Brooklyn Story

by Suzanne Corso

  “I bled enough for you?” I chuckled as I secured the lock and turned to face him.

  “It was all over my hands,” he said, and his ear-to-ear smile made me forget everything except my quest to cross the Brooklyn Bridge. Grandma’s words a couple of months before flashed into my mind and I smiled. I was writing myself out of one story and into another, I said to myself. And I’d be writing Tony out of his, I thought. I looked up into Mr. Wainright’s face and beamed. “Geez, thanks, Mr. Wainright,” I said. He placed a hand on my shoulder. “I’m serious, Sam. This one goes in the clip file.”

  I clutched my book bag against my chest as I watched him disappear among the students milling in the hall. Good people who support me come and go, I thought, and it would be my responsibility to secure their cables within me so I could make it across that East River span to the real world and my future.

  I felt good about myself as I floated out the doors. I was ecstatic when I saw Tony leaning against a silver Porsche with his arms crossed, a broad grin plastering his face. I hurried over to him and dropped my bag. “Tony!” I exclaimed. I fell into his open arms and rested my cheek against his broad chest as I hugged him. We were alone in our own world as sights and sounds of the scores of people who were coming and going or milling about faded away. Tony lifted me off my feet and we kissed. I’m going to tie down this cable for sure, I said to myself as we parted.

  “Youse wuzn’t worried, wuz ya?” Tony asked.

  “Nah,” I lied. “Jus’ some stuff you hafta deal with.”

  He put an arm across my shoulders. “That’s my girl,” he said, and then he waved the arm over the Porsche. “Now lemme take ya for a spin.”

  My eyes widened. “Is this yours?” I asked.

  “I told ya I had sumthin’ to celebrate.” Tony grabbed the passenger-side handle and opened the door. “Get in,” he said with a wave of an arm.

  “Jesus, Tone, this is unbelievable,” I said as we pulled away from the curb and the staring eyes in the front schoolyard. In the midst and surprise of seeing this new car, I neglected to focus on what had happened and continued in the moment. My moment. Unfortunately I knew it would be the beginning of more lies.

  “Well, believe it,” he said. I melted into the leather bucket seat as Tony glanced my way. “I toldya ya gotta get useta things.”

  I rested my head and closed my eyes. “It’s not hard,” I breathed.

  “Yeah, well, everythin’s not easy,” Tony said as he worked the gearshift. I opened my eyes and turned toward him.

  “You in a lot of trouble?”

  “Nah. I don’ have no serious priors. The lawyer said I might not hafta do any real time.” I contemplated any time apart from him. It wouldn’t be easy, but nothing in my life was, I knew. It would just make everything taste sweeter down the road. “Anyways,” Tony continued, “nothin’s gonna happen for a while. Postponements are all parta da game.” I wished Tony didn’t have to be in such a high-risk one but figured he wouldn’t be playing it forever if I had anything to say about it. Andy Gibb warbled on the radio,

  Darling, for so long

  You and me been finding each other for so long

  and I marveled how others’ writing could speak to me, how it could encapsulate my life. I wanted to have people feel that way about my writing.

  Tony spun the wheel as he negotiated the streets until we stopped at a traffic light. He turned toward me as we waited. “Ya handled yourself pretty good,” he started. “That means sumthin’ ta me.”

  My entire body felt a rush and I looked into his eyes. “It wasn’t anything,” I said.

  “Ya didn’t start bawlin’ all over the place and ya kept ya mouth shut when it went down.”

  “I gotta admit, Tone, I was shakin’ a bit.”

  “Don’ matter. Ya did the right thing.” The light turned green and Tony coaxed the Porsche into gear. “Ya didn’t say anythin’ later, didya?” he asked.

  “’Course not,” I said. “What could I tell them, anyway?”

  “Nuthin’. No matter what.”

  “You got it,” I said as Andy Gibb sang on:

  I want you laying in the love I have to bring

  I’d do anything to be your everything

  Tony turned into a side street and pulled up to a two-family brick house. “Where are we?” I asked.

  “My grandmother’s,” Tony said as he switched off the ignition. “My mom is inside. I wanna show my mother da ride.”

  I looked at my jeans and the tight shirt I wore under the leather jacket. “I woulda put on something nice the first time if I knew,” I said.

  Tony grabbed my neck and pulled me to him. “Ya look great no matter whatcha wearin’, Sam,” he said, and then he kissed me full on the lips. “It’s time ol’ Pamela met my girl.”

  Tony’s mother opened the house door as we reached the top of the stoop. A massive hair clip held her bleached-blond hair in a high pile atop her head, and she wore a tight-fitting buttoned blouse and stretch pants that hugged her legs all the way to her ankles. She looked me up and down before pushing on the screen door and waving us in. Red toenails that matched the long ones on her hands were squeezed together in the front of her slip-on high heels. “So that’s the big surprise, huh?” Pamela said to Tony, snapping her chewing gum as she looked at the gleaming car at the curb.

  “Yeah, she’s a real beaut’, huh?” Tony said as we stood in the vestibule.

  “You’ll take me out in it later,” Pamela said, then looked me up and down again.

  “This is Samantha Bonti, who I told ya about, Mom,” Tony said. “She’s a real beaut’, too, doncha think?”

  Pamela didn’t answer her son and offered her hand to me slowly, palm down. “Nice ta meetya,” she said.

  I reached for her outstretched fingers. “Likewise, Mrs. Kroon,” I said.

  “You jus’ call me Pamela like we wuz old friends, sweetie.”

  “Sure thing, Mrs. … Pamela,” I said.

  She turned toward her son. “You settle that nonsense okay?”

  “It’s all under control,” he replied. “Where’s Grandma?”

  Pamela replied with attitude, “She’s sleeping. Your father and I are staying here tonight.” Pamela ushered us down a short hallway. “The cops don’ have much,” she said as we reached the living room. “They didn’t find anythin’ here yesterday ’cept your father, sittin’ jus’ like he is now.” Philip Kroon, in a wrinkled dress shirt and stained slacks, was sprawled in a large armchair. “Honey,” Pamela said, “this is Tony’s new girlfriend, Samantha.” Mr. Kroon looked at me with heavy lids over his eyes and nodded.

  “Glad to meet you,” I said. As I studied his blank face, I saw that it was obvious where Tony got his electric blue eyes and rugged, handsome Dutch face. I also saw Philip’s expression of sadness and disappointment. I don’t know why it was there, but it just was. Maybe it had something to do with his tour in Vietnam. Tony had hinted to me that Philip had had more than his share of revolting experiences there.

  Tony once told me he loved his father but knew he was weak, not the man he had been before he left for Southeast Asia. When Philip Kroon returned home, he was unable to hold down a steady job, Janice had told me. He relied on burglaries to provide for his wife, his son, and his ungrateful daughter, Katrina. He got caught and did a six-year stint in prison and by the time he’d gotten released he was pretty much good for nothing. By then, his son was making the kind of money that Philip had dreamed about making. Tony had told me that his father sat down on that leather chair one day, and except for eating, drinking, and running an errand or two when he needed cigarettes or a bad novel to read, he seldom got up from it.

  Janice told me that she thought Philip was resigned to being the father of a wannabe and husband to the woman popularly known, she had said, as a “witch on wheels” who stashed money and contraband for her son until he could use it without getting caught. Philip stayed close to home except when he joined the neighborhood bea
t cops for the weekly poker game under the church. He was a compulsive gambler, but because his wife doled out his weekly money from what she collected from her son, Philip did not have the potential to ruin the family with his debts.

  Pamela put an arm around Tony’s waist and looked at me. “Let’s all sit down soze we can get ta know ya,” she said.

  “That’d be nice,” I said. Tony took my hand and led me to the couch. Pamela sat across from her husband in another armchair. “So,” she said to me, “Tony tells me you’re graduatin’ soon, huh?”

  My eyes widened. “Well, it’s a year and a half away. But I can’t wait.”

  Pamela eyed me up and down. “Tony’s had them younger,” she said. “And they all couldn’t wait for him to come around.” I flinched but kept a sunny disposition. Maybe a sour mother was something else Tony and I had in common, I thought. He looked at his mother and crossed his eyes. “Samantha’s special, Mom,” he said.

  “Sure, sure,” she said. “I’m just makin’ small talk.”

  “She’s makin’ sumthin’ of herself,” Tony said. I beamed the instant he said that.

  Pamela looked at me. “Of course she is. Isn’t she nice, Philip?” Her husband grunted and didn’t respond.

  I looked toward Mr. Kroon. “Tony tells me you were in Vietnam,” I said.

  “Lotta good that did me,” he deadpanned.

  “You just do what ya hafta do ta get better, honey,” Pamela said. “We’ve got Tony to take care of things now.” She reached out an arm and put her hand on her son’s knee. “You jus’ lay low for a while until this all blows over, and then things will get back ta like they was.”

  “Nuthin’s gonna change, Ma,” Tony said. I begged to differ but didn’t share my opinion at that moment. He reached across my shoulders and pulled me close. “It’s me an’ Sam, just like this no matter what.” I slumped into Tony’s side and looked up at him. That was something I totally agreed with. As long as we were together, I felt anything was possible for us. I just knew he would outgrow this stage, get a real job, and be a provider.

  Pamela stood up and looked at Tony and me. “Why don’ we drink to you two, then? That all right for you, Samantha?”

  “It’s fine,” I said.

  “Then we gotta go, Ma,” Tony said.

  Pamela brought a tray with a bottle of red wine and some glasses to the cocktail table and Tony did the pouring. His mother made a flowery toast, and I sipped as she engaged in talk about the usual things women in her circle concerned themselves with. Who bought what, who wore what, who drove what, who went where and with whom, and the like. I smiled and nodded at appropriate times, but couldn’t have cared less about such inconsequential matters. All I cared about was Tony and me and our future.

  The pit in my stomach had left the moment I saw him earlier and a warm feeling from the alcohol took its place as I listened to Pamela go on and on. Philip gulped his wine and motioned to Tony for a refill as soon as his glass was empty. It was the most animation I saw in him the whole time I was in the Kroon home.

  When I had finished my glass, Tony drained his second and stood up. He took my hand and led me to the front door.

  “Remember what I said about stayin’ outta trouble,” Pamela said to her son through the screen door as we started down the steps. “Good-bye, Samantha,” she called out to me. “We’ll be sure ta have your folks ova for the holidays.”

  “That’ll be nice, Mrs. … Pamela,” I said over my shoulder. “Bye.”

  Tony and I jumped into the Porsche and I stole a glance at his mother, who remained at the front door. “She loves ya, Sam,” Tony said, and then the car screeched as he pulled away.

  “I don’t know,” I replied.

  “I do. You’ll see. She’s a great gal.”

  The bucket seat embraced me again and it didn’t matter to me how his mother felt. It would be nice to get along great with her, but all that really mattered, I thought as Donna Summer belted out a song, was how Tony and I felt about each other.

  Put all the other things aside, there’s only you and me

  Believe in us, we were always meant to be

  I looked at Tony as he mastered the powerful machine and I felt again that everything was going to be all right.

  Me for you and you for me, ’til eternity

  Tony hummed along with the lyrics. “That’s not a bad song,” he said as he turned onto Eighteenth Avenue. “We’ll hafta find one that’s ours.” We’ll find everything together, I thought.

  Tony cruised through town, waving or nodding to a few people who recognized him at the wheel, and then pulled into the Café Sicily parking lot. Two different men in dark suits standing adjacent to the entrance took note of our arrival before returning to their conversation. “You gonna be long?” I asked as Tony switched the ignition off.

  “You’re comin’ wid me,” he said as he hopped out, and then he sprang to my side of the Porsche. I swung my door open and he grabbed my hand and helped me out of the car. “I’m takin’ ya ta dinner.” Another missed meal at home, I thought, but decided Mom and Grandma would have to get used to a lot of things, as I had to all the time.

  The feeling of royalty revisited me as we strolled into the dimly lit restaurant. “Right this way, Tony,” the maítre d’ said. He led us past the bar, where a couple more men in dark suits sat on stools, to a table covered in a red-and-white-checkered cloth. The maítre d’ pulled a chair out for me and then opened menus in front of us. “The lobster fra diavolo special is excellent tonight,” he said. I felt as if I belonged.

  Time always seemed to be suspended whenever I was with Tony, and the next hour passed as if it were only a couple of minutes. We ate and talked and sprinkled our conversation with a few laughs. No one in the busy dining room paid any attention to us; everyone there knew how to mind his own business, I thought. I liked that, and liked the feeling I had in that environment with Tony. Saturday night seemed like a bad dream.

  When a noticeable hush came over the room, Tony and I stopped talking and looked around. Our eyes settled, as had everyone’s, on the rotund man who had strolled through the swinging kitchen doors. His black suit and tie matched his plastered hair and he smiled at everyone and patted a couple of men on the shoulder as he made his way through the dining room. He seemed to be headed directly for Tony and me.

  Tony grabbed his wineglass. “That’s Tino Priganti,” he said, and kept his eyes on the boss as he sipped. Tino Priganti’s pockmarked face and bulbous nose loomed as he approached.

  “I know,” I said as I looked down and shifted in my chair. “I’ve seen him before.”

  The massive man stopped at our table and placed his massive hands on our table. “Buona sera,” he said, and turned toward Tony. “Dis da girl who wuz widya Saturday night?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Priganti,” Tony said. “Samantha.”

  “She gotta last name?”

  “Bonti.”

  “I like that,” Tino said, and slid his meaty fingers under my chin. “Lemme have a look at ya,” he said as he lifted my face gently and locked his eyes on mine.

  “She’s the best, Mr. Priganti,” Tony said, beaming.

  Tino Priganti stood straight, looked at Tony, and slapped a palm on his shoulder. “Ya ain’t so bad yaself,” he said, then turned toward me. “Ya boy here is a big earner.” I smiled and Tino locked his eyes on mine. “Ya deserve nuttin’ but the best, Tony,” he said. “She looks like a keeper ta me.” Tony beamed as Tino Priganti addressed me again. “Your food okay?” he asked.

  “Fantastic, Mr. Priganti,” I said.

  A thin smile appeared on Tino’s face and he nodded. “I’m glad youse like it,” he said, and squeezed Tony’s shoulder while he kept his eyes on me. “I betcha didn’ like being sweated in da precinct, huh?” he asked me before breaking into a hearty laugh.

  Tony smiled. “She handled it like she wuz one a us, Mr. Priganti,” he said.

  “Good,” Tino said, and his face went
blank as it remained fixed on mine. “If youse do nuttin’ wrong, youse got nuttin’ ta worry about. Ain’t that right Tony.”

  “Yes sir, Mr. Priganti.” Tino leaned over and whispered for a minute into Tony’s ear. “Yes, sir, Mr. Priganti,” Tony said again when Tino had finished.

  Tino patted Tony’s shoulder once more and stood straight. He motioned with his hand to a waiter in a crisp white jacket and addressed him when he came over to the table. “His money’s no good tonight, Sal,” he said with a nod toward Tony. “It’s with me.”

  “Yes sir, Mr. Priganti,” the waiter said before taking his leave.

  Tino stooped and reached for my hand, and it disappeared when he held it between both of his. Our eyes locked once more. “Looks like a real keeper ta me, Tony,” he said without looking away.

  “Think what ya wan’ ’bout my mother,” Tony said as he pulled up to my apartment at midnight and left the car running, “but Tino sure as hell liked you.”

  He had seemed genuine to me, but then what did I know? I asked myself. Brooklyn Boys all had charm, and the one at the top of the heap would have the most, I reasoned. “I’m sure he likes all the girls,” I said.

  “And they all like him,” Tony said. “Whadya think?”

  “He seemed nice,” I said, and then I looked up at the living room light that was still on. “What did he whisper to you?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking.

  Tony stiffened. “Union shit,” he said flatly. “Some black coalition fuckin’ wid a window job site in Clinton Hill.” Tony pulled me across the console. “But that don’ matter right now. Lemme show ya how no one’s as nice as I am,” he said, and he sucked my neck to the sounds of Joni Mitchell:

  Help me I think I’m falling in love again

  When I get that crazy feeling I know I’m in trouble again …

  Abruptly I was interrupted by his voice and a small duffel bag being shoved in my lap. “Listen, can you hold this for me, put it on your fire escape until I ask for it back, don’t show anyone.”