never understood what she saw in Uncle Mickey besides his ill-gotten money. When I was little I thought she was gorgeous, and even now she was nice looking. She had straight black hair and exotic-looking brown eyes, and she always smelled sexy. Her eyes lit up when she saw me, and she walked over, leaving Uncle Mickey talking to Aunt Rose.

  “Congratulations, handsome,” she said and kissed my cheek. “I hear you’re taking the plunge.”

  “Yeah, it’s about time,” I said.

  “Is this her?” She smiled at Michele.

  “This is her,” I said proudly.

  “Hi, I’m Michele,” Michele said to Elena, shaking her hand.

  “Michele, this is my aunt Elena.”

  “Nice to meet you, Michele. Congratulations, you snagged the best of the bunch.”

  “Yes I did,” Michele said, looking at me.

  Michele and I went to each table, shaking hands and kissing cheeks while I kept my eye on the crowd. The bar was busy and Gino was playing music, but so far no one was singing karaoke.

  I went over to Denise, who was standing near the kitchen by herself, staring at Marie and my father.

  “You okay there?” I asked.

  She nodded. “I tried to put Michele’s parents at the table—” she cut off as her eyes focused on something behind me. “Hi.” She smiled and tilted her head to the side.

  I turned around to see Romano staring at Denise. She was staring back and said, “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

  Said the spider to the fly.

  “Denise, right?” Romano asked, looking way too happy.

  “How do you know my sister?” I scowled at him.

  “She’s your sister?” He looked at me and then back at Denise and said, “No way.”

  “Yes, I really am his sister,” Denise said.

  “I never would have thought that, you’re so nice,” Romano said to her.

  “How do you know my sister, Nick?” I asked again. “Wednesday nights at the bowling alley.” He was still staring at Denise.

  New York might have millions of people, but in Staten Island, everybody knows everybody.

  “Nick! Your name is Nick. I’m sorry, I couldn’t remember it—I’m busy helping set up for the party,” Denise said, beaming. “The suit threw me. How’ve you been? Carla and I were wondering why you don’t come out anymore. I see your friends there, but we haven’t seen you.”

  “You have friends?” I asked Romano.

  “I’ve been working a lot,” Romano said while they both ignored me.

  “You’re a fireman, right?” she asked.

  “He’s a cop,” I snarled. “And he works with me.”

  “I’m going over to the fire department in two weeks,” Romano told her.

  “He has a kid, Denise,” I warned, hoping she’d remember that her last boyfriend had kids and dumped her to go back to their mother.

  “I know, she’s adorable. He showed us pictures. Oh! Your friend John got in a fight the other night—those guys from Sunnyside showed up again.” She rambled on while Romano looked starstruck. Great.

  “You’re sweet,” Michele said, kissing me. “Stop scowling at him. It’s not working, he knows you too well.”

  “This is not a good idea,” I said.

  “This is none of your business,” she said softly. “And you don’t know whether or not it’s a good idea.” She was smiling as she watched them.

  “Why are you smiling?”

  “Your father’s gonna hate him.” She shrugged when I looked at her. “Takes the pressure off us.”

  I made my way over to the table where Michele’s family was sitting. They looked out of place here, quiet, no talking with their hands. They had polite smiles on as they looked around the room at some of the bizarre outfits some of my family was dressed in.

  I saw Michele’s mother’s eyes lock on my uncle Mickey’s hairpiece, and I barked out a laugh.

  “Is that a toupee?” Vinny asked from behind me.

  I turned around to him. “Oh Vin, I didn’t see you there. This is Michele’s mother, Phyllis.” Vinny reached over to shake her hand. “This is my brother, Vinny. Vin, this is Lee, Michele’s father.” I went through the table with him and told him there’d be a quiz later.

  “Is Uncle Mickey’s hair real?” Vinny was asking, talking low so no one could hear.

  “You’re kidding, right Vin?” Uncle Mickey had the worst hairpiece I’d ever seen. It looked like a helmet, and a couple of times I wanted to ask him if it came with a chin strap.

  “It is, right?” Sometimes Vinny could be so naïve.

  “Yes, Vin, the hair that sticks out from under it is gray. I bet if you pulled it off his head and look under it, it says STARTER on it.”

  “Starter? Oh I get it, the sports equipment.”

  “Nothing gets past you, Vin,” I said and slapped him on the back.

  Little Gina, Uncle Mickey’s daughter, was making her way to the middle of the dance floor. “Come on, Brother,” she yelled to Gino. “I wanna dance.” There was a round of whoops from the crowd as Gino put on “Mambo Italiano.” Little Gina was bopping, shaking her ample hips along with the music. They called her Little Gina because she was the baby of the family, not because of her size. She had squeezed herself into a tight black dress that showed off the rose tattoo on her chest and the butterfly on her calf. Her hair was black but she had blond streaks in it, giving her a gothic look.

  Most of the tables emptied when they heard the song, and the dance floor got crowded all at once.

 
I walked over to the table where the guys from work were sitting. I had never met Rooney’s wife before and was curious to see what she was like. I was surprised at how she looked, considering he met and married her on a drinking binge at Hedonism in Jamaica. She was tall, with brown hair and blue eyes, pretty in a low-key kind of way. She was nursing a glass of white wine while Rooney drank beer.

  “Hi, I’m Jodi,” she said, reaching across to shake my hand. “I heard a lot about you.”

  “Really? I hope you didn’t believe any of it,” I said, smiling. “Michael likes you, he never says anything bad about you.” I wondered who Michael was and realized she was talking about Rooney.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you, Jodi. I heard a lot of nice things about you too,” I said.

  “What I think is amazing,” she continued, looking around the table, “is that for the first time since I’ve known Michael, I’m hearing about his job.” She seemed a little upset about it.

  “I’m sure he just doesn’t want to upset you with what goes on,” Donna said cautiously. “It took me a few years to get Joe to talk to me about it without having to pull teeth.”

  A lot of cops don’t talk about the job to their wives. Like I said, before I met Michele I never did either. I think out of our whole squad Fiore and I are the only ones who bring any of it home. We’re also the only ones in the squad who don’t drink—might be something to that.

  The food was coming out now in long silver trays. Denise and Romano were carrying the bread, rolls, and salad, and I went over to give them a hand and ask Romano what he thought he was doing.

  The waitresses were putting out pitchers of soda and water on the tables while trays of hot food were brought out of the kitchen. There was eggplant rollatini, chicken marsala with parslied potatoes, penne alla vodka, baked ziti, broccoli with garlic and oil, and Grandma’s meatballs.

  For the cold food there were trays of cold cuts, potato salad, grilled vegetables, and a cold antipasta.

  “I’d like everyone’s attention,” Gino said over the microphone. “Before we sit down to eat, my cousin Vinny here would like to make a toast for Tony and Michele.”