Brooklyn Story

by Suzanne Corso

  Tony looked crushed. He put the ring back into his pocket. “Okay, Sam. I get it. You wan’ me ta work for ya, don’tya? Fine. I’ll do whatever it takes. The ring’ll be waitin’ for ya.” He put his hand on my shoulder for a moment. “Let me take ya home. Ya ain’t livin’ near here no more, ya know.”

  There wasn’t any harm in that, I felt. Besides, the sooner I got home, the better. I didn’t want to miss a call from Janice. “Okay, thanks,” I said.

  We didn’t hold hands when I walked beside Tony to the Porsche and on our way to my new neighborhood. I had to admit, though, that it felt good to be with him. I even felt okay about Tony’s new hair. I supposed it was inevitable that he’d start looking like the other Brooklyn Boys. At least it was still blond and those blue eyes still set him apart.

  When we reached the corner of my street Tony pulled over and I said good-bye. He tried to pull me in for a kiss but I rebuffed his approach. I felt I wasn’t ready to take him back, and probably never would be. Too much water under the bridge, I felt. There would be no hugs, no kisses, and no walking me to the door, either.

  Tony didn’t protest. I supposed he knew that we had gone as far as we were going to go and that he wasn’t ready to confront Mom and Grandma, anyway. I could relate to that; I didn’t relish the repercussions if I ever sprung our getting back together on them. I decided that if Tony and I ever did, I would have to break it to them gently and give them some time to accept it before they saw him again.

  On Friday afternoon, I still hadn’t seen or heard from Janice, although Mrs. Caputo had returned my message the day before and told me she was in New Jersey visiting a cousin. But I was very excited that afternoon and had to talk to my best friend, so I tried another call from the salon. “Is Janice there?” I asked her mother when she answered the phone.

  “I’m sorry, Sam,” Mrs. Caputo said, “but she’s in New Jersey like I told you.”

  “I miss her a lot and need to talk to her.”

  “She’s taking a break from that idiot boy, and I hope she stays away for good.” Mrs. Caputo sounded angry and resolved. I shuddered as I imagined what Richie had done. He must have really screwed up, I thought.

  “She just quit her job and didn’t tell me anything,” I said. “I’m worried.”

  “I’ll tell her you called,” Mrs. Caputo promised.

  “Please tell her to phone me as soon as she can,” I said, and hung up, frustrated. For some reason, Mrs. Caputo wouldn’t give me a number where Janice could be reached and insisted on relaying my messages. I wasn’t so sure my girlfriend was getting them. I figured Mrs. Caputo must have wanted to cut off any association with Bensonhurst for a while. I hoped that wouldn’t include me for long.

  Life was lonely without Janice, my confidante, and I wished I could at least understand why she was away. I wanted to share with her how happy and fulfilled I was with my new life. I enjoyed my job at the salon and without a steady boyfriend, my spare time was all about finishing my novel and contributing to the school newspaper. Something special happened that day that had thrilled me and I was busting to tell my friend all about it.

  Mr. Wainright stopped me in the hallway that day after an editorial meeting. “Great addition to the series this week, Sam,” he had started. “You really nailed the pressures of dating. I’m sure everyone can relate to the demands you described. Keep going.” I had felt proud and intended to do as he advised. All the way to Manhattan.

  Throwing myself into that assignment had come naturally. After all, I had dated someone who had given me an awful lot of stress. I knew how it felt to deal with sexual demands and to suspect that a boyfriend had been cheating. Finding the lipstick fueled my passionate approach to, and honesty about, the topic. It had been difficult to admit in writing that I still had some feelings for a guy who had not only cheated on me but who had raised his hand to me, too.

  But Mr. Wainright’s affirmation wasn’t the only reason for my excitement. While we were talking, a gentleman dressed in an expensive navy suit and print tie joined us. “Professor Greenburg,” Mr. Wainright said with a smile, “I want you to meet Samantha Bonti.” I shook hands with him and gave my favorite teacher a puzzled look. “Professor Greenburg is the faculty supervisor for New York University,” Mr. Wainright continued, and my heart raced. He was talking about a famous university not far from where the Brooklyn Bridge touched down on the other side of the river. It was one of the best and it was … in Manhattan!

  “I’ve read all of your articles to date,” Professor Greenburg started, “and I must say I was impressed.” My pride went into overdrive and it was written all over my face. “Did you ever think of turning those articles into on-air material and talking live about each of the issues?”

  “God no,” I said. The possibility had excited me but it made me quiver for a moment, too. “What about my Brooklyn accent, Professor? I’m not sure people would like the way I sound even if they cared about what I had to say.”

  “I don’t think that will matter to our listeners, who don’t always find it easy to express how they feel about social issues, and aren’t always comfortable asking questions that they’re dying to ask,” Professor Greenburg replied. “You seem to have answers and I feel you should share them.” I was in my glory, which I was sure was shining on my face, just as Mr. Green-burg’s bald head was shining in the sterile lighting of the hallway. “Give it a try. If you absolutely hate it—which I know you won’t—then we’ll shut it down. Fair deal?” I smiled broadly. “Is that a yes?” Professor Greenburg asked with a smile that matched mine and the one that had been on Mr. Wainright’s face the whole time.

  I nodded slowly. “Uh-huh,” I said.

  “Excellent. You won’t mind traveling to Manhattan, will you?”

  “I don’t think so,” I gushed. How could I? I had thought. I’d pictured myself doing just that my whole life. “When is it?” I inquired, and Professor Greenburg then went over the details. The first show would be recorded in a month, with installments every week until the end of the school year. If things worked out well, I could continue with the show in the fall no matter what else I was doing. “Of course,” Professor Greenburg had said near the end of our conversation, “we’d want you to matriculate at our university. From what Mr. Wainright tells me, your grades won’t be an issue.” But money certainly would be, I thought as I frowned. Mr. Wainright put a hand on my shoulder then. “I took the liberty of looking into scholarships and grants there, Sam. Financial aid won’t be an issue, either,” he offered.

  I was overwhelmed. “Radio!” I blurted.

  “It’s only a local college broadcast, Ms. Bonti,” Professor Greenburg cautioned. “Barely enough watts to get the signal across the East River.” It was sufficiently strong to pull me over to the real world, I thought.

  “It’s plenty powerful for me, Professor,” I responded. He promised he would contact me when he and the host started developing the initial segment. I could hardly believe my ears—producers and segments and all the rest of it.

  When I had left the school, I felt as if I’d won the lottery. I hadn’t applied to any of the big schools in Manhattan, let alone out of state, where the costs would be doubled. I assumed I’d enroll in a community college and then try to get into a better place later. I wanted to run home to tell Mom and Grandma the good news but I had to work at the salon. On the way to the shop, I remembered that they wouldn’t be home, anyway. They planned to go to the movies and then have some Chinese food. They’d be home late. Damn, I thought. I really wanted to share my news with someone I cared about and without Janice around, there wasn’t anyone else to talk to except Father Rinaldi, but there was no time for another detour to Our Lady of Guadalupe.

  When I got home after work my excitement was still high and I felt inspired. I pulled out my manuscript and was typing feverishly when the phone rang. I ran to answer it, hoping Janice was on the line.

  “Hey, Sam,” Tony said.

  My shoulders slum
ped. “Hey,” I said flatly. There was silence on his end for a long moment. “What’s goin’ on, Tony? I’m kinda busy.” He laughed, but it was obvious that he was nervous. “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  “You bein’ busy,” he said. “So watcha doin’?”

  “Writin’.”

  “’Bout me?”

  “You’ll have to buy the book,” I said. I had the upper hand for a change and it felt good. My excitement bubbled over and I couldn’t resist telling him my news. “Guess what? I’m gonna be on the radio!”

  Tony hesitated. “Well, that’s real good … I guess.”

  “You better believe it,” I gushed, and then calmed myself, skipping the subject. “So why’d ya call?”

  “I wanted ta know if they caught the asshole which broke inta ya place,” Tony said. That dredged up unpleasant feelings that had been buried for a while. “What did the cops find out?”

  “They never got back to me so I called them. They said that since nothing was stolen there was no point pursuing it any further.”

  “That’s good then, Sam.”

  What the hell did that mean? I wondered. What was good about it? Didn’t Tony know how much it bothered me? Someone had broken into my house and he was telling me that it was good that nothing happened? That the police never found the piece of shit who did it was okay with him? I didn’t get it. “Why’d ya call, Tony? For real.”

  “The thing is,” he said, “I’m kinda lonely here since my mom’s away. It’s a big house, the TV broke, and the guys are busy.”

  “Where’s your dad?”

  “Down the street at the local dive.”

  “So you called me as a last resort?”

  “No, no,” he said. “It’s not like that. I really miss ya. I mean it. Come over. I’ll make ya some spaghetti.” If I agreed to go over, wouldn’t it open a can of worms? I worried. Had enough time elapsed to effect real change in him? “I don’t know, Tone,” I said.

  “C’mon, Sam. Just dinner. I promise. I’m dyin’ ta see ya.”

  He had had the power of persuasion over me, and it seemed like it was working again. I worried some more. Had enough time elapsed to effect change in me? Could my feelings of despisement toward him ever be totally erased? I wondered. I decided I was getting too far ahead of myself. It was only dinner, I reasoned. What harm could it do? Besides, I was dying to celebrate! “Okay,” I said. “Just some spaghetti.”

  “I’ll be so good, ya won’ recognize me.”

  I found out when I arrived that Tony had been telling me the truth; I didn’t recognize him. He was running around like a suburban housewife, tidying the living room, wearing an apron decorated with apples, cherries, and bananas and a tall, white chef’s hat that he must have gotten from Café Sicily. I laughed and Tony didn’t take offense. Maybe he had changed, I thought. He gave me a hug and I didn’t resist—I felt there was no harm in that, either. His male scent, however, stirred the desire that had been buried, and there was no doubt about how dangerous that was. And no doubt that I’d have to be on my guard.

  We went into the kitchen. Tony took two wineglasses from the cabinet and filled them from a bottle of Chianti he’d un-corked and allowed to breathe. “To friendship,” he said, clinking my glass.

  “To friendship,” I agreed, and tasted the wine. It was as smooth as silk. This wasn’t so bad after all, I thought, and continued to drink while Tony stirred the sauce. Maybe we could get along like normal people after all, I supposed.

  Tony served dinner and more wine at the dining room table while we talked about old times—only the good ones. I tried to show concern about his legal case two or three times but he brushed it off as if it didn’t bother him at all. The whole time we ate, I was dying to steer the conversation to what had happened with Professor Greenburg. However, I was again reluctant to draw attention to myself and decided it would be better, anyway, if Tony brought it up. But he never said a thing about it at the table.

  When we had finished eating, we sat on the living room couch. Tony refilled my glass and then opened another bottle. Maybe he was going to toast my success then, I thought. I felt giddy. “I’ve had enough, Tony,” I said. I hadn’t felt that way in a long time. It felt good, but then the questions about whether I should have been with him forced their way into my mind once more. And then a different question popped into my head. “What happened between Janis and Richie?” I asked. I couldn’t stifle a giggle and felt bad about that.

  Tony topped off my glass. “She went nuts is what happened,” he said. “Richie don’ even know where she is. Ya’d never disappear like that, Sam, wouldya?”

  I didn’t know what had happened and so I couldn’t say what I would have done. I was having trouble thinking straight about anything right then. Tony leaned in and grazed my lips with his. He took me by surprise, like he had done before, and my body got chills up and down as it had before. I hesitated because I felt I should have backed off, but I was so relaxed, I kissed him back.

  “Ya kiss so good, Sam,” Tony breathed. He sprawled on top of me and I felt a familiar bulge in his pants and ripples of pleasure when he rubbed my breasts on top of my blouse. In an instant, my buttons were open and his kisses traced along my bra.

  “I think you better stop,” I said.

  “Whatever ya say,” Tony said, but his mouth continued to tease and suck, from my breasts to my navel. My voice hadn’t fooled me, so why would Tony take my protest seriously? I asked myself. “Oh, Tony,” I moaned as he slipped a hand under my jeans.

  I didn’t remember moving from the couch to Tony’s bed. We got lost in a swirl of white sheets and body parts, and made love as if it was the first time. When Tony was finished and he had gotten up to go to the bathroom, I hugged the sheets. I was sure he still loved me and I had to admit to myself that I still had strong feelings for him. Despite it all, call me an idiot, but I did. No matter what he had done, I guessed I still loved him. Maybe Janice had been right, I thought, as I recalled what she had said on my bed, that Tony loved me in his own crazy way. Tony and I just loved differently, I reasoned, and showed it in different ways. We could work out our differences together.

  I smiled and pulled the sheets up over my head. I wanted to look like an Egyptian mummy, so I stretched my legs all the way to the bottom of the bed. I loved to play the clown and intended to make Tony laugh when he got back. My foot bumped into something frilly that was crumpled under the sheets. My underwear must have gotten lost in the bedclothes, I thought.

  I giggled and reached under the covers. The panties were pink, and they weren’t mine! Someone else had been with him! I fumed. And maybe it had even been that same day, I thought with revulsion. My stomach churned. God, when would I learn? I admonished myself. How much more did I have to see before I would wake up?

  I knew I had to get out of there as fast and as far away as possible. I sobbed as I got out of bed and gathered my clothes. Tony swaggered back into the room with a smile that turned into a frown when he saw my face. “Whatsa matter, Sam? You sick?” I burst into tears and flung the panties across the room. They landed at his feet. “What’s that?” he asked.

  “You tell me,” I said, sniffling.

  “Ain’t they yours?”

  “No, Tony … they’re not. Like you don’t know.”

  “I’m gonna kill that Vin,” Tony said. “Every time he uses my room, his girl leaves somethin’. I told him—”

  “It’s always someone else,” I interrupted, humiliated again in his presence, “isn’t it, Tony? I can’t believe you tricked me again.” I breathed deeply and tried to pull myself together as best I could while I started to dress.

  “I didn’t do nuttin’,” Tony snapped.

  “Sure, Tone,” I said as I fumbled with my blouse. “Whatever you say.”

  “You’re so jealous, Sam. I have no idea how they got there. Where were they, anyway?”

  “Buried in your sheets!” I shouted.

  “I’m tellin’ ya, Sam,
” Tony said. “Vin uses my bed a lot.”

  “To cheat on Dara?” I scoffed. “That’s just plain disgusting.”

  “As a matter of fact, yeah. He’s that kinda guy. I keep tellin’ him not to. And the lousy bastard doesn’t have the decency ta change the sheets. I told him—”

  “Give it a rest, Tony. This is my fault for bein’ here. I thought you were lonely for me but all you were was horny.” I tucked my blouse into my jeans.

  “I swear it wasn’t me, Sam,” Tony said, and he grabbed the telephone. “Jus’ wait while I get Vin. He’ll tell ya what happened.”

  “No he won’t, ’cause I’m outta here. My life was going just fine before I let you back in. How could I be so stupid?” I put my heels on and started past him on my way out of the room. “So long,” I said as I wiped my eyes. “You’re no damn good.”

  “I’m not as bad as ya said I was,” Tony blurted. “Ya said I didn’t give a shit aboud anybody but me. It ain’t true. How could you write that kinda stuff?” I stopped in my tracks. A terrible time had just gotten far worse and I couldn’t get a line from a Bee Gees song out of my head until it had repeated itself a few times: Tragedy, when the feeling’s gone and you can’t go on, it’s tragedy. Misery wafted over me then and I faced him with rage in my watery eyes.

  “You lowlife!” I screamed. “You broke into my house! Were you ever gonna tell me, or did you think it was okay for me to be scared for the rest of my life?”

  “C’mon, Sam,” Tony pleaded. “It’s jus’ that I love ya so much, I wanted to read what ya wuz writin’ so I could call my publishin’ friend an’ tell him how great it was.”

  “You’re a liar, Tony. A thief. A cheater,” I said. “You violated me and my family!” I gritted my teeth and started for the door. “I can’t fuckin’ believe I just slept with you.” He reached for me but I brushed him aside. I should go to the cops, I thought. He bolted for me and grabbed my arms so hard I thought I they were going to come out of their sockets. Somehow, with the help of prayer and seeing the Blessed Mother’s face in front of me, I managed to get out of his powerful lock.