Back to Brooklyn

by Lawrence Kelter

  Sammy laughed. He took a hand off Theresa and ran it over the BMW’s leather upholstery. “My big, important brother’s got one sweet ride here, but I thought the leather would’ve been softer in an expensive car like this.”

  “I know what you mean,” he replied. “The damn hides are too damn stiff. I think the Germans must be feeding their cattle Viagra.”

  She kissed Sammy’s hand and pressed it to her cheek. “How do I feel?”

  Anthony smiled as they went at it again. “Easy you two. You’ll wear out the upholstery.”

  Theresa gave Sammy another long kiss before reluctantly pulling away. “Yeah. Who knows who the big shot deputy mayor has had back here.” She had a small bottle of hand sanitizer clipped to her bag and offered it to Sammy. “Here, babe, maybe you ought to disinfect.”

  “You know what? You’re right. Seven years in that shithouse and I never worried about what I touched, but who knows how many skanks big brother has had back here.” He leaned forward and slapped his brother on the shoulder. “Still a hound dog, Tone?”

  Anthony smirked. “Can I help it if the ladies still find me irresistible? We Cipriani men,” he jested, “it’s a curse. But I do my best to cope with it.”

  As they traveled down the road, Sammy noticed Woodbourne Correctional Facility, which, too, had served as his alma mater. It was where he learned to use burglar’s tools and where he picked up the nickname “Tool Man”. If medium-security Woodbourne was community college, maximum-security Sullivan was an Ivy League school and he had graduated from both. He’d majored in third-degree robbery, a class D felony offense, but had gotten a sweetheart deal because of his brother’s clout with the district attorney. The plea bargain saved the New York County DA a long trial and Cipriani ten additional years of incarceration. He’d been away almost seven full years and would’ve done less time, but it was his third trip to the big house. Still, he was only twenty-eight and was supposed to have the rest of his life to look forward to.

  Supposed to.

  Chapter Six: Home Sweet Home?

  Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, three days later.

  Vinny sat on the commode reading the Daily News for the first time in almost two months. He’d spent most of the months of January and February unable to find any newspaper other than the Beechum Daily Mountain Eagle and had become accustomed to reading about raided stills and livestock robberies. He found it refreshing to catch up on neighborhood news stories like domestic violence, drug busts, and stolen tractor-trailers of top-shelf liquor. He tugged on the toilet paper roll and became unsettled when the last square came away leaving no cardboard roll behind. “What the hell?” He checked all around to see if it had somehow fallen silently to the floor. Needless to say, the unexpected irregularity left him feeling uneasy.

  Lisa was lying on the sofa, provocatively posed in a sexy teddy, sending out a clear signal no healthy red-blooded male could misinterpret. She was fanning her hands and blowing on her fingernails to hasten the drying of her nail polish when she glanced up and saw Vinny hustling down the stairs.

  “Hey, Lisa,” he called out. “Doing your nails?”

  “Yeah, I’m doing my nails. Yeah. Why? What’s it look like I’m doing? Relining brake pads? What’s up?”

  “What am I holding?”

  She stared at his hand and saw that there was absolutely nothing in his grasp. She shrugged. “I don’t know. Your teensy weensy brain?”

  “Very funny. Maybe you ought to go into standup. Try again.”

  “You want me to go for two out of three? Okay…nothing. I see exactly nothin’.”

  “Correct. That’s because the cardboard tube that’s supposed to be in the center of the toilet paper roll is missing. Care to explain what the hell happened to it?”

  “Oh yeah,” she recalled. “Ma took me shopping at Walmart just before we drove to Alabama for Billy’s trial and I figured I’d do a little something to help the environment. Good idea, right?”

  “No, not right. My entire life there’s always been a cardboard tube in the center of the toilet paper roll and now there’s nothing.”

  “That’s a game changer for you, is it?”

  “Come on, Lisa, don’t fool around with me like that. You know I’m a creature of habit.”

  “Oh my God. This is terrible. Are you going to have to be toilet trained all over again? I’m so sorry. I’ll run out and get you some adult diapers in case you have an accident. I wonder if they make Huggies in a size commensurate with your precious rear end.”

  “I’m not laughing. Frankly, Lisa, I find the whole thing is a little disconcerting.”

  “Yeah. You look shook,” she said with a laugh. “Maybe you ought to lie down for a while. I’ll get you a cool washcloth to put on your forehead.”

  “Is everything a joke to you?”

  “No. Is the planet a joke to you? Haven’t you seen all the ads on TV? Every year Americans throw away enough toilet paper tubes to fill the Empire State Building two times over. Do you have any idea how many trees have to die so that Vincent LaGuardia Gambini has his little cardboard toilet paper tube? That’s seventeen billion tubes each year. What are they supposed to do with all that stuff?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe they use them to fix some of the country’s land erosion problems. I mean they’re biodegradable, right? Anyways, who cares? They got enough room for seventeen billion tubes—one more ain’t gonna make a difference. I only use a couple pieces at a time.”

  “Maybe you can get away with a couple of squares but I gotta wrap my hand like a friggin’ mummy before I go down there. What do you need it for anyway? You planning on cornering the market on cardboard or something? Oh, I know. Maybe you can build yourself a little cardboard boat and sail it around the bathtub.”

  “Ha, ha, ha. Lisa, I’m not amused.”

  “And I think you ate too much deep-fried everything while you were in Alabama,” she said as she continued to push his buttons. “Maybe your carotid artery is all gummed up with cholesterol and grits and you can’t think straight no more.”

  He seemed befuddled. “Lisa. I mean why are you being like this? Did I say something?”

  “What did you say? You big dope, it’s what you didn’t say. You didn’t say a single word about the fresh flowers I bought or the fact that I got up early, did my hair, my nails, and my makeup to look pretty for you, and that I’m lying here in a lacy peignoir posed like Mae West. What do I have to do, Vinny? Pour gravy on myself and ring a dinner bell? None of that mattered to you, but the absence of a stupid toilet paper tube has you bouncing off the walls.”

  His shoulders slumped. “You’re right. I am a real dope. I guess I just got a lot on my mind. I didn’t purposely overlook all of your romantic efforts. I guess I’m just some kind of a non-romantic clod.”

  “Well why don’t you come over here and take advantage of me?” she asked in a come-hither tone. “My nail polish is still wet. I’m completely defenseless.”

  Vinny grinned as he helped her up and slid his hands along her supple skin. He had time to give her just one kiss before the phone rang. “Who the hell could that be?” he snapped as he turned away and reached for the phone.

  She moaned, grabbed his hand, and positioned it on her butt. “It can wait,” she insisted in a sultry voice and kissed him again. “Maybe we ought to continue this in the bedroom.”

  His eyebrows peaked. “Yeah. May-be.”

  The phone continued to ring while they kissed. “It finally stopped.”

  “I hope that wasn’t a business call. I could use a good paying case.”

  She pushed him away. “No shit! Why don’t you go over your profit and loss statement while you’re at it? Maybe you ought to check your D&B rating.”

  “Hey, what happened?”

  “Did you have to start talking about money and ruin the mood? I’m in pumps and sexy lingerie, and we haven’t done it in weeks on account you were too worried about Billy’s case to perform. You think you can carve
ten minutes out of your busy schedule to make me feel like a woman? I mean is that such a chore?” She stomped her foot. “Is it?”

  “Look, Lisa, I ain’t got two nickels to rub together. I didn’t exactly make a king’s ransom defending my cousin Bill in Alabama. All the gas, food, and hotels came out of my pocket. Not to mention bail money for all the trips I took to the pokey. You think maybe you can lay off me long enough for me to become solvent again?”

  The phone rang once more.

  “No, you didn’t make a fortune on your cousin’s case but think about all the good it will do for your career.” She glanced at the phone with disdain. “Well, you’re so worried about money—answer the stupid thing already.”

  He shook his head before reaching for the phone. “Tonight, okay. I promise. We’ll have a nice romantic evening. We’ll crack open a bottle of wine and I’ll put on a fresh pair of silk boxers.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Never mind. I’ll get it.” She bristled past him and snatched the phone out of his hand. “Hello? Oh, hi. How are you? Yeah. We just got back. Yeah. Last week…yeah. It was very exciting. Vinny won his first big case…yeah. He couldn’t be happier.” She had a telling expression on her face as she said, “Oh?” then turned away from Vinny.

  Vinny waited patiently for Lisa to tell him who was on the phone but she continued to chat and ignore him.

  “Who is it?” he asked.

  “Just a minute.” She covered the receiver and said, “Can I have a little privacy, please?”

  “What’s the big deal? Just tell me who it is.”

  “Take a walk, would you? It’s for me,” she said and once again turned away.

  “Ah!” he swore and waved his hand dismissively before storming off.

  Lisa watched until he vanished into the upstairs bedroom. “I’m back…yeah. He was standing right next to me.” She glanced toward the bedroom to make sure he was still out of earshot. “That’s great, really great. I can’t wait.” She picked up a pad and pencil and made a few notes.

  ***

  Vinny was showered and in his briefs, standing in front of the bathroom mirror putting the final touches on his wet hair. “You were on the phone a long time.”

  “Yeah, I know. That was my Aunt Angie. She needs a favor.”

  “Angie from New Jersey?”

  “No, Angie from Beverly Hills, Santa Monica, and Redondo Beach. What other aunt named Angie do I have?”

  “What kind of favor is she looking for?” he asked somewhat distracted by a tuft of uncooperative hair he was trying to slick down. “Hey, Lisa, you think I need a haircut?”

  She drew closer to him and ran her hand through his hair, combing it with her fingers out and away from his head, assessing the length. “Yeah, you’re getting a little shaggy. Want me to even it out for you?”

  “Nah, maybe later. Thanks.” He finally got his cowlick under control. No sooner had he placed his comb on the sink ledge than his hair stood up like a springboard again.

  Lisa whispered in his ear. “Let me take care of that for my big strong man.” She massaged his scalp, seducing him with her fingertips. “How’s that feel?”

  “Jesus, that’s amazing.” He closed his eyes, savoring her touch as his head melted into her hands. Her technique was so relaxing that he didn’t know she was giving him a trim until a clump of hair fell on his shoulder.

  She blew softly, tantalizing the skin on his shoulder and neck with her warm breath. She kissed his earlobe and whispered, “All done.” Several moments ticked by before he could will his eyelids to open. “Still feel like talking about my aunt?”

  “No…I mean sure. I guess. So what’s this favor Angie needs?”

  “A favor from you, Mr. Very Impressive Personal Injury Attorney. Someone ran over her foot and she’s thinking of suing the guy.”

  He perked up. “Yeah? What kind of car? She get a name? A license plate number? I’ll call her right back.”

  “Yeah. Some blowhard driving one of those Mercedes storm trooper trucks. He’s probably got plenty of dough.”

  “That’s great, Lisa,” he said. “This is just what the doctor ordered. What’s her number?”

  She leaned into him and fussed with the hair on his chest while kissing him lightly on the neck and cheeks.

  “Lisa, please. What’s the number?”

  She ignored him and continued kissing him, noticing that he was getting worked up in spite of himself. “She kind of asked if we could pay them a visit. We ain’t seen them in ages, Vinny, and seeing as she’s gonna throw this big personal injury case your way…”

  “Lisa, I can’t think while you’re kissing me like that.”

  “You want me to stop?” she teased.

  “No.” He closed his eyes. His head became heavy and rolled backward as he presented the length of his neck for her to tease with her lips. “Don’t stop.”

  “Did you say, ‘Don’t! Stop!’”

  “Stop fooling around, will ya? I said, ‘Don’t stop.’”

  “Oh, I must’ve misheard you.” Her fingers became legs and walked down the length of his torso where they slipped into his boxers. “Someone’s happy. You been sneaking the little blue pill?”

  “No, I’m just excited. That’s all. It’s been a really long time.” He peeked into his shorts. His eyes gleamed. “I’m doing pretty good, huh?”

  “I think if it stood up any straighter I’d have to get a set of horseshoes and play ring toss.” She tugged on the waistband of his shorts. “Now come here, you. You’re presiding in my court this morning. So get your fiancée-pleasing butt over here and approach the bench.”

  “But I’m already in your chambers.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’m a crooked official so if you want to win this case, you’d better grease my palm.”

  “I’ll grease more than that.”

  “That’s some mighty big talk. Are you sure you’re up to it?”

  “Am I sure? Yeah, I’m optimistic about my chances.”

  She threw her arms around him. “Then what the hell are you waiting for?”

  Chapter Seven: Home Is Where the Heartburn Is

  Lisa opened the door of the Caddy and slipped into the passenger seat. She was wearing a waist-length faux fur jacket, but her stocking-clad legs were all he saw as she rubbed her hands over them. “Christ it’s goddamn cold outside. I only walked twenty feet from the house to the car and I got goose bumps already. Turn up the heat, would you?”

  “It’s twenty-six degrees outside, Lisa. It takes time to warm up a half-century old convertible. The hot air rises and passes right through the cloth headliner.”

  “Vinny, this car has a three-hundred-and-ninety-cubic-inch engine. The temperature at the exhaust manifold gets hot enough to melt the anchor on an aircraft carrier. I think it can throw off enough heat to warm the inside of the passenger compartment to a comfortable eighty degrees.”

  Realizing he was out-gunned, Vinny reached for the heater control and turned it up all the way. “Better?”

  “Thank you.”

  “You know…you could’ve worn a pair of pants.”

  “You had to get the last word in, didn’t you? You couldn’t have just raised the heat and left well enough alone?”

  “I’m just saying.”

  “Why?” she asked. “You saying you don’t like my legs?”

  “No, Lisa. I ain’t saying nothing like that. You got beautiful legs. Gorgeous legs. They go on for miles and miles. I can’t hardly take my eyes off them. It’s just that a short skirt ain’t the most practical thing to wear when it freezing cold outside.”

  “Screw practical. What’s the sense of having pretty legs if you can’t show them off? Maybe I should wear baggy, knit polyester pants like your ninety-year-old Aunt Rosalie. We’re on our way to a—” She caught herself.

  “To a what?”

  “I mean we’re on our way to visit relatives. You want them to say, ‘What the hell happened to Lisa? She started dressing like a frumpy o
ld hag?’”

  “Never mind, Lisa. You look great. Who cares if Victor drops his napkin on the floor all night long just so he can look up your skirt.” He adjusted the rearview mirror and pulled away from the curb.

  “Angie’s husband? He does not.”

  “No? I think he’s got it tied to a rubber band around his shoe or something and as soon as he loosens his grip…Anyway, what am I complaining about? Thank God we’re meeting in Staten Island and I ain’t got to drive all the way to southern New Jersey.”

  “I don’t know why you hate going there so much. It’s like what…two, two and a half hours tops?”

  “I’d rather drive back to Ala-fuckin’-bama.”

  “Why? What’s so wrong with New Jersey?”

  “What’s wrong with New Jersey? I’ll tell you what’s wrong with New Jersey. It ain’t New York!”

  “Yeah. Like Staten Island is a lot better,” she said. “It’s filled with everyone they threw out of Brooklyn. It’s like Brooklyn had a baby, a redheaded stepchild that no one wanted and they named it Staten Island.”

  “Yeah? Well if Staten Island is the baby, Tom’s River, New Jersey, is the fuckin’ afterbirth.” He blew out a big sigh as he approached the corner. “Anyway. Thanks for getting them to meet us halfway.”

  “Don’t mention it.” She checked her watch. “I just hope your brother is dressed and ready to go.”

  “Yeah, right. Joe has never been less than two hours late for anything in his whole life. You could roast a twenty-pound turkey in the time it takes him to get ready to go out. I still don’t know why he’s got to come along. It’s bad enough I got to pay for Angie and Victor because they’re prospective clients.”

  “Well you ain’t seen him in months. So what’s a couple of bucks? Don’t you miss him? You only got one brother.”