Say Goodbye and Goodnight

by David Ruggerio

  “So are you, Tommy. You looked great sparring today.”

  I had no trouble with nudity; we were all athletes and had seen each other’s bodies numerous times before. As our conversation progressed, we turned towards each other, our manhood face to face. Tommy seemed to be inching his way, closer and closer, “Ant, could I tell you a secret?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “I think you have a great body.”

  He already told me I was in shape, yet his added compliment sailed right over my head. A nine-hundred-pound gorilla joined us in the shower; only I hadn’t noticed it yet.

  “Say, Tommy, thanks, so do you.”

  That innocent praise caused Robinson to step even closer, and in one smooth motion, his hand reached for my hip. His touch sent shock waves throughout my body, and at first, I froze. I looked into his eyes and realized the torrid feelings that were ablaze in the shower.

  I wasn’t hostile; I understood where he was coming from and was comfortable in my sexuality, “Look, Tommy, I don’t roll like that. I’m straight.”

  I guess the fact that my reaction was calm and cool made Robinson feel like I was acting coy. He moved in so close that our male members were almost touching. At that point, I shoved him back, “Didn’t you understand what I just said?”

  “I’m sorry, Ant.” Fear invaded his eyes. “Please don’t tell anyone.

  “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me,” I then flashed a smile, “although I might not feel so safe with you in this shower any longer.” Robinson laughed, and we never said another word about it.

  The odd thing about the entire situation, after he revealed to me his sexuality, I didn’t turn from him. Instead, I continued to shower, both of us in full view of each other. I found it enthralling, more specifically, nearly erotic. It was my first experience with homosexuality, and as much demonizing that had gone on around my neighborhood, it didn’t frighten me. I respected Robinson, and in a lot of ways, even though he was forthcoming, if he had been a female, I might not have thought twice.

  *****

  That evening, Gia and I snuggled together in bed. I felt so at ease with her; I thought to share today’s unusual, to say the least, experience with her. When I told her how Robinson and I had been in the shower, and he touched my hip, her reaction startled me. She seemed aroused by it; her questions were even a bit odd for me, “How did he look?”

  “What kind of question is that?” She flashed an expression of apology, “Gia, you know I’ve been in showers with men before, don’t you? What is it you want to know?” At that moment, a tinge of jealousy came over me. She instinctively detected it and shut down the questioning. She rolled me over in her bed, but it was evident that she was much more aggressive than usual. Did it mean she wanted another man? I knew that wasn’t true; she was a vibrant, sexual young woman. I also knew full well she had fantasies, and for any man to think his mate didn’t fantasize about another man now and then, well, you’re in for a shocker.

  I let it go, not to say I didn’t ponder that night if she was imagining making love with another man? The mind can go to places on its own without blatant prodding that we don’t understand but yet can offer a willing participant an extraordinary experience.

  She appreciated my restraint and rewarded me. That night she made love to me like an uncaged lioness. I let her be free, and she growled, purred, and moaned like I never heard a woman before. In the end, she lay on my chest, her body spent, her face and eyes were aglow. She was assured her man was secure in who he was, and aimless jealousy would never enter our relationship again.

  *****

  For young Italian men, envy often comes into play. Jealous of one another? Sure, we all encounter a little taste now and again. Yet, I’m talking about rampant jealousy, more precisely, out of control imaginations laced with backbiting envy. For many couples, that bombastic inquiry, ‘What were you looking at?’ frequently defines them. Hell, how many newlyweds nearly kill each other over nonexistent indiscretions, and later in the night, ravage each other in bed while reconciling!

  Vito had not been dating Carla long, and so I found his actions alarming. He was a good-looking guy with a lot of beauties who clamored for him, but often, it’s the things you can’t have that drives you the craziest.

  With the now indiscreet affair ongoing between Finkleman and Carla, and their apparent love-child on the way, I thought the writing was on the wall for Vito to move on.

  Isn’t it often said that your first loss is always your best loss? Are you kidding? Not in Vito’s maniacal brain. He was beside himself!

  Finkleman realized that a self-imposed stint in the witness protection was prudent. Vito was seething with anger. Carla, on the other hand, became hostile towards Vito. To all who would listen, she denied her pregnancy, renounced her relationship with the crooked lawyer, and refuted Vito as well.

  She cursed Vito’s name and challenged his manhood. It amazed me how vigilant her animosity was towards my friend. And did Vito chalk it up to a bad relationship? Fugetaboutit! He became an untamed beast, roving the streets of Bensonhurst in search of Carla. Pippi swore one night, while under the guise of the blood moon, she heard him howling, Carla…Carla…Carla. It wasn’t amusing, my dear friend lost his mind, and like that, Sonny and I were deputized to rescue him once again.

  Boots begged us to go to another pizzeria, “Fellas, I got six bucks. Please, take it and go somewhere else. All this fucking drama is bad for business.” Sonny wasn’t having any of it, “Listen to me wisenheimer, do you have any idea how much money we drop in this joint, go behind and make us a fresh pie, and while you do…shut the fuck up!”

  We took our rightful place at the secluded booth in the back and waited and waited. After the second pie, Boots seemed hopeful, “Maybe that fucken screwball kissed and made up with that hoowah. Those two sick maniacs were made for each other.” Sonny turned and looked incredulously at Boots, “Hey Shakespeare, why don’t you go see where you gotta go!”

  While Sonny and I sat aimlessly by, our dear friend had indiscriminately run into his paramour at Alba’s bakery. The mere sight of one other sent each to their respective corners, and upon the bell, the two came out swinging more than just cannoli. The accusations of cheating were mixed with dreadfully hurtful taunts that later could not be taken back. Poor Luigi, the baker, begged them both to take their explicit argument elsewhere. Vito, in a rage, grabbed a cake from the counter, and as Carla told the world that Finkleman’s was bigger, smashed that pre-ordered birthday cake for little Amy Rosetti in Carla’s face. That prompted Carla to leap onto Vito, and like a rabid cat, she went about scratching every exposed piece of Vito’s flesh.

  Meanwhile, Luigi had no choice; he called the cops, and who else in this world do you suppose would be the responding officer? My poor brother Sal!

  It took my brother and his partner a few minutes to separate the two, who by then had smashed a revolving glass case full of delicate pies and decorative tarts. When Sal put the handcuffs on Vito, it seemed to sober him up, “Oh, Sal, what the fuck are you doing?”

  “Doing? I’m locking you two maniacs up!”

  “How could you do that?”

  Carla chimed in, “Because his brother is a half a fag!”

  That began the melee again, the two combatants both handcuffed, began kicking each other while the responding officers struggled to put them into the waiting cars.

  *****

  Boots came sauntering up to our table, smug as a bug, and singing, “I shot the sheriff, but I did not shoot the deputy.”

  “What’s up with that?”

  “Ant, your brother just locked up Vito and the Bride of Frankenstein!”

  “Where?�
��

  “Over at Alba’s, and don’t bother running over there, poor Luigi had a nervous breakdown and closed the joint for the rest of the day.”

  By the time Sonny and I got to the precinct house, Sal convinced his commanding officer to give them both just a desk appearance ticket. Did either of them thank him for that? “You know Sal, you’re a real fucking mutt,” Vito continued his rage, “how could you put the cuffs on me?”

  I came at that moment, “Hey Vito, take it down a notch. If it weren’t for my brother, you’d be eating bologna sandwiches at the Brooklyn House of Detention.” My words sobered him up, and Vito came to his senses, “Sal, I’m sorry. I was out of line.” My brother patted him on the back, “No problem pal,” he then handed Vito a piece of paper with some scribbling on it, “What the fuck is this?”

  “The cleaning bill for my uniform.” Vito got a laugh out of it. Sonny insisted that we all go out together, “Vito, you have to show your face to the neighborhood! But, whatever you do, don’t make like you just lost your best friend!”

  Chapter 19

  Resurrection

  I told Gia to meet me at Romeo and Juliet’s later that evening. “Gia, I need to spend some quality time with Vito and make sure things don’t get out of hand.”

  “Ok, but promise me.”

  “What?”

  “If Louie is there, you will walk out without fighting.” I flashed a devilish smile, “But of course!”

  *****

  As I walked the stairs of Kilimanjaro, everything seemed so pleasing; some might say even savory. The music was outrageous, the club was brimming, and life was great.

  From where I was perched, Louie and his merry band of desperados were nowhere to be found. Also, my fight with Rodriguez was far enough away for me to enjoy both 7’s!

  Gina Romano, the divorcee, came and grabbed my hand, she looked fabulous. Heads turned as she whirled around and revealed how her body could conquer the world. Sure, I would dance with her, even grind a little, but that’s as far as I would allow it to go. Midway through our third melody, Sonny tapped me on the shoulder, “Hey lover boy, Vito and I are over there waiting for you.” Gina knew what that meant; she gingerly kissed me on the cheek and disappeared into the crowd.

  The things that make a woman unique, often drive men utterly nuts. As I approached the table, I expected the worst from Vito. He was lurched over and nursing a drink as though it was the tonic to cure all his worldly woes.

  After a few moments, I knew his anger was replaced by the three D’s; Dejection, Depression, and Desolation. Dr. Marino knew the cure for that. I went back into the whirling crowd of revelers and came back to the table with Gina in tow. I leaned into Vito, “Be your old self for just a little while; she can make you forget everything, trust me what I’m telling you.” I turned to Gina, “Will you hang out with us for a while?” She flashed a smile, I ordered a fresh drink for her, and when Vito got a real good look at her attributes, the image of Carla and Finkleman began to fade.

  What a marvelous place Romeo and Juliet’s was, it brought together the cool with the flamboyant; it allowed women to become dominant and even allowed the gays to begin to come out of the closet. In here, all was allowed, much was forgiven, and everything was forgotten. The fact was, it liberated a generation, and it seemed like this party would never end.

  I noticed Gia the minute she entered; Caesar escorted her to our table as though she was the crowned princess of Bensonhurst. “Ant, I hope you don’t mind, I just missed you, and I needed to tell you something important.”

  “Come sit next to me, baby.”

  “But I need to tell you something in private.”

  “OK, sweetheart, but let’s dance one before we leave.” As Danny Pooch spun his next anthem, we embraced and showed the club what eternal love was all about.

  In the words of a broken heart

  It's just emotion that's taken me over

  As I spun her around, I marveled at how life became so extraordinary. Could it get better? That was irrelevant; we just needed to absorb the moment and appreciate these times for what they were.

  Her gentle tug on my hand signaled it was time for us to leave. As we walked to the car, there was a glow about her. I suggested, “Let’s drive a little.” It was a starry, clear night. The moon, in all its brilliance, illuminated the sky. As we passed under the Verrazano and peered out over the harbor, I felt it was time for whatever she needed to tell me. I got off the exit and headed in. I parked on a secluded street.

  Everything seemed right; a streetlight gave us all the illumination needed. “Now, what is it you needed to tell me, sweetheart?” At first, she seemed hesitant and unconsciously wrangled her hands; she then looked deep into my eyes. I could see a mix of fear and angst, what could it be, was she ending our romance? Was there someone else?

  “Baby, ah…”

  “Gia, please, this is torture! Just spit it out.”

  The words then spilled out and slapped me in the face, “I’m pregnant!”

  Her doe-like eyes looked feverously for any sign. Was I going to flip out? Rant and rave? Or blow a gasket?

  My look said it all, “Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m going to be a father! You’ve made me the happiest man in the world!”

  Her shoulders dropped from utter exhaustion. Anxiety had sapped all her energy, and she hugged me as tightly as she could.

  Our two families? Sure, we would have to tell them, and maybe it would be a bit difficult. A pregnancy before our storied marriage was not in the playbook, but neither was the type of love we had for each other.

  I sat back and tried to take it all in; I knew there was something special about this evening. I turned my head again towards her, “My God Gia, I can’t stop saying it! I’m the happiest man in the world!”

  Her eyes were suddenly distracted for a split second, causing me to glance into my rear-view mirror. It only took a moment, but as my eyes focused, they were met by an ominous shadow. It was only a few feet behind us! Its physique was hardly discernible in the shadowy twilight of the street. I felt an evil, devoid of emotion, ruthless, without pity, uncaring, callous, monster. Although frightened to death, I would protect Gia to the very end.

  I panicked at first, reaching with one hand for the ignition of the car, and my other hand holding Gia back, and then, all at once, there was a brilliant flash…

  *****

  They say you only live once. The reality is, you die once, you live every day. Life is not about how famous you are, or how many people pat you on the back, because when things are down, where are they? I was happier than I ever thought possible. In fact, I was a rich man. I had a family like no other, a group of friends who would do anything for me, and Gia. She was my angel.

  I wish I could have taken all the pain away from her, had anyone in this world ever grieved more than Gia? Esposito’s Funeral Home was my last earthly stop. Lines of people, most just morbid thrill-seekers lined up blocks long to get the last glimpse of The Kid from Brooklyn.

  The night of my wake, when only friends and family were allowed, they had to carry my mother. True to form, except for her intermittent weeping, she remained silent. An unearthly sorrow paralyzed her; the loss was more than her heart could ever bare. Yet it was my father who shocked us all; he walked all alone to my casket and then collapsed upon me. He wailed and wailed aloud, “My son...My poor son!” It was as though his world collapsed - where there was light became darkness, happiness became hopelessness; his agonizing pain swept through the room again and again like waves on frigid sand.

  Loss is the part of loving they never warn you of...that should you lose your true love; your heart will be buried along with them
. When the dirt hits the wood of the coffin, it also entombs your soul. Gia sat like a statue, stunned, unable to comprehend what occurred. Her grief surged with every expelled breath. There’s a part of her that will never believe I won’t come bouncing around some corner, a pizza in hand. Tomorrow, the sun will still rise and shine brightly, but not for her; there was no beauty left in the world. The family doctor prescribed all types of remedies to get her through this ordeal, but they were perplexed by her refusal. It would be a month or two later when everyone would understand her refusal for drugs.

  My heart broke for poor Izzy. He arrived with Ralphie and Tiger in tow. As he entered the room, he crumbled onto a chair, unable to approach my casket. He was broken, his life in peril from cancer would now be shortened to a few weeks. Grief can be the deadliest of infirmities.

  My cousin Angela sat alone in a corner, her face buried in her hands. She endured ample misery to question our mere existence. It had only been a few months since she said goodbye to her father in this very same room.

  No one saw Finkleman sneak in; it was probably better that way. Vito, Sonny, Shoes, Boots, and Danny Gallo, along with his harem of hoods, all stood in the back of the funeral parlor, all wondering aloud who would have to pay for this? “Was it Louie?” They’d make short work of him. “Could it be Carla in a fit of rage?” She was her own worst enemy. But then, there was Jon Keaton Lee, who discovered that I pointed the police in his direction. In a fit of dread or more likely self-preservation, a few weeks later, he’d slip back into the backwoods of Kentucky never to be seen or heard from again.

  Who was left? But of course! None other than everyone’s worst nightmare. Full of raging egos and empty bravado, this group of men challenged each other aloud. Yes, it was up to us! The police couldn’t do it! Later that evening, over pizza in the back of Lenny’s, they pledged to hunt down the mysterious .44 caliber killer for not only the Kid but for Brooklyn itself? Not very likely…