Amie took a good, hard look at her husband, which, she realized, she hadn’t done in a while. Johnny had always been lanky, but now he looked a bit gaunt and pale, with dark shadows under his eyes. She’d put it down to grief over his parents, to stress, to winter’s chill. Now she was seeing, at last. “Oh, Johnny,” she said softly, going to him. “Why didn’t you ever tell me you got so terribly sick when you were a child?” But even now, he held her off.
“I thought I beat it! I don’t want you to catch it. I couldn’t bear it if I gave it to you.” His voice was a bit unsteady with emotion. Amie suddenly comprehended his standoffishness.
“I’m going to have the doctor come right away,” she said quickly.
He looked as if he wanted to object, but when he coughed again and cursed the cough, he said resignedly, “All right, Amie.”
Amie called the doctor, then, while waiting, fussed over Johnny, heating up some chicken soup, putting him to bed with warm brandy, hushing the children when they came home. She told them that their father was feeling “under the weather,” and she sent them to bed early.
Johnny surrendered gratefully to her comforting, maternal ministrations. The doctor came, and Amie exchanged a few words with him to explain. Then, while the doctor was still with her husband, Amie, for the first time in her life, called a family meeting of all the adults, in Tessa’s house, so they would not be overheard by the kids.
Frankie immediately demanded, “What’s up? Why isn’t Johnny here?”
“Johnny is very sick,” Amie said, trembling. “The doctor is with him now. Johnny says it’s the tuberculosis returning. Please tell me—what tuberculosis?”
Filomena, Lucy, and Amie could see by Frankie’s expression that this did not entirely shock him. “Yeah, Johnny caught it when he was a kid,” Frankie mumbled.
“What happened?” Lucy asked, sensing there was more to this story.
Frankie glanced at Amie, then said, “Johnny got in trouble when he was ten. A fight on the playground with a kid bigger than him. The guy beat up Johnny pretty bad, but then Johnny managed to give him one good shove, and the kid hit the ground and got knocked out cold. He was in the hospital for months, and they say he never ‘got right’ after that, but I think he just shut up and got scared, like bullies do. Anyway, the family pressed charges, and Johnny was sent to reform school. That was a bad place. It almost killed him. He came back real thin, and sick with TB. But, he did get well. Until now.”
“He smokes too much,” Amie said worriedly.
“Just can’t stop. Another habit he picked up in reform school,” Frankie replied.
“Sometimes TB patients self-medicate,” Lucy said, her nursing instincts alert. “Usually it’s drink.” But these brothers, she knew, had been raised to avoid drinking except at mealtime, where it was all moderate and carefully calibrated.
Amie blurted out in panic, “The doctor said he doesn’t expect Johnny to live to the end of the year!” They all gasped. “I told him not to tell Johnny that. You know how he is. But I must go back and make sure the doctor doesn’t tell Johnny all the dire things he said to me. How can you tell a man he hasn’t got even a chance to recover?”
Lucy said quickly, “Amie, there’s a good sanitarium upstate—a place up in the mountains, where they’ve had success with people who were terribly ill. It’s hard to get into, because their beds are always full. But I know some people there; I think I can get him in. He’d have to stay for a long while, probably. But it just might save his life.”
Frankie’s eyes were bright, but he blinked away the threat of tears. “You really think so, Lucy? I don’t want to sell my brother a pipe dream.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Lucy said firmly. “Johnny should go there, as soon as he can.”
Filomena said, “Why don’t you talk to the doctor, Lucy?”
“Yes,” Amie said, rising. “He’ll listen to you. It’s your business to know these things. Hurry, before that doctor starts measuring Johnny for his shroud.”
At first, Johnny violently resisted the idea of a sanitarium. The thought of another institution reminded him of reform school, and he shuddered.
“I’m not going someplace where they make you sleep on the porch in the freezing cold,” he said after the doctor left and the adults had gathered at his bedside. “Fuck that. Think I’d leave my work and my wife and my kids to go live with other sickies I don’t know? I once beat this TB on my own. I can do it again.”
“You were younger then, you dope,” Frankie said with brutal affection. “You fool around this time and it’ll be curtains for you, unless you do exactly what Lucy says.”
“Think of the children,” Amie reminded him. “Do you want them to catch TB?”
Johnny turned his head away for several moments and then said, “No,” in a barely audible voice. Then, “What if the food is rotten?” he objected. “Which it will be. You get ten miles outta New York, and the bread is inedible.”
“I’ll bring you something good to eat, every week,” Amie promised.
“Yeah?” Johnny said skeptically. “How are you going to get there? Fly?”
“Sal will drive me,” Amie said resolutely.
“I’ll take her up there,” Frankie offered. “We’ll both come and see you. We’ll play poker. You’ll get sick of us. You’ll get fat, too, with all the food we bring you.”
“And who the hell will run my business, eh?” Johnny demanded.
“I will,” Amie said unexpectedly. They all turned to her in astonishment. “I always was your silent partner, remember? Well, now I’m your talking partner. And I say, you are going where Lucy tells you to go, Johnny. You are not going to make a widow out of me, because I look awful in black.” She bit her lip so that he wouldn’t have to see her cry.
“Aw, I’ll think about it,” Johnny grumbled. “Now beat it, all of you. You’re all standing around making me feel like I’m already lying in a coffin, instead of a bed.”
“Don’t think too long,” Frankie said over his shoulder as he went out.
A few days later, Amie was surprised when Johnny called her to his bedside and said, “We have to talk shop, you and I.”
She sat beside him and took his hand. “Talking makes you cough,” she warned.
“Well, this you have to hear, while I still have some breath. I want you to understand my share of the business. Yeah, yeah, you think you know, but hear me out. I know you can run the bar itself; our staff is good. But right from day one, you have to let them know you aren’t some gullible dame. You can probably handle the gamblers most of the time, but I already told Frankie to show up and let them know there’s still a wolf guarding the place. Still, you gotta keep your eyes on every single one of them—everybody who works for you—to make sure they don’t start stealing; everyone from the busboys to the bartender.” He did cough now, but he drank some water, and it stopped.
“I understand all this,” Amie said. “I wish you’d save your strength.”
“Listen to me. Someday soon we won’t have to take the bets anymore. So we won’t have to answer to the Bosses who grease the wheels that make this city run. But for now, we take the bets, and the Bosses and the cops still want their take. And we give it to them, to keep the peace, so there won’t be trouble. If I hadn’t gotten sick, you would never have to care about this. But now, you must do what I’d do if I were here.”
Amie wished she didn’t have to hear it. She’d long ago learned to simply push unpleasant things out of her mind. But this was serious; she could see that. She said quietly, “I’m not clever like Petrina, or as tough as Lucy, or as brave as Mario’s wife.”
Johnny drank more water. “You’re smarter and stronger than you think. Look, here’s how it works. The runners collect the bets from the bookies and shopkeepers. When Mario was a kid, he used to be my runner. But Petrina put a stop to it. Anyway, we don’t use family as runners anymore, so no matter what anyone tells you, don’t let our twins do any of it. Keep them
in school, and make them do their homework.”
“Of course,” Amie murmured.
“Meanwhile, keep strict accounts of what comes in and what goes out of the betting operation. We used to report it all to Ma, who arranged to pay all our tributes to the Bosses, with her lawyer Domenico as our courier and fixer. Frankie does all the collecting of money, so he will probably take over Ma’s book. I’ll talk to him. Sal will provide the muscle. But you, Amie, you must be my eyes and ears. I’ll show you how the numbers work. Sure, you can rely on Frankie, even to help you with our kids. But in the end, trust nobody,” Johnny warned, staring at her hard. “Not even the family. And don’t go blabbing to the other wives about it. This is not gossip. This is survival.”
Sal drove Johnny upstate, with Amie and Lucy going along, to make sure that Johnny got settled in properly. They decided to stay overnight at a local inn.
Meanwhile, back home, after the maid put all the children to bed, Frankie went to the main house, where Filomena was now living alone most of the time, except when Petrina visited for an overnight or weekend stay. Frankie wondered how Mario’s wife could bear being in that big house by herself on most nights.
He walked into the dining room, where Filomena was drinking coffee. She was surprised to see him. “Would you like something to eat?” she asked, thinking that perhaps he was lonely, with Johnny and the wives gone.
Frankie shook his head. “I ate at Johnny’s bar. I’m fine.” But he sat down and accepted a cup of espresso. Filomena sat in the chair beside him. He said, “Lucy’s got a birthday coming. Think you have anything in your shop she’d like?”
“Oh, yes,” Filomena said. “A lovely pair of emerald earrings, perfect for her!”
Frankie said, “I don’t know. Lucy é unica—una ragazza bellissima acqua e sapone. So, you really think a gal like that would go for earrings?”
Filomena smiled at a man who thought his wife was one in a million, a true “soap and water” beauty whose very naturalness might actually make her resist adornment. “Of course she’d like earrings,” she replied. “These emeralds are special—they have that rare blue flame in their center, which go with her Irish eyes!”
“Okay, I’ll stop by tomorrow to pick ’em up.” Then Frankie said casually, “Did you figure out what you want to do with Mario’s shop? I can sell it for you, if you like.”
“No, thanks. I’ve decided to keep it, Frankie,” she said. “This is Mario’s business, and I know it well, since I am his partner.”
But Frankie shook his head warningly. “It’s a lot to take on, alone.” His tone implied, For a woman.
Hearing this patriarchal message, Filomena thought wryly, You don’t know the half of it. For she had been to a doctor recently, who had confirmed what she’d guessed. Mario’s baby was due in September. Soon it would be impossible to keep this a secret from the brothers, but she wanted to write the news to Mario first. Especially since here was Frankie, already telling her just what a woman could, and couldn’t, do.
“I won’t actually be running my business alone,” Filomena said, smiling at him with a clear, direct gaze. “Petrina is going to work with me at the shop.” She did not add, Because your sister is getting a divorce, and she says she wants to make her own money. This, too, had not been announced yet.
“Petrina! She knows how to buy things, not sell them,” Frankie scoffed.
Unruffled, Filomena said, “She’s actually a very good saleswoman. The female customers want to be beautiful, like her, so they ask her advice. And the male customers like to show off that they can spend big, to impress her. We’ll do just fine, Frankie.”
“Until Petrina gets bored,” Frankie countered. “She will, you know. At least you can depend on me and Johnny.”
“I only get bored by boring people,” said a female voice in the corridor. Petrina had emerged from the study and stood in the doorway with a triumphant glint in her eye at having caught out her brother. “But gems are never boring! And yes, Frankie, I do know how to buy jewels. I’m taking that course at the gemology institute where Mario studied, so I can make sure our suppliers don’t swindle us. As for me not being dependable, well, I’m a college graduate, Frankie dear. With honors. I know how to buckle down and work. And my partner here is as sharp as they come with numbers.”
Petrina beamed at Filomena. Tonight they’d had dinner together, and Petrina had confided all her divorce woes, then asked about Mario. So Filomena had decided to tell only Petrina that she was pregnant, saying, I have good news. You are going to be a godmother at last.
Frankie now sensed this new camaraderie between his sister and Mario’s wife, and he looked uneasy. He cleared his throat and spoke to Filomena. “Okay. That’s fine. Keep your shop. But you know, this family reports all our profits together, so that we can make our payoffs together. We reported to Ma, but now, I have to be in charge of the family, until Johnny and Mario come home again. So, there’s something else I need. Maybe you know where it is?”
Petrina raised her head alertly. Filomena said warily, “Yes?”
“Ma’s book,” Frankie said. “You can still help me with the numbers, just as you helped my mother,” he said with a wave of his hand, as if he were being generous.
Filomena took a deep breath and said, “Wait here.” She went into Tessa’s parlor and unlocked the desk drawer. When she returned without Tessa’s book and handed him only an envelope instead, Frankie looked perplexed.
“I said, I want Ma’s book,” he repeated, impatient now.
“No, Frankie,” Filomena said firmly, giving him Mario’s sealed letter. “Mario thought you might ask me about this, so he wrote a letter to you and Johnny.”
Frankie tore it open and read the letter quickly, then shoved it back into the envelope in irritation. When he spoke, it was in the voice of a man warning her that he could lose his temper, which was a threat most people instinctively heeded. “Like I said, you can keep doing the numbers, but you still have to answer to someone in this family. Mario’s not here now, and neither is Johnny, but Johnny agrees that I should take over.”
Petrina lit a cigarette. “I’m the eldest member of this family,” she said, exhaling a ring of smoke and watching it tremble on an air current. “So she can answer to me.”
“You’re crazy!” Frankie snapped. Petrina stiffened at this familiar insult. Heedless, Frankie went on. “You just don’t get it. The Bosses know that Pop and Ma are gone. They’ll be watching us to see if this family can still keep earning, still keep things running smoothly. If we slip up just once, they’ll move in on our entire operation.”
Petrina said evenly, “And since this was Ma’s job, it’s more fitting that I, as her daughter, take it over. Therefore, you and Johnny will report to me.”
With a nod toward Petrina, Filomena said firmly, “So, you can tell Johnny that Tessa’s book belongs to us now.”
21
May–June 1944
“I don’t know who the hell that wife of Mario’s thinks she is,” Frankie groused to Lucy a few weeks later, after he’d spoken to Johnny about the situation. “What gives her the right to take over Ma’s book, Ma’s house—everything?”
“Come, now, m’love,” Lucy said reasonably. “You don’t really want to sleep in your parents’ old bedroom, do you? And who wants to be the family bookkeeper, anyway? Tessa said that Mario’s wife is good at numbers, so let her help the family.”
Lucy was more concerned about Frankie’s temper. He was holding on to his troubles too long, like a dog gnawing on the same old bone. Also, he’d bought a car of his own and had a bad habit of “going for a drive” when he wanted to let off steam.
“You don’t understand,” he fumed. “She should be answering to us! Instead, Petrina actually says she’s going to take over Ma’s job—her and Mario’s wife. Can ya beat that?”
Lucy paused. She’d always been close to Amie; and Petrina, though ultra-glamorous, was an American, after all, and easy enough to relate to.
But Mario’s wife, calm and loving and generous as she could be, was more daunting, with a core of steel that reminded Lucy of the formidable Tessa. If this girl from Italy was now teaming up with Petrina, it could change the balance among the wives. “How come you didn’t tell me this before?” she asked.
“Because I didn’t believe Petrina would actually take charge!” Frankie said. “I thought she’d get one look at all that math and go right back to her country-club set.”
“What does Johnny say about it?” Lucy responded.
“He says humor them, and we’ll check up on them next month,” he muttered. “He says at the first sign of trouble, Petrina will come crying to us anyway. Just wait till somebody fails to make a payment! Just wait till she has a bad month of earnings and then has to face our lawyer Domenico when he shows up to collect for Strollo, who will want his same amount of tribute no matter what.” Lucy shivered at the cold tone of these possibilities.
Frankie was silently wondering why Lucy still hadn’t worn the earrings he’d given her. She insisted that she loved them, but she never put them on. He blamed this on Mario’s wife and Petrina, too. Today, he was tallying up all his grievances. “Meanwhile,” he said, “Johnny’s leading the life of Riley. He lies there all bundled up on his balcony, with people waiting on him hand and foot; then he goes to bed and just reads all day long.”
“What does he read?” Lucy asked, amused. She knew what life was like at the sanitarium, how hard the struggle was simply to breathe, much less have the energy for anything else. And yet, miraculously, suffering people found a way to hang on to hope. But oddly, the invalids’ relatives—and sometimes even the nursing staff—envied the unwell, as if they were luxuriating indolently, instead of fighting for their lives.
“What does Johnny read?” Frankie repeated incredulously. “Christ, everything! History, geography, art, science, and all those writers—Dickens, Hardy, Shakespeare, the works. He thinks he’s finally figuring out the secrets of the universe from ‘all the great minds.’”
The Godmothers Page 21