That night, as Filomena and Mario were climbing into bed, she said, “Amie wants our Teresa to spend the summer by the sea with her kids in Mamaroneck. I told her yes. So they’ll all go early tomorrow morning. Chris, too, to work in Amie’s restaurant.”
“I think it’s an excellent idea to get the young ones out of the city this summer,” Mario agreed, tucking the bedcovers over her as they settled in.
Although she hadn’t told him about her dream, Mario knew why she was worried; she had a sixth sense about trouble ahead and was doing everything in her power to protect them all from what may come. Tessa’s ledger would be the last to go; the smaller debtors had slowly paid off what they owed because Filomena had reduced their interest percentages. All that remained now was some of the “big fish”—the high rollers, professional bettors, and bookies, whom she’d kept on the books to cover the tribute to the Bosses. She had calculated that in one more year they could close out Tessa’s book entirely. But this was possible only because Costello had been reasonable, not asking for more tribute than they could bear.
Now there were ill winds blowing. Filomena said in dismay, “We are so close to getting out. But if Costello is dead, where does that leave us?”
Mario took her in his arms and held her close. “It means we just have to swim faster than we thought, to get to ‘the other side’ that you always speak of,” he said tenderly. “Before these Bosses make us drown in their wake.”
The next morning, Amie left early with Nicole, Teresa, Chris, and the twins. After they were gone, Filomena, Mario, and Petrina were finishing their coffee, silently waiting for news, when Pippa lazily wandered into the dining room in a fancy dressing gown, her long, dark hair piled haphazardly in a knot atop her head, grateful for some coffee to sip quietly. When the telephone rang, Mario went to answer it in Tessa’s study.
“Pippa and I are heading back to Mamaroneck, too,” Petrina told Filomena. “Are you and Mario coming up later on this summer, for Amie’s annual Fourth of July barbecue?”
“Of course,” Filomena said. “Mario’s looking forward to going fishing.”
“Tell him our beach has great clams to dig up!” Pippa said, still yawning over her coffee and stretching out her long legs, exhausted from her performance last night. When she heard the newspaper thump on the front stoop, she roused herself to wander out and pick it up, looking for the reviews. Then she came hurrying back right away, waving the paper aloft to show the big New York Times headline:
Costello Is Shot Entering Home; Gunman Escapes
Gambler Suffers Superficial Scalp Wound—Attacker Flees in Darkened Car
“Costello’s alive!” Pippa announced in disbelief. Filomena breathed a sigh of relief.
But when Mario emerged from the study, he said warningly, “Yes, Costello survived. But Sal says it was Genovese and Strollo behind the hit. He says Strollo hired the fat man that Vinnie and Paulie saw at the pool hall. Word is, he’s an ex-prizefighter called Gigante.”
Filomena and Petrina exchanged a look at the name of the teenage boxer who’d given the Godmothers lessons in self-defense years ago. “It can’t be him!” Petrina exclaimed. “He’s not fat! He was a successful boxer, in great shape!”
“That was years ago. Believe it or not, they say he bulked up for this hit, just so he could slim back down afterwards while in hiding awhile, to avoid ever being ID’d as the ‘Fat Man’ shooter,” Mario said. He looked at them quizzically. “How do you know this Gigante?”
“Oh, just neighborhood chitchat,” Petrina mumbled evasively. “Ma knew his mother.”
“Well, according to our sources, Costello has agreed to ‘retire’ and let Genovese take over his role as Boss,” Mario continued.
Filomena gasped. “Why should Costello do that?” she asked in dread.
“They missed him once,” Mario said. “The next time, they won’t miss.”
Filomena had been studying his face, and now she asked, “Is that all?”
Mario said carefully, “No, there’s something else. One of the Pericolo brothers has finished serving his time in jail, and he’s out. They say he’s gone to Las Vegas.”
Pippa saw her mother go pale. “Who’s out of jail?” Pippa asked uncertainly.
Petrina, tempted not to tell her, finally said, “The men who killed your grandmother.”
“Only one man is out. It’s Sergio,” Mario corrected. “Ruffio died in prison, years ago.”
Pippa felt her entire body go cold at the memory of that awful scene. To this day, she could still smell those two killers as they brushed past her; she could even recall the hot, sweet, slightly iron scent of Tessa’s spilled blood. All these years, she’d known one thing for sure—that this evil was only hidden and had never entirely gone away.
32
Greenwich Village and Mamaroneck, Late Summer 1957
Months later, on a very sultry evening, Lucy’s daughter, Gemma, had a fight with her parents. It really wasn’t her fault. Things had already gotten pretty tense around their house that summer. Lucy and Frankie would only tell her that the new Boss was “putting the squeeze on people,” which meant they were all being extorted for more money.
Gemma was still not allowed to go out with Pippa at night. And yet, despite such parental protectiveness, Gemma had always felt slightly unwanted, ever since childhood. Vinnie and Paulie got attention because they were twins. Chris, who’d caused them all lots of trouble, was still doted on by Lucy, as if he were her little angel. When Gemma was a child, Lucy had surely loved her, but even then, Lucy was so distracted and preoccupied. Something—or somebody else—was always more important.
As for Gemma’s father, Frankie, yes, he’d been affectionate with her, in an absent-minded way; when she was little, he would pick her up and waltz her around the room, saying, “How’s my dancing partner today?” But then he’d go off and play baseball with the boys, even though Gemma could bat a ball clear to the end of the park. And now that Gemma had put away her roller skates and was a “young lady” of nineteen, Frankie didn’t hug his daughter much anymore; he acted as if she were as dangerous to hold as a stick of dynamite.
“It’s because you have breasts now.” Pippa was once again the one who had to explain it to her. “Fathers are men, you know. He doesn’t want to notice your looks. You’re too sexy for your own good. You make all the men lose their heads!”
“I can’t help how I look,” Gemma objected. When males had started noticing her—and the grown men did, even before the boys at school—Gemma thought it was most peculiar. Her body had always been her private space. To have men suddenly studying her legs, or staring at her chest as if she wore cupcakes there, made her feel slightly sick, to be honest. She lay awake nights worrying about how she was supposed to react to this intense interest. At first, all she could feel was that she wanted to be left alone.
“Don’t worry,” Pippa had advised. She was twenty-five now, and her dance career had made her a woman of the world. “When you go out of the house, it’s just like being onstage. You be in charge. Smile, but you don’t let them catch your eye. You don’t have to let anybody touch you unless you really want to. Don’t be afraid. Because if you’re not afraid, then you can scare the hell out of them. Most of them are big dreamers; they just like to fantasize about it. Pick a good guy, though, and you’ll have a good time kissing and being in love.”
Shortly afterwards, Gemma’s mother had decided it was time to have “the talk” with her. Gemma pretended that Pippa hadn’t already enlightened her about sex. Lucy was frank, calm, but acted just like a nurse instructing a patient. Gemma enjoyed this unexpected solidarity with her mother, but by then it seemed too little, too late.
Nowadays, it was the “Little Girls,” Nicole and Teresa, who were getting tons of praise for their scholastic abilities. So, since nobody seemed to think that Gemma had much of a future, she had taken matters into her own hands.
Gemma sighed, glanced in her mirror, gave her strawberry-b
lond curls a final smoothing, and joined her family for dinner.
They were eating at Uncle Mario’s house, because Aunt Filomena had cooked tonight, making a delicate sole sautéed to perfection and served with fresh zucchini that had been minced and mixed with bread crumbs, then stuffed right back into the big yellow blossoms of the zucchini and lightly fried. The chilled Soave wine was crisp and dry.
But by the end of the meal, there was trouble. It began when Filomena said warmly, “Gemma, Petrina phoned to say that Pippa told her that you got a new job. Congratulations!”
Gemma gulped. Apparently Pippa had assumed that Gemma had broken the news to her parents by now, since she’d been at this job nearly a week already. Well, she hadn’t planned to spill the beans just yet.
Lucy put down her fork and knife and said, “What?” with a suspicious glance.
Frankie, as usual, didn’t even look at her. He just aimed his remarks at Lucy, which Gemma found insulting. “What the hell does she want a job for?” he demanded. “We give her everything she needs.”
“Pippa works,” Gemma countered. “She’s been a ballet dancer for years.”
Too late, she realized that this only made it worse. Her father retorted, “Great! Prancing around in tights, half-dressed for men to stare at, like a common showgirl.”
“What sort of job have you got, Gemma?” Mario asked kindly.
“I’m a manicurist,” Gemma said, her confidence fading by the minute. “At a fancy hotel. It’s a cushy job with great tips, and it can lead to better things, because you meet all kinds of interesting people that way. You know, people who travel—” She stopped.
Pippa had found her this job, because she had lots of “connections” uptown. Pippa had said this work could lead to Gemma’s being “discovered,” maybe as a model or a movie star. But Gemma didn’t want to tell her parents what else Pippa had said, which was, You could meet a millionaire to marry. Rich men just love having pretty girls holding their hands and playing with their fingers!
“A manicurist!” Lucy shrieked, ignoring Filomena’s cautioning look. “Where did you get a crazy idea like that?”
“Gosh, I don’t know, I guess this ‘idea’ just ran out from behind a bush and grabbed me by the nose, like a head cold,” Gemma said sarcastically, feeling stung. Somehow, these plans that meant so much to her had just fallen flat as a pancake when she’d said them aloud in a rush. She felt stupid now, with everybody staring at her.
“Don’t get smart with us, young lady,” Frankie warned. Gemma bit her tongue. She never understood why getting “smart” was bad for a girl, especially since her parents were so impressed with her studious, obedient little cousins.
Frankie turned to Lucy. “If she were my son, I’d belt her. So you deal with her!”
As far as Lucy was concerned, having a beautiful daughter was hardship enough—when men old enough to be Gemma’s father wolf-whistled as mother and daughter walked down the street, Lucy knew they weren’t whistling at her. But she worried about Gemma. A woman who relied solely on her looks was destined for a disastrous end—especially in jobs that encouraged men to ogle and proposition them, like hat-check girls and cocktail waitresses.
So Lucy said sharply, “It’s high time you got over yourself, lassie. You want to work? All right, we’ll find you decent work. I can get you enrolled in a nursing school. They are always short of nurses these days—”
“No!” Gemma cried out, horrified. “You think I want to come home all pale and exhausted, and smelling of disinfectant every night, like you do? You think I want to spend my days cooped up in that crummy hospital with nothing but the sick and the dying all around me? I’d rather die myself than be a nurse.”
“Don’t speak to your mother like that!” Frankie said. “Nurses are beautiful, that’s why I fell in love with her. It’s a noble calling. I’d be proud if you had a profession like that. But why would anyone take some cheap job if they didn’t have to?” He looked truly bewildered.
“Well, I do have to!” Gemma shouted. “I’m not talented and artistic like Pippa, and I’m not smart like Teresa and Nicole. But maybe I could have been, if anybody around here ever gave a damn about me when I was little.”
“If you ever use a word like that again—” Frankie was livid now.
“What, are you threatening to beat me up? You think I’m one of those people you and Sal can push around?” Gemma was past caring now. There were tears streaming down her face, and she felt utterly humiliated. She didn’t want to spend her whole life as a manicurist; it was just an entry into the beauty business, which was a career. But she certainly wasn’t going to say that now, not after the way they’d already trampled on her small dreams of having a life of her own.
So Gemma, clinging to her last shred of self-respect, stood up defiantly. “I’m nineteen years old. I can do what I want. I have a friend who works in a department store, and she and I are going to rent an apartment together uptown. So I’m going to keep this job and live on my own,” she cried. “And that’s that!”
She fled from the dining room sobbing, going through the corridor that led to her parents’ town house. She entered her bedroom, locked the door, and flung herself on the bed.
“Can you believe the way she talked to us?” Frankie demanded. “Know what Ma and Pop would have done to us if we ever spoke to them that way?”
“Frankie, let it go,” Mario said reasonably. “She just wants to try her wings.”
“Only angels have wings,” Frankie muttered.
Lucy, oddly enough, took no offense at Gemma’s outburst. Even the insults struck her like a breath of fresh air, causing Lucy to realize, I have let my daughter down. All because I knew Frankie wanted a boy, so I treated Gemma as if she were second prize. I wonder why it mattered so much—what Frankie wanted. Why did I never ask—what do I want?
“Mario,” Filomena said tactfully, “will you help me carry the coffee and dessert outside? It’s nice and cool there, with the fountain.”
Left alone with her husband now, Lucy said thoughtfully, “Frankie. Let Gemma keep that job. The odds are, she’ll be bored stiff soon enough. But if we stop her, she’ll always imagine it would have been more glamorous.”
“Fine,” Frankie said in exasperation. “You’re the one who was so dead set against it. Gemma can keep the job, but she’s not going to live in an apartment uptown. She has to stay put, right here. That’s the deal. She can take it or leave it.”
“All right,” Lucy agreed. Then she surprised herself by saying gently, “You know, darlin’, all young girls need to see that their father really wanted them. They can sense when a man wished he’d had a son instead of a daughter. And don’t tell me that boys ‘pass on the family name.’ We’re not kings. It’s just a dick thing, men wanting sons so they can see a reflection of themselves. But it hurts girls to be unwanted. It hurts a lot.”
Frankie, perplexed, muttered, “I never said I wished she’d been a boy. I was really happy the day that Gemma was born.”
“Well, someday you should tell her that, not just me,” Lucy answered, watching Filomena and Mario standing in the garden arm-in-arm. She took Frankie’s arm. “Listen, my love,” Lucy said, “you and I never really had much time to ourselves after we got married. Why don’t we go away, somewhere nice, just the two of us?”
It had actually been Filomena’s gentle suggestion; Lucy, startled at first, was touched by this consideration, and she could see the wisdom of it. She added, “Filomena says she’ll keep an eye on Gemma for us while we’re away.”
“Go away? Like where?” Frankie asked, more baffled than ever.
“You always said you wanted to go to California and see the vineyards, maybe even buy one,” Lucy suggested.
“California is a long way away,” Frankie said doubtfully.
“Yes,” said Lucy. “That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”
Frankie grinned and kissed her. “Okay, baby. This time it’ll just be ‘me and my gal,’�
�� he added, humming the popular tune, holding her close. Lucy sighed deeply.
* * *
Summertime in Mamaroneck was delightful. Pippa stopped by her mother’s jewelry store after a day at the beach club, with her younger cousins Teresa and Nicole in tow. Teresa, her pixie face framed by straight, dark bangs, looked more like Filomena every day, and she had Mario’s sweet, self-possessed disposition. Amie’s daughter, Nicole, bright as a button, had a radiant exuberance and a headful of curly hair the color of a shiny chestnut.
Petrina glanced at the girls from across the gleaming glass counters of her shop, smiling but feeling slightly distracted today. “Pippa, can you help me close up?” Petrina asked. “I am so late for everything. I’m supposed to be at the florist’s on the other side of town before he closes, to pick out all the arrangements for the wedding.”
“You go ahead, Mom,” Pippa said. “I’ll do it for you. I’ve closed up before.”
Pippa was proud of her mother. Petrina’s jewelry store was the talk of the town. She had a real talent for designing unique pieces in gold studded with precious gems, inspired by ancient Roman, Greek, and Egyptian styles, which made their owners feel like royalty.
And Pippa heartily approved of her mother’s fiancé, Doug—a man whose Virginia pedigree was illustrious, and yet, Doug was modest and kind. Aunt Amie was right; Doug did look like Gary Cooper, laconic but strong, equally at home in jeans as he was in an elegant dinner jacket, spiffily escorting Petrina to the best parties.
Petrina caught her daughter’s gaze and suddenly experienced a strange, poignant feeling of the fleetingness of time. All these girls were growing up. Teresa was so much like Mario, and Nicole reminded her of Johnny and Frankie. As for Pippa, at twenty-five, she’d reached an age of perfection, still wearing her dark hair waist-length, ever the long-legged ballerina.
When I was her age, I was already a mother, with my diploma locked in a cupboard, Petrina thought. That was why she’d urged Pippa to pursue her dreams, have a career, advising, “Men aren’t so important. Marriage can wait.”
The Godmothers Page 35