by F. P. Lione
The night was pretty slow. Fiore and I spent most of our time in the parking lot on 37th Street reading the Bible in between jobs. I started stepping out of the car to smoke; Fiore seemed to sneeze from it. We drank coffee and talked about how things were going for me.
“How do you feel now?” Fiore asked.
“I feel better. A little shaky, but okay,” I said.
“Are you sure?”
I nodded. “I’m sure.”
The most exciting thing we had was a stabbing on 34th Street. It wound up being a drunk and disorderly with a stab wound in the subway. Since it happened in the subway, Transit handled it.
We ate our sandwiches during our meal, sleeping for a half hour afterward. Rooney ignored me in the locker room in the morning, mumbling under his breath as he walked past me. I had calmed down and was sorry I fought with him. I really liked him, and I let him down by not coming to the game. I could never tell him why I didn’t go to the game—he wouldn’t understand.
I finished changing and gave Fiore my gun again. The morning was cool and sunny as we walked over to where I’d parked my truck. There was no traffic on the West Side, a lane was closed in the tunnel but cars were moving steady. We got to my place in twenty-eight minutes—or at least to Montey’s. Potato, egg, and peppers were on the menu, and Fiore loved it so much I had to go back and get him another one.
Fiore the drill sergeant had me walk the eight miles again. To give him credit, he walked it with me without complaint. We finished earlier this time, by 11:30. We sat on one of the benches, eating our hot dogs, and slowed our pace after that. I wasn’t as exhausted as I was last time, just a good tired.
“Maybe you should walk this over the weekend,” Fiore said, breaking into my thoughts.
“I was just thinking the same thing,” I said. “Trying to think of what will keep me busy over the weekend. It’ll be me and all the old ladies taking their daily stroll.” I chuckled. “I should probably try to start jogging.”
“Make a list,” he said. “Wash your car, walk this every day, avoid your friends or any family you would drink with. Drive out to my house if you want.”
I wouldn’t do that; I had imposed on him enough already. Maybe I would go to the movies, cut the grass—I’d think of something.
We got back to my house by 12:15. Fiore slept in my room again, and I took Denise’s room. I woke up at 7:00, before the alarm that I had set for 7:30. I brushed my teeth and went downstairs. Denise was sitting on the couch watching TV with the sound muted.
“Tony, what’s up?” she asked. “Why is your partner here again? Why didn’t you come home yesterday?”
I decided to be at least semi-honest with her. “I stopped drinking. He’s just trying to give me a hand with it.”
“Really? No drinking at all?” She looked shocked.
“Nope.” I shook my head.
“Ever again?” she asked.
“I don’t know, but this is my third day and I’m glad.”
“Is it hard?”
“Not as hard as I thought,” I said honestly.
When she saw that Fiore was here again, she had picked up steaks and potatoes. We put the potatoes on the grill in foil as Denise marinated eggplant and zucchini to grill with the steak. I woke Fiore up at 8:00, and we ate with Denise out on the deck.
“Grandma wants us to come for dinner on Saturday to celebrate Vinny’s engagement,” she said between bites.
“Who’s going?” I asked.
“The usual suspects, minus Mom, of course.”
I didn’t know what to say. If I went, there would be booze there and my family—not the combination for staying sober. On the other hand, if I didn’t show up it would cause an uproar. Not going to the engagement dinner for my brother, who I was the best man for, would be a definite no-no.
“We’ll see,” I said.
“Tony, you have to go,” she said, her voice rising. “Vinny will bug if you don’t. I’ll bug if you don’t. You can’t leave me alone with Marie.”
Fiore didn’t say a word through the exchange, just continued to eat. When we were on the Verrazano Bridge, heading into work, he brought it up.
“Do you have to go?” he asked. He was Italian—he knew about the family etiquette.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Is it hard not to drink at family gatherings?”
“It’s hard not to drink before family gatherings,” I said.
He chuckled. “Don’t stay long. Don’t get sucked into the strife.”
“That’s easier said than done,” I said.
“I’m sure it is.”
“Everyone is going to give a toast. I’ll have to give a toast.”
“Just lift your glass. You don’t have to drink it,” he said.
Until I decided to stop drinking, I had never realized how much booze played a part in my life. When we got to the precinct I found out I had won a basket of cheer on a raffle I didn’t remember buying a ticket for. It was from Garcia’s kid’s school, and the basket sat on the desk filled with every liquor imaginable. I laughed when I saw it. Fiore laughed too. I picked up the basket and brought it down to the locker room and put it in front of Mike Rooney’s locker. He came up behind me as I went to walk away.
“What’s this?” he asked, stone-faced.
“A peace offering.” I held out my hand. “I’m sorry about the game.”
“Why can’t you tell me what happened?” he asked, looking hurt.
“Mike, it’s got nothing to do with you,” I said honestly.
“Why haven’t you been in the bar?”
“I really don’t want to talk about it.”
He hesitated then shook my hand. “I don’t know why you can’t tell me, but you know where to find me if you want to talk,” he said.
I was glad he wasn’t mad anymore. I liked Rooney.
I was anxious about the weekend, especially the party. I wrestled with the thought of going back to Fiore’s house, but it was time to face myself alone. I decided to wash my truck, cut the grass, do the laundry and—if it got bad enough—go to the movies. I’d let everyone wonder who the weirdo was sitting in the back of the theater alone.
Friday nights were usually busy, and this was no exception. We had a 10–11 (alarm) and a possible 31 (burglary in progress) on West 30th. Holmes was on the scene, but the search came up negative. We had a confirmed break-in and conducted a search but came up with negative results again. Then we were called back to do a search of the premises next door that came back negative. In between jobs and while searching the buildings, I hit Fiore with questions.
“So who wrote the Bible?” I asked.
“A lot of people.”
“Yeah, like who?” I raised my eyebrows.
“Well, Moses wrote the first five books of the Old Testament. The other Old Testament books were written by the prophets.”
“Who wrote Isaiah? That’s a big one.” I noticed that as I was flipping through the pages.
“Isaiah wrote it,” he said as if he were talking to an idiot.
“Okay, Einstein, who wrote Revelation?” I asked sarcastically.
“John.”
I should have realized he’d know that.
“In fact, John wrote a few books,” he went on. “The Gospel of John that we’ve been reading, and First, Second, and Third John.”
“So all the apostles wrote the Gospels.”
“No, Matthew and John were apostles, Mark I’m not sure of, and Luke was a physician.”
“A doctor?” I asked. “Why was a doctor writing a book in the Bible?”
“He wrote two books, Luke and the book of Acts, which is about the early church after Jesus was raised from the dead and went to heaven. It’s one of my favorites,” he said.
“How could a doctor write part of the Bible? Wouldn’t you have to be a priest or at least an apostle or something?”
“Just keep reading John,” he said. “Worry about the doctor later.”
When I was getting ready to leave Saturday morning I could see that Fiore was debating bringing me home with him again.
“Are you gonna be okay? Tell me the truth,” he said.
“I’m okay. I’m not saying I’m fine, but I can hold my own this weekend.”
He shook my hand and pulled me in for a hug. I wasn’t used to men hugging me. I mean, my father would hug me, but not with so much enthusiasm. I gave Fiore my gun, and he locked it up and then walked me out to my car.
“If you have any trouble this weekend, I want you to call me.” He gave me a piece of paper with his address and phone number. “Any time, day or night, I mean it! And if things get too crazy at home, take the ride out—we’ll be happy to have you.”
“Go home to your family, Joe, I’ll be fine.”
It turns out I was fine. Not that it was easy, but I got through it.
As I drove home I made plans to do constructive things for the weekend, only to find Mike Ellis on my doorstep. He had a case of beer and plans for the weekend.
“Tony, what happened last week?” he said. “You took off without saying good-bye. I hope she was worth it.” He chuckled.
I laughed, sidestepping the question. Let him think what he wanted. He handed me a beer, and I shook my head.
“Too early for me,” I said.
He made a face. “Since when?”
“I’m tired, Mike. I really have to get some sleep.”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
“Well, since you’re so tired, I guess I’ll head down the shore. You’re welcome to come if you feel like it,” he said as we shook hands.
“Thanks, Mike, but I have a lot to do this weekend.”
“Maybe another time.”
“You bet,” I said, not meaning it.
I did some laundry, separating the dark colors and putting my uniform in with them. I was hungry, so I had a bowl of Fruity Pebbles that Denise had bought and went to sleep by 9:30. I woke up at 4:15 and found Denise sunbathing out on the deck. I made a cup of coffee and went outside, squinting in the sunlight.
“We have to be at Grandma’s by 7:00,” she said.
I nodded then went to the shed for the lawnmower. I started in the front of the house where we had the least amount of grass and worked my way to the back, cutting in even rows. I had shorts on, so some of the grass shot out and stuck to my ankles. The mosquitoes were coming out of the grass as I cut, and I wished I’d put on bug spray. The West Nile–infected mosquitoes were all they talked about on the news. Denise was yelling something over the roar of the lawn mower, and I finally shut it off to hear her.
“Use the bug spray!” She tossed me the can of Off. I sprayed it on, and the smell of it reminded me of camping. I looked at my watch: 4:50. Time was really moving here in this life without drinking. I wondered if I’d live in slow motion for the rest of my life.
I emptied the mower bag around the shrubs and trees that needed to be pruned and threw the rest of the grass in the garbage. I got the weed whacker out to do the edging and the weeds, but that only took me fifteen minutes.
Having finished all possible yard work, I went downstairs to put my dark clothes in the dryer and my whites in the washing machine. I took a shower, shaved, and put on jeans and a white golf shirt. It was only 5:30 and I had an hour and a half to kill before dinner. Denise came up to shower and change.
“Do I need a gift for this dinner tonight?” I asked.
“No, Christie’s parents are throwing a formal engagement party. I don’t know when it is, but she’ll let us know. I think she said they’re having it at the marina. Hey, do you want to ride over with me? You know, show a united front?”
“Against who?” I asked.
“Against Dad and Marie,” she said dryly.
I sighed. “I don’t want to fight tonight, Denise.”
“I forgot, you’re not drinking. How many days is it?”
“Four,” I said tiredly.
“You have to drink tonight, at least champagne,” she said.
“No, I don’t,” I said.
“You’re not going to have champagne? Not toast to Vinny?” Her voice was rising.
“I’ll raise my glass,” I said. “I just won’t drink it.”
“You’re not an alcoholic, Tony. Is your new partner filling your head with all this stuff, making you think you have a problem you don’t have?” She was upset now.
“I’ll see you at Grandma’s,” I said, grabbing my keys and walking out.
“Fine,” she called after me.
I got in my truck and drove the back roads to Grandma’s. I was starving so I stopped in the Italian deli next to a gas station for two rice balls to munch on while I headed to the Hallmark store.
My hands were greasy from the rice balls, so it was impossible for me to pick up the cards. I couldn’t find one for a brother, so I just got a standard “Congratulations on Your Engagement” card. I wanted to get something for my grandmother, so I went over to the candy counter to look for something that wouldn’t break what was left of her teeth. They had a selection of Godiva chocolates, so I bought her a box of truffles, which they put in a gold bag with tissue paper.
It was now only 6:00 on the longest freaking day of my life, and I had only been awake for two hours. I didn’t know what to do for an hour. I contemplated walking on the boardwalk, but that would take too long. I could stop and eat, but then I wouldn’t be hungry for Grandma’s dinner. I sat in my truck next to Carvel, smoking a cigarette to pass the time. Having used up eight minutes, I drummed my fingers on my steering wheel, sweating from sitting there with the windows closed. I started the truck and drove to Grandma’s. Her apartment was only a mile away, and I was forty minutes early. I parked in 4A again and scanned the parking lot for other cars. It looked like I would be the first one there. I crossed the lot to the front door and rang the bell for 1C. She buzzed me in and assaulted me with a hug and kiss while kicking the door shut behind me.
She made the food buffet style—trays were set up on the dining room table with plastic cutlery and paper plates with wedding bells on them. There was penne with a red sauce, veal with mushrooms, stuffed chicken with roasted vegetables, and a tray of potato croquettes. A tossed salad was in the middle next to a smaller tomato and onion salad. Two bottles of merlot, a bottle of valpolicella, and two bottles of asti spumante lined the back of the table. She had a dozen of those plastic champagne glasses that come apart as you drink out of them.
“It smells delicious,” I said. “You look great.” She was wearing a black dress with big gold buttons, gold shoes, and gold earrings. The outfit was a little tacky, but I figured if she could still cook a meal for ten people and dress for it, she deserved the compliment.
The door buzzed again. I looked at the TV, but it was off. I turned it on and flipped through it so I could see the lobby station. My stomach sank when I saw my father and Marie in the foyer. Just what I needed, alone time with them.
I managed to block out Marie’s incessant chatter. It was funny how I did it. I just kept repeating over and over in my mind the first verse of John 1: In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. It helped. I was so intent on doing it that I didn’t hear her talking.
“So did you find an apartment yet, Tony?” She smiled sweetly. What a snake. I looked at my father to see his reaction to her, but his eyes had already glazed over.
“Actually, no, but I talked to a lawyer. He told me if I didn’t move out, I could really make your life difficult.” I smiled. “Did you know I could live in the house until you got a court order to get me out? It could really make it hard to sell.”
That shut her up. It wasn’t true and it was mean, but I really couldn’t stand her. The door buzzed again, and Denise, Vinny, and Christie all came in together. Denise walked past me to kiss Grandma hello. I hugged Vinny. I hadn’t seen him all week. I kissed Christie, stopping to admire her ring again.
The dinner was
okay. I even managed to get through the toast by lifting the glass to my mouth and pretending to drink out of it. Think of the irony when you have to pretend you are drinking so your family won’t get mad. I realized I must have drunk a lot in the past, because everyone offered me a drink—Grandma, Vinny, my father, even Christie. I didn’t want to decline them all, so I took them sporadically then waited till no one was looking and poured them down the sink. Denise ignored me. It’s funny, she hates when my mother does that, but now she was doing the same thing.
I squirmed through till about 10:00 and then said I had plans for the night.
“Be careful,” my father said emphatically, giving me a sly wink. I guess he figured I’d be out getting wasted, picking up women. I didn’t want to disappoint him, so I winked back and he laughed. “I mean it, Tony, don’t do nothin’ crazy.” I wondered if he’d think walking eight miles on the boardwalk alone in the dark with no gun was crazy, but that’s exactly what I did.
I parked my car at my house because I didn’t want it to get broken into at the boardwalk. I walked up to Bay Street and thought about crossing the street before I had to pass Dave’s. But it was too late to do that because Dave was standing out front with two guys and waved me over.
“Tony, let me buy you a drink.” He hooked his arm around my neck.
“Not right now, Dave, I have to go somewhere,” I said almost frantically. I pictured the bar and could just about taste a cold one. I started walking away. “I’ll see you around,” I called back.
“Wait! Where are you going?” he asked.
“That way.” I pointed in the general direction of the beach as I turned away.
When he yelled out, “Come on, let me buy you a drink,” I covered my ears with my hands singing “I can’t hear you” as I broke into a jog. By the time I reached the Coast Guard base I was sucking wind.