Brooklyn Story

by Suzanne Corso

  To me, it always came back to the struggle to make something of oneself, and I was sure Tony felt the same. It was just that he was going about it another way, and who was I to judge? He was young, strong—not to mention gorgeous—and deserved a better life, too, and he was entitled to make his own decisions about how to get it. He had his faults, his rough edges, such as I witnessed that day, but upon reflection, I felt those would be overcome when he achieved the success he sought. Just as Nick would overcome his hurt pride, the only real injury he had suffered.

  The two overweight men in dark suits had shot me a look once or twice as I sat atop the Harley but otherwise ignored me. I felt safe with them around. Protecting women and staying away from another Brooklyn Boy’s girl was part of the Italian code that governed Bensonhurst. It might’ve been overdone at times, but the territoriality that such men exhibited struck me as quaint. A girl, particularly one with not much to her name, couldn’t help being flattered by it, even though it might shock her from time to time.

  I glanced at the smoked-glass doors that reflected the late-afternoon sunlight. I couldn’t help thinking that all of us in Bensonhurst were a reflection of the neighborhood in one way or another. The nerds symbolized the buildings and social fabric that had been the same for generations; the wannabes stood for the striving that every immigrant group brought with them to America; the mobsters, despite their ways, represented the independent attitude that was required if one refused to be under someone else’s thumb.

  And what about me? I wondered then. What did I reflect? A little bit of everything, I concluded. Grandma had instilled tradition and propriety in me that I still respected, I strove to belong—not to the local crowd, but to another group that lived in the real world in Manhattan—and I sure as hell was independent, albeit in a different way than the mobsters were. So maybe I hadn’t given Bensonhurst enough credit, I thought, just as I had thought earlier that I hadn’t given my classmates enough of a chance. Maybe it’s all part of growing up, I reasoned, just as having a real relationship was.

  I glanced again at the restaurant doors. I couldn’t wait for Tony to come out. The truth was, after I hadn’t seen him for three days, my body tingled at the prospect of spending the rest of the evening with him. My heart skipped a beat when I saw him burst through the entrance.

  I frowned when Tony neared and I saw his narrowed eyes and tight lips. He mounted the Harley without saying a word and I saw his biceps tense as he squeezed the handles with his powerful hands. He hesitated a moment. “Fuckin’ bullshit,” he said as he slammed a fist on the handlebars. The two men outside who had watched Tony when he came out smiled before turning away. Tony flexed his shoulders a couple of times before he turned the ignition key. The engine roared to life. I wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my chin on his shoulder.

  “You all right?” I asked. Tony turned his head toward me.

  “Yeah. I just didn’t get everything I came for and then they stuck me with some more shit.” I squeezed his midsection. “Let’s get the hell outta here,” he said, and we sped off.

  My eyes widened and my heart raced when Tony pulled up to Sugar, took my hand, and led me to the door of the shoe store that I had never dared to enter. The prices on the imported Italian shoes were so exorbitant that I knew I couldn’t afford even the least expensive pair. And I knew that if I went into the place I would have to try on a few pairs, would fall in love with all of them, and then would suffer the disappointment and embarrassment of walking out without buying anything. So why bother? I had resigned myself to the vicarious enjoyment, accompanied by a touch of envy, of seeing the kick-ass heels on Janice and the other girls whose boyfriends or parents favored them with such an extravagance.

  “Summer Breeze” by Seals and Crofts played in the background as we entered, and Stella Mangioni, the striking woman who owned the store, came over to Tony. Her straight, thick, black hair with a cut that angled back from below her chin framed her face. There wasn’t a strand out of place. Stella’s lilac jumpsuit clung to her body as if it had been painted on, it was unzipped far enough to expose her ample cleavage, and its tight belt accentuated her nonexistent waist. She didn’t need the heavy makeup she had on her face, I thought. She wore the four-inch black pumps with thin straps that were featured in the display window as the newest arrival.

  Stella eyed me for an instant before resting a hand on Tony’s upper arm. “What can I do for ya today, Tony?” Stella asked as she chewed gum, her face aglow.

  “Let’s start with what you’re wearin’,” Tony responded after his eyes traveled from her lips to her shoes. “This is my girl, Samantha.”

  “Pleased ta meet ya, doll,” Stella said, her gum cracking. “Any friend a Tony’s is a friend a mine. I’ll have Lisa show ya all the latest.” Stella turned back to Tony. “Can we get youse espresso or cappuccino?”

  “Two espressos,” Tony said, and then he led me to the padded, chrome-framed chairs next to the front window. I wanted a cappuccino but didn’t say anything as we sat down. Nothing was going to ruin the thrill, I decided, and I mouthed the words of the song as I waited.

  Summer breeze makes me feel fine,

  Blowin’ through the jasmine in my mind …

  I was in my glory as boxes that were prettier than any shoes I owned were set on the floor in front of me. The different pastel-colored papers that wrapped the shoes were like petals as Lisa unfolded them to reveal each pair, which sparkled in the store’s overhead spotlights. When she showed me a pair of slate gray, closed-toe heels, I caressed the soft leather before Lisa slipped them on my feet. I stood and modeled them from every angle in the low mirror.

  “They flatter you,” Lisa said.

  “They’re a bit tight.”

  “I’ll get you the next size,” the perky salesgirl said as she sprang from her knees and headed for the stockroom. I sat, slipped the shoes off, and then leaned back with my arms stretched atop the armrests and inhaled the ambience that would stay with me for a long time. I curled my toes in the thick, purple carpet. Once more, I felt like a queen.

  “This is better than some dumb skating party, huh?” Tony smirked. The events of an hour before had faded with all the excitement of what I had been doing.

  “Sure,” I said. “It beats anything else there is to do after school.” Except maybe my writing, I reminded myself. But a girl could be forgiven if she was spending her time in Sugar.

  Tony put an arm across the back of my chair and leaned close to my ear. “We’ll see about that,” he breathed. The tingling from Saturday night had yet to cease. I blushed.

  “I meant things like cheerleading,” I said as Tony rested back in his chair. That was something I had always wanted to do but couldn’t.

  “I don’ want no jocks puttin’ moves on ya. You’re either home or wid me. Capisce?”

  “I understand, Tone. I can’t afford the uniforms anyways and the time away from my schoolwork.”

  “Duzzint matter. Anyone even looks at ya, he wouldn’t be able to play football or do much of anythin’ else for a while.”

  I sighed. “I know, Tone. I got it,” I said as Lisa returned.

  I could have stopped after trying on ten pairs of shoes, but Tony wasn’t satisfied until Lisa had shown me double that amount. When she was finished, I slumped in my chair. I never knew how exhausting shopping like that could be, the standing and sitting and the walking and posing. Not to mention trying to decide which pair I wanted most. It was overwhelming.

  “Which one should I wrap up?” Lisa asked me, her hands resting on her thighs as she knelt before us.

  “She’ll wear the black number with just straps out of the store, and we’ll take the ones Stella’s wearin’ and the dark gray pair,” Tony said as he stood up and reached into his pants pocket. Three pairs! I exclaimed silently. Who cared if he made the decision for me? Tony pointed to the beat-up wedges I had come in with. “An’ throw those out,” he said.

  Lisa slipped the new
shoes on my feet and gathered the other selections as Tony peeled off six hundred-dollar bills from the wad in his hand with less hesitation than I would part with singles. He slipped the money into Lisa’s hand as she stood. “Thanks for everythin’,” he said, and then he tucked a folded fifty into the small, slanted pocket of her black mini-skirt. “That’s a little sumthin’ for ya,” he added.

  “You’re the best, Tony,” Lisa gushed before taking my shoes to the counter. I never took my eyes off the boxes as she slid them into a custom-made shopping bag.

  “Ya like what ya bought?” Tony asked.

  I hadn’t bought a thing, I thought, but that’s the way Brooklyn Boys were with their women. “You kidding? I can’t wait to show them to Janice.”

  “You blow her away without them,” Tony said. He slipped an arm around my waist and leaned toward my ear once more. “We’ll hit Voga for a coupla pair of Sergio Valentes before I get ya home,” he whispered.

  “Tony!” I exclaimed.

  “You can’t be walkin’ in them shoes wid doze ragged jeans a yours.”

  I smiled from ear to ear as I relished the thought of strolling the two blocks to the contemporary fashion store with the distinctive purple bag swaying by my side for all to see. I wouldn’t have minded walking all the way home with a bag in each hand, I chuckled to myself. But I didn’t want to take advantage of Tony’s generosity. “You’ve done enough already, Tone,” I said. Despite my best intentions, it didn’t sound convincing, not that it would have mattered anyway.

  “I’ll tell ya when we’re done.”

  “Okay, whatever you say.” I really didn’t mind agreeing with him. I had only one decent pair of jeans. I wore them every day at school and then washed them on Saturdays so they’d be ready for the following week. Mom had only bought me two pair, which I alternated from week to week.

  “Ya better get useta this,” Tony said. “It’s how it’s gonna be from now on.”

  And that’s how it was.

  I was invigorated the next day and threw myself into my schoolwork until lunchtime in the cafeteria, when I had a chance to reflect without splitting my attention.

  Seeing Tony made everything right in my world again. I had my ambition and my drive and my writing, but it just seemed to me that he completed the picture. His attention was almost as intoxicating as he was and I found myself seeking more of it. I wouldn’t neglect my work at the typewriter, I knew, but I couldn’t deny, either, that a sexy, mysterious boyfriend interested me a great deal. I could still taste the long, deep kisses he gave me on the Harley when he dropped me off after shopping at Voga.

  I rubbed the denim of my new blue jeans and stared through the cafeteria window. The fact that Tony had kissed me right under my apartment window, when the approaching dusk provided enough light to see what we were doing if anyone wanted to—and in Bensonhurst there were plenty of interested eyes peering between cracks in curtains and from the edges of blinds—told me he didn’t care if the whole world knew what we had. It gave me goose bumps.

  If Mom or Grandma had seen anything, neither said so. They had plenty to say, however, about the two shopping bags in my hands when I walked in, the usual cautions about Brooklyn Boys and their ways. I should not be taken in by the extravagances they shower their girlfriends with, they said. There was nothing said about the wonder of a new relationship that was real and exciting and promising. Grandma would have been more willing to share my enthusiasm if Tony were Jewish, but I knew Mom would have said the same things she did no matter who or what he was. Her bitterness wouldn’t allow her to consider the possibility of a fulfilling relationship. As they were women, however, they couldn’t resist pawing the merchandise from Sugar and Voga. I chuckled when I recalled that.

  “I like that article on dating you’re developing,” Mr. Wain-right said to me. I hadn’t noticed his taking the adjacent seat. I turned toward him. His hands were clasped behind his neck as he leaned back in the plastic chair, and he had a broad smile on his face.

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Yup. Could be a whole series. But you’ll have to give me more about what’s going on in that heart of yours, not just your head.”

  “More of the agony and aching you’ve talked about?”

  “You got it. Like Gene Fowler said, ‘All you do is stare at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead.’” Mr. Wainright slid his chair back. “That’s when you know you got it right.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, and then he stood up and surveyed the room before locating the next student he would counsel. I turned my attention to my garden salad and thought some more. I had plenty of new material to get my blood flowing.

  The scene at Outer Skates replayed in my mind. There was no excuse for Tony’s behavior but maybe there was a reasonable explanation for it. It just came back to the baggage one carried in Bensonhurst. I knew Tony was smart enough to unload it; it was just going to take a while. In the meantime, I reminded myself not to create any opportunities for him to flex his muscles—literally or figuratively. Over time, he’d adopt the more refined behavior of the real world across the bridge that the shoes he bought me represented.

  I looked down at another old pair of shoes on my feet and wished I could have worn a kick-ass pair of new ones that just weren’t appropriate there. I thought about Platinum and the other fancy places Tony was sure to bring me and I pictured myself gliding across dance floors and plush carpets in them. I imagined the dresses from Vittorio’s I’d be wearing. And then I thought about Tony’s wad of cash.

  How did he have so much money? I wondered. But I knew the answer and I reminded myself I had already reckoned with it. He had told me just before he sped off that he had something real important to do with the guys. I knew there was no construction business at that hour, unless it was picking up equipment from locked work sites. I also knew that whatever it was must have had something to do with Tony’s meeting at Café Sicily. I decided that his “business” would be just one more piece of baggage that would be flung over the railing as we crossed the span together.

  The hope I felt then reminded me of Our Lady of Guadalupe. I decided I’d have enough time after school to drop by before heading over to Janice’s for one of our hangout sessions.

  The church looked as it always did when I stopped in, serene and almost empty, and I sat in the same last row. But my feelings were different, as they always were each time I entered the sanctuary. It was as if I could sense new growth of my spirit with each visit. I liked the way I felt in those surroundings and promised to make a better effort to show up more often. When I saw Father Rinaldi heading toward me, I swore I would.

  “Nice to see you, Sam,” he said as he leaned over from the aisle.

  “You, too, Father.”

  “Slide over and we’ll talk,” Father Rinaldi said. I shifted along the polished wood and he sat next to me with one hand on the back of the pew in front of us and his other arm resting on the seat back behind me. “How are things?”

  “Real good,” I said, and wondered why it was that Father Rinaldi smelled so good. His inexpensive aftershave was distinctive and pleasant on him, and I savored it for an instant. Just before I continued speaking, I concluded that it was his purity inside that made it so. “I’m blessed.”

  “Happy to hear that. Mom and Grandma okay?”

  “The same.”

  “I guess that’s good as well. Grandma is still with us, and Mom could be worse. Right?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “How’s the writing coming along?” I perked up as I always did whenever that topic was broached. “Better than ever,” I said. I chose not to go into specifics about the new material and inspiration Tony was providing.

  A white-haired, stooped woman acknowledged Father Rinaldi as she shuffled up a side aisle and he nodded toward her before continuing. “So. You have a new boyfriend,” he said. I was sure it wasn’t just my glow that gave me away. Father Rinaldi knew
everyone and everything in our corner of Bensonhurst. He would have been in the mob if he hadn’t chosen another path, I surmised as I looked into the priest’s face.

  “Tony,” I said, wide-eyed.

  “The strapping young blond man.”

  “Yes!”

  “The same man who cuffed a boy around at Outer Skates yesterday.”

  I braced myself. “Yes.”

  “And that’s the type of person you should be with, my child?”

  “He’s just like everybody else, Father. Only different, too. You’ll see.”

  Father Rinaldi paused as he surveyed his domain. “I see a lot.” I lowered my head and he shifted his arm behind me, placed his hand on my shoulder, and gently squeezed. I felt more secure then than I did on the Harley in front of Café Sicily the day before. That wasn’t surprising to me. Not only was Father Rinaldi a man of God, but he had been born and raised in Bensonhurst. “And I hear even more,” he continued. I decided I would be totally honest with him no matter what he asked. I had nothing to hide, anyway, I said to myself. “I don’t know why you should be at a place like Café Sicily. There’s nothing for you there.”

  I looked at the priest again. “We just stopped for a minute, Father.”

  “A minute can change someone’s life. Remember Judas.” I didn’t know a lot about scripture, but I knew about Christ’s traitor, who regretted his act a moment after he did it. “It cost him his soul,” Father Rinaldi finished.