His obvious wig and bucket-style hat caught my attention. He tried to keep himself hidden, remaining in the shadows. There was something both weird and ominous about him. I got out of my car and yelled. I ran towards him as he slipped away and disappeared into the night.
The last thing I wanted to do now was to go home. The cocktail of jealousy and fear were whirling around my head, and trying to sleep would be a laughable act of futility. My mind was a slide show, with shadowy images of a mysterious antagonist intertwined with vivid pictures of Gia and her imaginary lovers. I fancied her in the arms of every male in the club! I was going bonkers!
I drove aimlessly on the Belt Parkway, passing car after car of young couples. Off in the distance, the shadows of the Verrazano loomed, and as I passed under the magnificent bridge, I turned into the parking lot underneath her mighty span and parked my car overlooking the New York harbor.
As I took in the spectacular view of the Statue of Liberty, I realized I was sandwiched between two cars with fogged windows, complete with hot-blooded couples making passionate love. This was not what the doctor ordered!
I glanced left and right, and somewhere within my demented, jealous rage, I imagined Gia in each of the cars! I pounded my fists repeated on the steering wheel. The conjured images of Louie screwing Gia made me scream aloud. The couple next to me stopped what they were doing and rolled down their window, “Hey pal, are you fucking nuts or what?”
Yup, I was nuts! I was allowing the worst of me to get the better of me. Gia was still mine, and I couldn’t let her witness my immaturity. Maybe I did the right thing by asking her to leave at that moment. I hadn’t been rude; I just needed to escape.
It was nearly four in the morning; I felt exhausted. On the drive home, I had to fight to stay awake. I showered, and as I slipped into my warm, comfortable bed, the damn alarm sang that loathsome tune; Get up you fucken moron…it’s time to run!
I’m a fighter…. I’m a fighter…Ok, I got it, I a fighter!
Chapter 12
Tiger
Knowing that my issues with Louie were mine alone, I didn’t want Gallo and his crew involved. I would meet up with Vito and Sonny in Sheepshead Bay; if anyone could come up with a solution, it would be my two screw-ball friends.
I loved the Bay, often a group of us would get together and go fishing aboard one of the many party boats docked there. These colorful old fishing vessels had decorated the bay forever, such warhorses as the Betty W and the Parable had taken me, and my friends blue fishing on many an afternoon.
Just across from the boats was a long row of Italian seafood restaurants, many of which festooned the bay just as long as the boats. I could smell the calamari frying from the moment we turned onto Emmons Avenue.
On the other hand, Vito couldn’t get enough of the roast beef sandwiches at Roll-N-Roaster, and I was happy Chee-Chee tagged along. He was the one guy who knew how to deal with hoodlums like Louie (especially since he was one of them) and would talk straight to me. “Ant, I heard that you and Louie got into it again last night.”
“Yeah, he put his hands on my girlfriend.”
Chee-Chee shook his head in disgust, “That motherless fuck, he’s a sick maniac. He was told, but he chooses not to hear. You got a fucken problem, my friend.”
Vito chimed in, “No fucking kidding. I think it’s time for us to take a ride down to Red Hook and straighten that fuck out.”
Chee-Chee shook his head again, “What are you making, a fucken western here? What are you going to do, drive over there and break a few heads?” He then laughed, “Do you think Louie and his friends are a walk in the park?”
Sonny straightened up, “Not for nothing; you’re like the grim reaper. Are you afraid of these scumbags?”
“Afraid, are you joking? Fear of taking a beating is not the issue, Jo-Jo and Angelo had a pow-wow last night at the club, and when wiseguys are involved, that’s when you leave hands-off.”
I tried to get a word in edgewise, “Oh yeah? Meanwhile, this guy Louie thinks he can do whatever he wants.”
Chee-Chee interrupted, “Yeah, maybe, but at this point, if he pays no mind to Jo-Jo, it will be his own people who will whack him out.”
Vito was amused, “Yeah, right; they will whack him out over this?”
Chee-Chee got serious, “Asshole, guys have been whacked-out for much less. Don’t you morons understand, Jo-Jo just got made, and he has to show strength to the rest of the street. If Louie is going to defy his word, then Jo-Jo has to flex his muscles.” He turned toward me, “Ant, my best advice to you, lie low for now. That rematch you got coming up couldn’t come at a better time, keep yourself buried in that gym and don’t come out for anyone, capisci?”
He then turned to Vito and Sonny, “And you two, it's always a multiple-choice thing with you guys. Listen well, you guys better pick window number two and walk. In fact, don’t walk…run!”
I knew Chee-Chee would have the wisest counsel for me in this circumstance; this wasn’t about teenage love anymore; this had become perilous.
*****
Izzy had been there many times before, and he knew that merely picking up and brushing a bruised fighter off would not prepare me for what laid in store in the rematch. He had some repairing to do; he needed to get under the hood and begin rewiring the transmission of this corvette.
This revamping would be a handful for even the finest of trainers. It would be like taking a young man who was wounded and was coming home from war and immediately turning the plane around before he got an opportunity to kiss terra firma. Sure, I hadn’t traveled to some far-off Asian outpost, but what I had gone through was horrific in its own right.
Every fighter worth his weight must feel like he is utterly invincible when he enters the ring or at least feel as though he has been to the mountaintop and now has a concrete plan to defeat the incubus. While I put my nose to the grindstone, this sorcerer of strategy went about formulating his next spell.
When fighting an orthodox fighter (a right-hander), they plaster it into your noggin to continually move to your right, thus moving away from the other fighter’s strength. With Weeden, I was presented again with the uncommon southpaw (left-handed fighter). Izzy needed to rewire my brain. He instructed me to not only move to my left but wanted me to attack from unorthodox angles. I wouldn’t allow Weeden to set his feet and fire off a salvo.
Southpaws are a rare breed, and finding a lefty sparring partner presents a problem. Izzy scoured every gymnasium, alleyway, soup kitchen, and bar that held an ex-pug, recruiting every decrepit southpaw he could dig up. He looked for the craftiest old boxers still willing to put on a pair of trunks for $5 a sparring session.
I have to give Izzy credit, as always, he was victorious. No one gave me more fits than a grizzled forty-seven-year-old brawler that Izzy enlisted named Teddy “Tiger” Williamson. Tiger came out of the Fort Greene section of Brooklyn, a dangerous city project that produced more killers out of the ring than in it. As a youth, Tiger had been jailed for stabbing another man, and while in Spofford Juvenile Detention Center, he ran into a tough old trainer named Cus Esposito. Cus saw the potential and developed Tiger into a formidable southpaw par excellence. In the short time I would spend with Tiger, he showed me there was more than one way to skin a cat.
One afternoon after tasting my right, Tiger pulled me aside, “Kid, if the only tool you have is a hammer, then treat everything as if it were a nail.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“The way I see it, all you ever do is look to land that right. Baddd juju--baddd juju! You need to use the brains the good Lord gave you. Jab baby-jab.
“Are you saying I will win with my jab?”
&n
bsp; “Shazam! Practice that jab till you can spear a fish!”
“What are you talking about, Tiger?”
“By keeping Weeden off of you with a wicked jab, you will set him up for your overhand right. Brother, you could knock out a mule with that right!”
Tiger had a point, and for the next few sparring sessions, all I used was my left jab, and in the process, I began to find the confidence buried deep inside of me to return to that damn mountaintop.
*****
My father finally regained enough strength to tend to his garden. As he pruned his tomatoes and peppers, he seemed to think long and hard on the status of his family. He still hurt from his oldest son’s refusal to follow in the family trade, but he could not be happier with the dream of grandchildren. That would be his crowning achievement, as it was for most Italians of our enclave. Producing the next generation was the hard bone truth of their existence, and the thought of perishing without a suitable number of heirs was chilling. The most significant accomplishment would be to have a grandson to carry on the Marino name!
Emotions (You know, those annoying birds that fly around our head), especially the variety worn on the sleeve, did not come easy for Saverio. Although, along with his wounds, came a sense of mortality and a surprising display of warmth, “Anthony, is Gia coming over later in the afternoon?”
“Yeah, pop, she’s having dinner with us.” He seemed warmed by the news; he was smitten by her. Who wasn’t? Everyone one in my family adored her, come to think of it, some of them preferred her over me.
We could say the same about her family. Her father (who I realized, was not the easiest man in the world) genuinely liked and trusted me with his daughter. You have to understand, Italian fathers don’t trust any man with their daughters. Albert knew Gia well, and he was confident in her scruples, but deep down, much like Saverio, he yearned for the next generation.
*****
Tiger became more than a mere sparring partner; he championed my cause. This was a man who won his peace in life and would now aid me in winning mine. He learned the lesson that it is by walking boldly in the violent storms of the ring that allowed him to emerge strengthened and ready to help other warriors.
After so many battles and countless years of arduous training, Tiger had the aches and pains of a seventy-something-year-old man. Yet, every day, he arrived at the gym early, ready to battle a strapping young fighter. His unwillingness to submit to age, along with his grittiness and harsh life experiences as an oppressed man, humbled me and opened my eyes to how other men existed.
Tiger never complained and didn’t wear his struggles on his sleeve. He made me realize what a closed, accepted society I lived in, but at the same time, he made me thankful for it. I couldn’t imagine waking each day and feeling unbounded hopelessness before hitting the street, viewed by society as worthless and dealt with by hostility and aggression. As a teen, Tiger had beaten down countless demons and conquered ungodly temptations to find success in the ring. To look upon the savagery of boxing like an enormous relief from the rigors of his arduous existence was mind-boggling. He used to muse with me, “Courage and fear is all the same shit, it’s just how you decide to carve it up, and then see if you find it tender?”
*****
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what happened to your face?” Tiger’s chuckle seemed to well-up from the depths of his gut; it lifted his chest up and down almost mechanically. “I just soaked my face in beef blood. You know, Izzy’s secret weapon.”
“It ain’t no secret, damn thing stinks so bad, you can damn near smell it down the street. There’s a herd of cats downstairs clamoring for their vittles.”
Izzy chimed in; no one would challenge his methods, especially in his own gym, “Tiger, you’re lucky you never needed it. Your damn skin is as tough as shoe leather.”
“Thank the bejesus, if I had to go back to my neighborhood after soaking in that shit, I’d have to wear a collar of garlic to fight off the damn vampires…” he chuckled again, “…if you knows’ what I mean.”
I loved these two men, each in their own way. They were pure in their methods, both unalike, but the two meandered through life, conquering the ring from different directions.
Meanwhile, I was finishing up my sit-ups and would jump over to the speedbag. My eyes glazed over when I noticed Carla Verona sitting in the viewing section with a group of her friends; her eyes were two beacons of raw sexuality. Her voracious appetite would settle for a sailor on shore leave or a sweaty fighter from the neighborhood. Everyone I ever knew who preferred lust to love had been damaged by someone, and her injuries ran deep.
Carla and her friends were cackling to each other in hushed tones, regularly pointing to me as though I was a piece of meat hanging in John Landi’s butcher shop. She was a lioness hunting on the plains, an epic beauty with pouting lips and come-get-me eyes. In another time and place, I would have fallen for Carla, and who knew what would have happened. Even being friends and understanding my relationship with Gia, that didn’t deter her. Gia’s refusal to sleep with me inadvertently created a constant fixation, and Carla was dangling it in my face. Whatever it would take, she was intent on winning me over, and to be honest; I was enjoying it.
*****
Gia would spend the weekend at her family’s summer home on Lake Hopatcong in New Jersey. Albert wanted me to join them, but I was deep into my training, and with the rematch looming, Gia and her family understood.
That evening, with Gia away, I aimlessly drove around with no precise plans. I found myself alone, walking the beach at Coney Island, looking off across the bay at New Jersey and pondering if my love was looking back. Amongst all those far off twinkling lights, where was she? My friends always joked about our neighboring state, “Don’t get locked up in Jersey, it’s a primitive country.”
As I tossed seashells into the surf, my mind wandered. Gia’s jitters about me fighting loomed large in the recesses of my mind; I could no longer dismiss them. Her constant fear made me wonder. What was the basis of her worries? Did she see a vulnerability? Did she doubt my ability? My God, there was that word again, doubt. It sent shivers down my spine. My insecurities were born ravenous; they sat on me like a pillow over my mouth and nose, slowly suffocating me.
Now, as Tiger warned, “sooner or later kid, doubt will return. It will be a big-ass monster who wants to do you some serious hurt. Don’t swallow that feeling away; you need to confront it. Put your arm around it, caress it like it’s a sexy piece, and then whoop its ass. Fear doesn't shut you down; it wakes you up! Give it no damn mercy!”
Tiger was right, my ego was irreparably damaged, and a souped-up case of gallantry would not cut the mustard. I knew my abilities, but more importantly, I was now well acquainted with my weaknesses. That was it! My eyes finally opened! I needed to focus my skills and cover my flaws; the game was on.
I stood tall once again, alone on the beach; even the seagulls abandoned me. I felt flush and fearsome anew. I saw the mountaintop and knew now how to conquer it. I would need to be patient, methodical, and relentless. I had only a few more weeks, but I could wait no longer!
*****
I looked at my watch; God, it’s one already! I was famished; I was in the mood for some belly bombers. I decided to head over to the White Castle in Bay Ridge. This was friendly territory.
In the late hours of a Friday night, people are in a carousing mood, often doing and saying things they wouldn’t normally do in the light of day. Sure, it was the alcohol, but don’t dismiss the surroundings. There was something special about my neighborhood; magic was in the air, love was the flavor, young people gathered in their cars, the soothing harmony of disco putting all in the mood for midnight passion.
As I pulled into the parkin
g lot, I saw Vito holding court. He was like the village Pied Piper, waving for me from inside to join the fête. In this village, at that moment, even fast food was a celebration. His group spent a better part of the evening at the club, “Ant, it just wasn’t the same without you.” Just then, a sensuous limb reached and grasped at my waist, I froze. I looked behind, and the playful tease dodged back and forth, keeping her identity from my view. Her giggles were sweet and seductive. I was getting desperate, so I twisted around to see who it was. It was Carla; she looked more beautiful than ever.
(Discipline my boy, but God, was she tempting!)
Her olive hued loins were covered by skin-tight leather pants that looked as though they were painted on. My eyes scanned up to a sheer white blouse that left little for the imagination. Her delicate neck was accented by a choker that added to the picture. Her breast was more than any man could want, and she knew it. She didn’t need to flaunt them; they were impossible to hide. She ran up and embraced me, pulling me close and grinding her groin into mine. I heard a detectable groan from all the envious males in the store. There was an aura of resentment in the restaurant, jealously was palatable; not only did I have Gia, but it was also apparent I could do anything I wanted with Carla.
She grabbed my hand and pulled me into the parking lot to get away from the others; her feelings for me were not to be on full display. Once free in the summer air, she drew me close; passion turned her eyes into orbs of the brightest fire, her bronzed skin glistened. As mighty as I was, I felt helpless. She placed a spell on me, and I was willingly being bewitched.
Her wet mouth opened, her sensual lips cried out for mine, I grabbed for her, and we met in a warm, passionate kiss. For a minute or two, no one existed in the world; I felt no guilt; her erotic hex dispersed with it. This was not passion; it was raw, unadulterated lust. She pulled me in harder; Carla wanted to go to my car. She grasped my hand, leading me, and I willingly followed.
Say Goodbye and Goodnight Page 13