The Godmothers

by Camille Aubray

  Filomena studied him covertly. He was in his mid-forties, of medium height and weight, with sandy brown hair, but he had a “tall head,” she thought—a high forehead with hawkish eyebrows angled sharply over his dark, brooding eyes—and he had a rather long nose and full, sensuous lips. Quietly and respectfully he approached Tessa without once relinquishing an ounce of his own authority. He bent slightly to murmur something consoling to her, then he spoke in a low voice to her sons.

  When he straightened up, the man’s glance darted swiftly once around the room, taking it all in. For a fraction of a second, his gaze rested on Filomena like a wasp on a bloom, as if she were a new plant in the garden. It didn’t last long; he’d evidently dismissed her as unimportant. But it was enough to send a chill through her.

  Filomena glanced inquiringly at the other women. Lucy shook her head warningly, but Amie could not resist whispering in her ear, “That’s Anthony Strollo. They call him ‘Tony Bender.’ He runs the crew of Greenwich Village. He’s the man we all have to deal with.”

  Petrina leaned forward meaningfully and whispered to Filomena, “But he’s just a capo for Mr. Costello, the ‘Prime Minister’ of the underworld. Remember?”

  “For the love of God, ladies, pipe down!” Lucy hissed in disbelief. “Do you want him to hear what we magpies think of him?”

  But Strollo had already moved up to the coffin. He paused, took a white flower out of his buttonhole, and placed it on Gianni’s chest.

  Filomena saw Mario wince, almost imperceptibly, for no one else noticed. But when Strollo turned, nodded to the family again, and walked out, she saw Mario unobtrusively reach over and pluck the flower off his father, just before the coffin was finally closed.

  Later that day, emerging from the church, and still feeling slightly sick from the copious amounts of incense that the priest had distributed at the funeral with an impressive gold censer on a thick gold chain, Filomena followed the wives and children into a car that bore them to the cemetery. She was surprised that Tessa had chosen to bury her husband far outside of town, in a suburb in Westchester County. The cemetery had a large, arched black iron gate.

  As they walked across this bucolic, peaceful place, Filomena saw that an entire section had been set off for this family, encircled by its own smaller iron gate. Tessa must have paid mightily for this prime spot, shaded by a big tree. An enormous mausoleum reigned here; Gianni was going to be buried aboveground, like a pope. The door to the structure yawned open, and Filomena could see a number of stone alcoves, with statues of patron saints in them, standing above various stone sarcophagi, many of which bore no engravings yet. Filomena gasped when she understood the plan.

  “We’re all going to end up here,” Lucy whispered, as if she was having the same thought at the same time. Amie shuddered. Petrina passed them a small silver flask of gin.

  The funeral director and his attendants moved expertly, placing Gianni’s coffin on a narrow temporary platform before the door of the crypt, so that the priest could say the prayers and make the final blessings.

  Rows of folding chairs were arranged outside the crypt, waiting for the family to be seated. None of the neighbors from the city had been invited to the burial; this part of the ceremony was only for family members, who sat there exhaustedly listening to the priest as he intoned his words about a life hereafter, in a weary manner that was strangely unconvincing, even to the devoted listeners who believed in it.

  Then a black car came rolling down the road that snaked around this peaceful, remote cemetery. Filomena saw Johnny, Frankie, and Mario exchange a dubious glance, shaking their heads to indicate that they had no recognition of the odd trio that emerged—an older woman and two young men, who came marching purposely toward them.

  The strangers sat down somewhat defiantly, in empty chairs on the other side of the coffin. Everyone stared. The woman was not much younger than Tessa, but her bleached blond hair and garish, heavily made-up face could not disguise the puffy look of a woman who had indulged in heavy drinking in her youth and was now suffering from the results. Her clothes, once formal, seemed shiny with wear.

  Her escorts were around Mario’s age, and evidently the woman’s sons, since they looked like her, except they had spiky, dark hair, well oiled; one son seemed slightly older than the other, but both were chunky and resembled overfed pets. A gust of combined synthetic cologne wafted from the entire group and caused Pippa to sneeze.

  Filomena was studying the young men. Something about their girth and gestures seemed oddly familiar. “Oh!” she said under her breath. No one heard her. But she was fairly certain that they were the two men she’d seen out on the street beneath her window on that moonlit night, not so long ago, loitering under the streetlamp and gazing up at the house. She would have to tell Mario, as soon as the service was over.

  The priest had paused momentarily, then concluded his farewell sermon. But when he mentioned Gianni’s name, the frowsy woman began sniffling, then moaning. Her sons, one on each side of her, remained impassive, but occasionally the woman put out both hands dramatically, as if to steady herself and prevent a swoon.

  “For God’s sake,” Petrina muttered. “Who is that ghastly woman, and why is she here, making such a racket?” The others shrugged in bewilderment.

  “Ma, you want me to chuck them out?” Frankie whispered.

  Tessa shook her head. “Don’t give her the pleasure of feeling that important.”

  Now the funeral attendants handed a white rose each to Tessa and her children, so that they could take turns placing a flower on the coffin. Filomena was proud of Petrina, Johnny, Frankie, and Mario, who rose to the occasion with grace as they placed their flowers.

  Tessa went last. She laid down her rose, then hesitated only momentarily to touch her fingers to her lips, and then to touch the coffin. This small gesture moved Filomena and the other wives to tears, which they hastily brushed away.

  The funeral attendants stepped forward, one to escort the family back to their cars, the others to tend to the coffin. The ceremony was over; it was time to go.

  But now the blond woman, as if on cue, sprang from her chair and lunged forward, flinging herself across the coffin, scattering the roses so carefully placed there.

  “No!” she sobbed loudly, clutching at the sides. “Don’t go, Gianni, don’t go!”

  Frankie stepped up immediately as if to pry the woman off his father’s casket, but her two escorts moved to stop him. Johnny stepped in to assist Frankie, but the funeral director, seeing men mobilizing for a fight, quickly intervened and took the strange woman’s arm as if to comfort her.

  “So sorry,” he said soothingly, skillfully handing her off to her sons, to direct them away from Frankie.

  The woman, still howling, now whirled around, eyes blazing with fury, aiming her gaze directly at Tessa, and when she spoke, Filomena thought, it was like an actress in a melodrama, eager to deliver a carefully rehearsed line.

  “Gianni belongs to me as well as you!” she shouted. “These are his sons!”

  14

  Family Council, Greenwich Village, 1943

  As soon as the family returned home, a conference was convened in Tessa’s study, which was a smaller, secondary parlor on the first floor at the back of her town house. But Filomena discovered that “family” meant only Tessa, Johnny, Frankie, Mario, and Petrina. The wives and children were not invited.

  Lucy and Amie resignedly took the kids into Tessa’s big dining room, where Stella, the cook, had left a sideboard of food for everyone. After they ate, Christopher, Gemma, and Amie’s twin boys, Vinnie and Paulie, were already droopy with fatigue from the long day, so they offered no objections when their mothers finally announced that it was bedtime, and Lucy and Amie took them off to their town house.

  Therefore Filomena found herself alone in Tessa’s parlor with Petrina’s daughter, Pippa, who was staying overnight in the guesthouse with her mother. In all the hubbub, Pippa had managed to wander unnoticed fro
m the dining room to the door outside Tessa’s private study, shamelessly eavesdropping until she got bored.

  Filomena herself was wondering what was going on in that family meeting. Before leaving the cemetery, Tessa had spoken briefly to the strange woman, standing with her apart from the others, under a tree. Filomena had told Mario that she thought she recognized the men. He absorbed this silently. Then, abruptly, everyone had gotten into their own cars and departed.

  “The fat lady is from Staten Island!” Pippa reported slyly to Filomena now, twirling, as if practicing a ballet move, to steady her nerves. “Uncle Johnny made some phone calls, and now he’s going to give Grandma a full report.” She wrinkled her nose. “Those weird people at the cemetery stank of perfume!”

  “Yes, they did,” Filomena admitted.

  Pippa sighed deeply, as if wise beyond her eleven years. “Well, I’m off to bed,” she said nonchalantly, cocking her head defiantly, as her mother might have. “We’re going back to Rye tomorrow, because I have ballet class.” She kissed Filomena on the cheek, as if paying homage to an old auntie, then went off to the guesthouse, to sleep in the bed that Filomena had once occupied when she’d first arrived.

  Filomena finished her last sip of wine. Donna, the maid, had gone with Lucy and Amie to help them with the kids, so Filomena carried the dishes into the kitchen. She filled the basin with soapy hot water and let the dishes soak a little. Then she went to the pantry to fetch a dishcloth.

  Standing there in the pantry, she heard the distinct voices of Tessa and her children, conversing on the other side of the wall. Filomena paused. She knew what Rosamaria would say. Survival is more important than manners.

  Johnny was speaking, as if reporting to a committee. “Their name is Pericolo. The woman is called Alonza. The sons are Sergio and Ruffio. She told Ma at the cemetery that her sons have birth certificates with our last name and Pop’s signature.”

  “Oh, come on! Any jackass could have forged that,” Frankie burst out.

  “Those boys have criminal records, which is why they aren’t in the war overseas; they were tagged 4F, ‘unfit for duty due to antisocial behavior,’” Johnny went on.

  “What were they in jail for?” Frankie demanded.

  “Ruffio, the younger one, got caught purse-snatching, stealing cars. Stupid things. But the older one, Sergio, he’s violent—knife fights, beating people up for fun, you know, like a mental case. Too touchy, too emotional, his own worst enemy. As for the mother, people who’ve known her say she spent her whole life trying to latch on to one man after another who dumped her. Used sex to get them, when she was young, but now she just depends on these useless sons that she can’t control anymore.”

  “Ma,” Petrina said in a gentle tone, “you haven’t told us what you think.”

  There was a silence, and then Tessa said, “I think that woman killed Gianni.”

  There was a chorus of exclamations and then Tessa continued, “Your father received a number of telephone calls that he never explained to me, usually at night. He said not to worry, but he always seemed upset after those calls. I think it was her.”

  Petrina said in a shocked tone, “Do you believe it’s even possible that this woman’s sons really are—?” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the thought.

  Tessa said in an even, steely voice, “No. Why wouldn’t she have contacted him sooner, when they were younger and needed support? I do the accounts, and I saw nothing to indicate that Gianni ever gave money to her. Also, your father, in all this time, did not see fit to take these boys into any of his businesses. You all know your father is an honorable man. What do you think he would have done if he really believed those boys were his?”

  Johnny said reflectively, “Ma’s right. Even if he wanted to keep all this from us, Pop would have tried to help those guys, without causing our family any real pain.”

  “This Alonza may have met your father sometime in the past. But I suspect she just recently learned that he’s become a man of wealth and respect,” Tessa continued in her measured tone. “From what you’ve said, she sounds like the kind of weak woman who seeks to attach herself, at all costs, to the most successful man she meets, any way she can, including lies and threats. Like a drowning woman who thinks she sees a life preserver.”

  Petrina, who’d been listening closely, thought it entirely possible that Gianni had had a brief fling with that promiscuous woman, perhaps had even been seen in public having a drink with her, and this alone, in the tangled world of racketeers, could be problematic if a fuss were made about it. But Petrina was also convinced that such an affair had not produced those sons. She sensed this, viscerally and utterly. “That Alonza has the face of a liar who doesn’t even believe her own lie,” she noted aloud.

  “She won’t stop,” Johnny warned. “She told Ma she’d take us to court.”

  “How does this woman dare to threaten us?” Frankie demanded, outraged. “Take us to court, is she kidding? Pop didn’t leave them anything in his will. What does she think she’s going to do in court?”

  “She isn’t really going to court,” Johnny surmised. “It’s just blackmail. She’s threatening to put Pop’s businesses under scrutiny.”

  “She’s stupid, then,” Frankie retorted. “Doesn’t she know that people disappear every day for a lot less than that?”

  “She might be missed,” Johnny warned. “She’s well-known in that little neighborhood of hers in Staten Island. Look, we don’t want her running around making noise about us to anybody. It would bring us too much attention, and we can’t have that, not now, when there’s so much money coming in.”

  “Why don’t we go to Strollo?” Frankie objected impatiently. “Strollo showed up at the wake for Pop, didn’t he?”

  “Strollo will tell us we have to settle it ourselves,” Mario said unexpectedly.

  “How do you know that?” Frankie said testily. “We can ask him, can’t we?”

  “No.” It was Tessa’s voice, cold and firm. “When you ask such a man for a favor, you are in debt to him, and what he asks in return will always be something that you don’t want to do. You boys already received a favor not so long ago, have you forgotten? You can be sure that they have not forgotten. One day that favor will come due. Do you want to remind them about it now and awaken the sleeping dogs?”

  “What’s she talking about?” Petrina asked, sounding baffled.

  “Never mind,” Johnny said swiftly, not wanting to tell her what had happened on that night when Amie’s first husband had to be disposed of.

  Mario spoke in his calm, deliberate way. “What exactly does she want from us?”

  “She wants to be me,” Tessa said. “She can’t ever be me. But we can make her feel she’s won something from me. We can make her feel that her boys are almost as important as you. She said she wants us to let them ‘in’ on our business.”

  “Why should we do that?” Frankie said in disbelief. “You give them an inch, they’ll ask for a yard. When people who aren’t used to money get some, it goes to their heads. And somehow, they’ll bring us all down with them. Termites always do.”

  “Silenzio, Franco,” Tessa commanded with more force now. “Do you think for one moment I would give away anything important to those people? Do you think I’d give her the pebble from the bottom of my shoe? Tell him, Johnny. Tell him what we can do.”

  Johnny cleared his throat. “We can set up Alonza in a better house. A nice one on Staten Island, to impress her friends. We will own it, but she’ll live there rent-free.”

  “Also, we’ll give the sons something,” Tessa said. “Not in any of our businesses; you know your father has been working to move us into more legitimate work, away from the Bosses. We cannot let anyone jeopardize our plans. So we must steer Alonza’s sons to some other enterprise that will keep them busy, and away from us. Set them up in respectable enough work as a test, to see if they are dependable, hardworking, honest—or not. If not, well, a lazy man can always find troub
le, like cheese in a mousetrap.”

  Frankie whistled admiringly at this strategy. “Give ’em enough rope to climb, or else to hang themselves with. Fine. Where do we send them? Chicago? New Orleans?”

  Johnny said quickly, “Florida. Let ’em work for Stewie, he owes Pop a favor. He’s looking for people to run his ice-cream parlors and souvenir shops. They’re mostly legit. If those boys save their money, they’ll do well. It’ll keep ’em a thousand miles away from us. But if the Pericolo brothers are looking for a big, easy score, they’ll go astray—with the racetracks, the bookies, the truck hijackers who steal cigarettes, booze, electronics. It’s their choice.”

  “You saw their faces. Those morons haven’t worked hard at anything in their lives. I bet they can’t even tie their shoes straight. Any bets?” Frankie responded.

  “But we’ll give them a shot at making something of themselves,” Johnny said.

  “It might work,” Mario admitted. “It just might work.”

  “All right, then. We agree,” Tessa said in a tone of finality. “Solve it without blood. Set them up in business with that man in Florida. If they are honorable, they will become independent and thrive. But if they squander this opportunity—well, debt is something most people fall into without ever noticing it.”

  “Yeah, Florida’s waters are swimming with bait,” Frankie observed. “But if the Pericolos don’t play straight with the alligators down there, they won’t live to bother us anymore.” A silence settled on the group. Tessa pushed back her chair and rose.

  “It’s time for sleep,” she said firmly. “Tomorrow there will be much to do.”

  Filomena, who’d been holding her breath, now scurried to the kitchen sink to resume washing the dishes. Tessa went directly to her bedroom. The brothers emerged with Petrina, just as the maid returned from helping Lucy and Amie with their kids.

  “For God’s sake,” Petrina said impatiently to Filomena. “You don’t have to do dishes around here! Mario, tell your wife she’s the lady of the house now.”