by Taylor Hill
“But last night…”
“Fuggedabout last night!”
“I’m sorry Sal,” the stripper moaned.
“Fuggedabout it! Just give Lou his drink and get out of here! You ain’t seen nothing, a’capice?”
“Sure baby, a’capishe, like you say.”
“I ain’t your baby, I’m your boss, now get the hell out before I shove my boot up your ass.”
Candy hurried over to Lou and gave him his drink and he couldn’t help but check out her rack as she leaned over him to place the glass on the table. “Sorry Lou,” she said.
“Uh, no problem Candy. It’s cool.”
“Lou,” Sal grunted, “no, it’s not cool. Candy, get the hell out of here. You’re on your last warning.”
This time the stripper didn’t protest, rushing back to the door and whispering a solitary “sorry” as she stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind her.
“That fucking broad,” Sal sighed, throwing up his hands, “oof! Nearly banged her last night would you believe, till we got distracted by a phone call.”
“Hey,” Lou shrugged, “who could blame you. She might not be so smart, but Marone! What a body…”
“Yeah,” Sal nodded, “yeah that’s right, what a body. Listen Lou, there’s another thing I wanted to talk to you about. You and your sister are close with that old Morelli bastard right? The one who owns the café?”
“Gino?” Lou said, “sure, what about him?”
“Well that guy owes us some money—a lot of money. In fact that’s why we roughed him up like that in the first place…”
Lou smiled, slightly confused. “What? What are you talking about Sal? Gino fell down the stairs, he doesn’t owe you any money. He would have mentioned something like that…”
“You telling me my own business kid?”
Sal stubbed out his cigar and crossed his fingers together in an arch, leaning forward. “Sure,” he said, “I didn’t mean for it to be so bad—Ferret and Eyeball, those fucking kids, you know how they get—but still the rules is rules and if you don’t pay, well you still have to pay.”
Lou felt like he’d been sucker-punched in the gut, all the air had escaped from his lungs. Between his fingers, the untapped build-up of ash on the end of his cigar dropped to the floor. Just what was Sal saying here?
“Hey watch it, you mook!” Sal barked, eyeing the fallen ash before peering back at Lou, a little closer this time. “Listen,” he said, “I know you was close to the guy, right? Him and your father, they used to go way back, correct? But you know the rules. The old man had gambling debts and so he had to pay.”
“Sure,” Lou nodded, still trying to make sense of what he was hearing, “but what do you want me to do about it?”
“Well look,” Sal said, “I hear the guy’s getting out of the hospital soon, ok, and since you’ve done so well with our operations up there at CCU I’m going to do you this little favor, as a mark of respect.”
“What is it Sal?”
“First things first: the guy has to pay. That’s just the way it is, you know I’m in the right here.”
“Uh yeah,” Lou nodded, “sure Sal, sure.” He felt sick now, dizzy, like he might faint at any moment, just buckle right over and collapse on the filthy floor of Sal’s dingy little office.
“But I’m going to allow you to be the one who collects the payment,” Sal continued. “And you can go about that whatever way you want, just as long as you make sure the old man knows that if he don’t pay up then we’re coming back for him and this time those legs will never heal again, a’capice?”
“Yeah,” Lou said, “of course… and thanks Sal, this means a lot to me. I just can’t believe Gino was stupid enough to get himself in the red like that in the first place.”
“That’s for him and you to talk about,” Sal said. “I’m wiping my hands clean of the matter. Oh yeah, and Lou? Tell him it’s another five grand on the vig, since we had to wait so long.”
After that Sal sent him away again, the untouched ginger ale going stale in its glass on the desk and the cigar only half smoked, stubbed out in the ashtray. One of the hoods in the back had informed Sal that they were done with their business, talking about how the city would be hit with a fresh snow storm that night and how winter wasn’t over yet or some kind of shit like that, and then the Capo had told Lou to get the hell out of there, which was fine by Lou. He just couldn’t get his head around the news about Gino. How had he ever gotten mixed up with those guys?
Now Lou was going to have to figure out some way to keep Sal and his crew from messing the old man up for good. Gino wouldn’t survive if he had to go through an ordeal like that again. No chance.
Stepping back onto the street outside (it was colder now and the sky was beginning to darken), Lou opened his phone and went to dial Romeo’s number. He hadn’t seen the guy for days and was beginning to wonder just what the hell he’d been up to.
That night at the café had been like a fairytale; magical, enchanting, incredible—and totally at odds with the harsh realities of the real world. Sure, alone at the candlelit table, just me, him and a bottle of wine, it had seemed like everything was exactly how it should be and nothing could ever come between us, but the next day—in the bright rationality of morning—it was clear that nothing in our circumstances had changed and neither, for that matter, had Romeo Mancini. Yes, I knew a deeper side to him now, but it was still only one half of the entire complicated package and the other half was dangerous. The other side to Romeo (which was also, I had to admit to myself, the dominant side) was lawless and destructive and it had already set the man on a path that could only lead to heartbreak for anybody who cared about him. What did those guys say, that it only ends two ways: prison or a bullet? I didn’t think I had in me to withstand such a tragedy and I certainly wasn’t going to stick around knowing that it was inevitably out there in front of him somewhere, immutable on the horizons of his life. I’d had enough heartbreak in my own lifetime for that. No, I had to admit to myself that this particular fairytale just wasn’t meant to be.
Gino’s rose for mom was resting on the window, bobbing gently in an old glass jar that I’d filled with water, reminding me to take it up to her that day. I was supposed to be in class but it had been a while since I’d last visited her so, coupled with the late night I’d had, I reasoned that it would be ok to break the rules just this once and ditch my studies to go see her. (And speaking of the late night, in case you’re wondering… nothing happened. Just that one kiss, which was magical enough in itself, thank you very much).
I took a bus out to the edge of the city where the nursing home was, this time wrapping the stem of the rose in a napkin and placing it in my inside jacket pocket, no longer feeling much like drawing the attention of any curious onlookers wondering what romantic hijinks I might have been up to the night before. It wouldn’t be easy, but my better judgment dictated that this time the romance would have to be avoided. Probably indefinitely, as far as Romeo was concerned.
My mother was sitting in the large conservatory area facing the gardens when I found her and I walked down to her couch, sitting beside her as I placed my arm on her shoulder.
“Hey mom,” I smiled.
She turned to look at me and I was a little saddened by how much older she looked, even though it had only been a couple of weeks since my last visit. Every time I came out here she seemed older, the lines on her face a little deeper, the cogency in her eyes slightly duller.
“Who’s that?” she asked.
It was funny, as the disease took more and more of a hold over her throughout the years the Sicilian tinge in her accent had become more and more pronounced. When I was a little girl you would have thought she was as American as anybody else (and she practically was, having spent most of her life here. Both my parents had emigrated from Sicily at a young age, separately of course—only meeting each other later in the Orange Grove.) Now thoug
h, it was like all those years in between were slowly being wiped from existence. It was no wonder she didn’t recognize us.
It’s me, mom,” I said, “Sandy. Sandra.”
“Ah,” she smiled, nodding in what was a clear attempt at fake understanding. “Sandra, of course. How’s your father?”
I knew she didn’t mean my real father—she would ask for him later, surely—but still I winced.
“Look what I brought you,” I said, taking the rose from my pocket. “It’s from Gino.”
Her face lit up with recognition and my pleasure at seeing her joy was tinged with a sadness at the fact that she never responded to my name that way—though I knew in my heart that if her mind had remained intact she would have twice the glow now to think of me and Lou. It was almost a blessing that she didn’t know what it was that she’d lost.
“Gino?” she said, “why, that scoundrel! It’s beautiful. May I?”
I passed her the flower and she held it to her nose, taking pleasure in its gentle fragrance.
“He better watch out Luigi don’t see it, eh?” she chuckled, “he not be so happy!”
“No,” I said quietly, “though I’m sure he wouldn’t mind between friends.”
“Yes,” Mom nodded, “between friends. Do you know where he is my girl? Have you seen him?” She studied my face. “Have you seen my husband, Luigi?”
It was always the same. It was like she’d been stuck for eternity in some terrible loop, doomed to repeat the same solitary moment over and over again. She no longer recognized her children and she would be looking for her husband forever. I couldn’t end up like that, I refused to. How many families on the Orange Grove entered their twilight years in tragedy, I wondered? How many widows? It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right, and that was why I could not be with Romeo Mancini.
But you know, even though I really did feel that sentiment strongly, part of me still wanted to see him. I told myself that it would be for the best if I let him know where things stood between us as soon as possible—that if he cared for me anywhere near as much as I did for him, it would be wrong to let him go on thinking that there was any possibility of a serious relationship between us—but looking back now, I think that no matter what my mind was telling me to do, my heart just wanted to see him again and any excuse would have sufficed.
As I left the nursing home that afternoon I sent him a text, asking him if he’d like to meet me for a coffee. I’d never actually deliberately tried to arrange a meeting with Romeo before, but I presumed that it probably wouldn’t be a simple procedure. In fact the guy acted like so much of a mystery that Lisa had told me once that even Lou didn’t know where he was half the time.
Nonetheless, before I’d even reached the gates, my phone beeped with his return message.
“Hey Sandy, I’d love to but I’m downtown at the minute. Don’t suppose you can make it out here. If not maybe tomorrow – R.”
I had no idea what kind of business Romeo would have in the city that day (he certainly hadn’t mentioned anything the night before, but then again why would he? He knew how much I disapproved of his “work”), but the way I was feeling I was more than willing to make the trek out to join him. It wasn’t that far from the rest home anyway, though it would mean a longer and more convoluted journey back to my apartment afterward. Nonetheless it was what I wanted to do, especially because if Lisa and Lou’s night had gone well the evening before (and if it hadn’t then I would have heard about it by now) the apartment would be totally deserted and I didn’t feel much like being alone right then. It was possible, maybe even likely, that meeting with Romeo now would only result in more sadness over all, but I still had to see him. I guess the heart wants what the heart wants.
I took the L up to the corporate and financial district of the city which was, for who knows what crazy reason, where Romeo was working and said he had to stay close to that day. As I sat in the train, watching the buildings of the city move by me, I wondered just how far into the criminal underworld Romeo and Lou had gone—surely not so deep that they now had connections in the upper-income professional corners of the city? The thought of Lou teaming up with white collar criminals was too bizarre to even think about. What did they call that Enron movie, “The Smartest guys in the Room”? I thought of Romeo and Lou in pinstripe bankers’ suits constructing a financial conspiracy in the upper offices of some gleaming city skyscraper—Lou tapping a pie chart with a wooden pointer and Romeo standing grim-faced beside him—and laughed into the back of my hand. The idea was too preposterous.
Romeo had suggested we meet in a little French place at a busy street corner that was swarming with professionals on their way about their business and the clientele inside were much the same, jabbering into cellphones or talking loudly to their colleagues over strong espressos and buttery French pastries. At first I thought I’d arrived before him, until he called my name from a booth way down at the back of the place, beside the door to the kitchens. Jeez Romeo I thought, way to keep things on the down-low. If he was any more out of the way in this place he’d be all the way back outside again.
“Hey,” I waved, “you hiding from an ex-girlfriend or something?”
Romeo smiled, standing up as I joined him and sitting again as I did. “Not exactly.”
I was silent for a moment, unsure of how to broach the subject that I’d come there expressly to talk about. “You order yet?” I asked, deciding to avoid it for now and just enjoy being in his strong, masculine presence.
“No,” he said, “I was waiting for you.”
“Well here I am,” I said.
Romeo stared at me, his big brown eyes serious and searching. For the first time that day, I realized how tired he looked. “Listen,” he said, “would you do it? I’m not avoiding anybody exactly, but at the same time I’m not supposed to be seen here right now. It’s complicated.”
I rolled my eyes. At least such complications and subterfuge would no longer be my concern, I considered, but was that enough to make it truly worth it to do what I’d come there to do? To forbid myself from that which I really desired—the soft brush of his lips against my own again, the fresh taste of his kiss that had seemed the night before to banish all other worries and concerns from my mind completely. “Whatever,” I said, doing my best to hide my own inner turmoil, “Americano, right?”
“Yeah,” Romeo said, “black, unsweetened.”
I ordered the coffees and waited until they arrived, carrying them back to the table myself, reasoning that by the look of him Romeo would prefer not to deal with the waiters in person right now. What the hell was he even up to out here, I wondered?
“Thanks,” he said, taking a sip before setting his coffee cup down again on the table. He looked at me and sighed. “Listen, about last night…”
“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, I think—”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to see each other,” he said, cutting me off and causing the words to catch in my mouth.
No, I had not been expecting that, but for some reason I smiled right then, which was strange because I didn’t feel it in my heart, not at all. In fact, I felt the opposite, I felt stung—almost betrayed—by his words. “What?” I said.
“Sandy,” Romeo frowned, watching me intensely and reaching out to take my hand in his, “I really care about you, you know that, right?”
“Romeo…”
“But this isn’t the right thing for us. You and me, it wouldn’t be right. I could get called back to New York at any moment by my uncles and you—well, you need to stay away from guys who are involved in what I’m involved in. Period.”
I took my hand from his and giggled, the laughter sounding phony even to my own ears. All I wanted to do right then was reach out and grab him again, throw myself into his dominant embrace. It took everything I had just to keep the quaver from my voice when I spoke. “Romeo,” I said, “this may seem like I’m just say
ing this after that, but I came here to say the exact same thing to you.”
He stared at me and, for just a second, I thought I saw hurt in those deep, impossible eyes… and then the expression disappeared completely, reverting back to his standard unreadable composure. “You don’t say…” he said.
“Yes,” I smiled, “I care about you too Romeo, you’re a good guy and I wish to hell you’d get out of that gang stuff for your own sake, but it’s your life and I’m not going to try to change you to fit into mine. You are who you are and that’s ok. It’s fine.”
“Yeah,” Romeo nodded, definitely looking a little uncertain now, “yeah, exactly,” he said.
Had he meant those words himself, I wondered? Because somehow I couldn’t shake the sense that he desired me at the moment just as much as I longed for him and if that was so, was this really the right thing to do after all?
“I think we can still be friends,” I said, forcing myself to go on, “and as long as you’re still buddies with Lou—and as long as Lisa’s still going out with him—then I’m sure we’ll still see each other all the time.”
“Of course,” Romeo said, but he avoided my eyes as he said it, and I sensed that there was something he wasn’t telling me. If I’d known what he was really going through in his own life right then, I think I might have thrown myself at him—covered him in kisses if only to try to soothe the terrible danger he was under—but how could I have known?
“Everything’s ok with you and Lou, right?” I said.
“Sure,” Romeo answered, “of course. Why do you even ask?”
“I don’t know,” I shrugged, “but you remember the promise you made to me about him, right?”
He actually appeared to be almost in pain now and when he answered, he looked up and directly at me. “Yes,” he said. “I do.”