I dumbly nodded. He said her name as if he were familiar with her.
“I wanted to attend her funeral but business kept me back in New York.”
Nonplussed, I asked, “How do you know Carol Zefarelli?”
“She was my mother’s best friend from childhood back in the Old Country, like family.”
“Really?” I could not believe the coincidence. Then my mind started working. Why was Vespucci so concerned about my showing up here? He didn’t seem very happy. I tried to imagine the odds of my randomly picking a funeral service for someone related to a client, and the chances seemed slim. But here I was and it had happened.
“Did you know that, Jon? That I was acquainted with Carol Zefarelli?”
“No, I didn’t know that. Pure coincidence.”
“I’m not a big believer in coincidences, Jon. What are you doing there?”
A slightly threatening tone had entered Vespucci’s voice. I tried to convince myself I was imagining it. I started doing quick calculations, connecting one unattached thought to another, light appearing in my dark mind. Here I was, a hired writer who had been given an open door to interviewing and collecting information from a major Mafioso boss’ daughter and her friends and family. Vespucci must be thinking I was looking into him. The absurdity of my researching a Mafioso boss made me inadvertently laugh. Joey looked over his shoulder at me like I was crazy. Vespucci was taken aback, more surprised than offended at my temerity.
“Something funny, Jon?”
“No, no, Tony. It’s just, you’re going to think it’s funny.”
“Try me.” He wasn’t smiling.
I quickly considered the reasons I went to memorial services, realizing it would sound strange, but I didn’t want Vespucci to have any misconceptions regarding what I was doing at this particular memorial service. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I was somehow digging into his personal life. In short order, I explained to Vespucci my reasons for going to memorial services. When I finished, Vespucci stared back at me from the monitor with a strange look, not sure if I was making fun or, in fact, that maybe I was crazy. I glanced up from the monitor to check if Joey had grasped my explanation and saw the same look on his face.
I concluded my explanation. “That’s why I go, Tony. I looked in the paper this morning and Carol Zefarelli’s memorial service was listed. It looked like the right one. So I came.”
Vespucci took a breath. “You know, Jon, that’s about the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard.” He smiled for the first time, apparently ready to move on. “Now that we’ve got that covered, then, was it a good service? Did they do Carol justice?”
“Oh, yes, sir. It was one of the best memorial services I’ve ever been to.”
“Good. I’m glad.” He stopped for a moment, lost in a memory. Joey turned back around in his seat, watching guests as they intermittently left the church. Vespucci took a breath and came back to me. “Now, Jon, onto the business I was calling about, Maggie and Marco. How’s their story coming along?”
What was the safe answer to that question? I had not even started a rough draft. I had not organized my notes from my interviews in September. And I really needed to have another interview with Maggie and Marco to nail down the essence of who they were as a couple so I was clear on the direction of the piece. In effect, I had done nothing more than complete the first sets of interviews. But those interviews had left me with more questions than answers about the couple’s relationship that I was not ready to discuss with Vespucci at this point.
“It’s coming along fine,” I said. “I’ve got my next trip planned to visit next week to tie up any loose ends and get answers to some questions I still have so I can put the final touches on the story. I’m getting close, Tony.” Nothing I said was true. I had not booked a flight, and I was nowhere near having a first draft completed for them.
“Good. I’m sure I’ve made this clear to you, Jon, I don’t mean to push you, but Maggie is my only daughter. As far as I’m concerned, even the best isn’t good enough for her. Do you understand?”
I understood that meant no matter what I did, Vespucci was probably going to be unhappy with the finished product. Then what? What would he do? My only hope was to ensure Maggie was happy with what I wrote, a goal I felt would be a little easier to attain, given the way she and I had hit it off during my two visits in September.
I responded, “I understand how you could feel that way. Maggie is very special. There’s no doubt about it.” And I meant that. In my interviews with Maggie, she had been charming and personable, clearly intelligent, and it had been hard not to notice that she was drop-dead gorgeous.
“Great, Jon. I’m glad we understand each other. I know you’ll take care to make sure she’s very happy and if she’s happy, I’ll be happy. If you need anything, let Joey know. And, Jon?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I don’t want you to leave any stone unturned. Find out everything.”
“Don’t worry, that’s my job,” I answered, though I considered it a strange order. No father had ever given me those specific instructions. In fact, no parent had ever said that to me. It gave me pause, but before I had time to ask him if he had anything he’d like me to focus on, the screen went blank. I looked up at Joey, catching his eyes on me from the rearview mirror. He turned around in the driver’s seat.
“That’s good. He likes you.”
What in my exchange with Vespucci had led Joey to say that I could not tell, but it was better than Vespucci not liking me. I wanted to please this guy, not just because of who he was and what he could do to me. I realized sitting in the Lincoln with Vespucci’s heavy that I liked his daughter quite a bit, more than I considered healthy. She had been nothing like I expected. She was straightforward and modest and bright and gave no indication that she was a Mafioso boss’s daughter. Marco, on the other hand, had been arrogant and intimidating, seemingly doing the interviews with me more out of obligation as the groom than because he wanted to. Joey interrupted my thoughts.
“Here’s cash for the ticket and anything you need for getting around. Keep receipts.” Joey handed me a stack of one hundred dollar bills.
That was my cue to get out. I opened the back door and climbed out of the car. I stepped up to the driver’s side window, attempting to hand the money back to Joey. “I usually just bill my clients at the end of my research, so there’s no need for me to take the money now.” I held it out to Joey.
Joey stared at me. He growled, “Take it.”
Reacting to his tone, my hand immediately found its way into my pants pocket, stuffing the money inside. I nodded my head dumbly. “Okay. Thanks.” I took a step back from the car, turning around. I realized now it must have been Joey’s presence that had given me the feeling I was being watched before the memorial service. I looked over my shoulder back at the Lincoln. “Hey, Joey, why do you say he likes me?”
Without a response, Joey’s face disappeared behind the tinted driver’s side window, the Lincoln slowly pulling away up the street. I crossed the parking lot quickly, which was still full of cars. I got to my car, took my keys out of my pocket and was about to open my lock when, over my shoulder, I heard a deep voice.
“Is this the guy?”
Two high-pitched female voices responded in unison, “That’s him.”
Daniella and Francesca.
I turned around, my back to the car. The giant who’d stared at me during the service was standing right behind me. I immediately felt cornered. The blond twins were on his right, glaring at me. The giant was frowning, caught up in his own machismo. I offered them a smile, trying to defuse the situation. I took a quick glance around the parking lot, hoping the sight of a more reasonable person might be able to help, but the lot was empty of people.
The giant spoke again. “Who are you? How did you know Carol Zefarelli?”
; I blanked. “Uh, I,”—I didn’t want to lie—“I didn’t.”
Francesca, or Daniella, said, “He made—”
The other one finished the sentence, “—us cry.”
The giant never took his eyes off me. His fist came up fast, taking me by surprise, and connecting with the bone above my left eye. I slammed against my doorframe, stumbling forward to the ground. For a second, I only felt numbness, and then the pain started rolling in. The skin around my eye socket began burning. I stayed low, trying to think. I didn’t react immediately because I felt that maybe I deserved what I was getting. I had no right to bang on their window at their beloved grandma’s funeral. I had been rude and belligerent.
The giant said, “Get up, or I’ll kick you.” I looked up from the ground. The twins’ eyes were glowing with sadistic satisfaction. I looked at the giant’s foot, deciding I didn’t want to get kicked by his size fourteen loafers, so I shook my head, grabbed hold of the car and hoisted myself up. The blonds began speaking again.
Left (from my new vantage point) Twin, “He scared—
Right twin, “—us a lot.”
I raised my hands in surrender. “Hold on, I can explain my—”
The left fist connected with my solar plexus from the side. The blow knocked the wind out of me. I doubled over, gasping for breath. My initial feelings of guilt were quickly replaced with anger. I would not take a third punch. Though I let Williams have his way with me, I knew my way around a fight—Luci had helped me with that—and if this testosterone giant prolonged his assault, I would have to fight back. Keeping my face down between my shoulder blades and chin tucked under for protection, I held my hand up indicating I wanted to speak. “Look, I’m sorry for scaring you. I thought you were someone else. OK?”
There was no response. I peeked up, ready to duck out of the way of another punch. The first thing I saw were the eyes of the blonds spread wide with fear. My eyes shifted front toward the giant, noticing another pair of shoes behind the size fourteens. I pushed my butt against the car for leverage, getting upright. Joey was standing behind the giant with a gun to his neck, his eyes on my face.
“You okay?” Joey asked.
I nodded. “Just a misunderstanding, I think.”
“Looked like more than that to me.”
I’m not sure who was in more shock, me or the testosterone junky and his girls.
“Looks like this guy has a problem with you. Should I have a problem with him?” Joey asked in a calm voice.
I had never seen fear up close, but staring into the giant’s eyes I saw how true fear manifested itself in the human body. His pupils had dilated to the point that all I could see was black with a rim of iris. I looked over his shoulder at Joey’s face. Joey was not kidding. He was doing what he did for a living.
”No, Joey. Just a misunderstanding. Right guys?” I said.
Three heads nodded in unison.
”Are you sure?” Joey wasn’t about to let it go.
“I’m sure.”
“All right. You three, sit down.” The giant was on his ass before Joey finished speaking. The twins followed suit. “Now close your eyes. Don’t open them until I say so. Jon, you go ahead.”
“Thanks, Joey.”
I passed him an appreciative smile. My affinity for Joey and the Italians grew exponentially at that moment. There was more to Joey than I thought. I climbed into my car and stuck the key into the ignition. I looked down at the blond twins and their boyfriend, feeling a little sorry for them.
I leaned out my window. “Again, I’m sorry for the mistake.” I looked up to thank Joey but he was halfway to his car. I looked back at the three figures on the ground, not one eye open. I was amazed at the power of fear. I’d never encountered anything like it. By the time I pulled out of the parking lot, Joey’s car was already in the distance and the three friends were still sitting in their appointed places. I looked in my rearview mirror. My left eye was swelling up. It would be a good shiner.
I headed north on Beverly Drive up to Sunset and made a right turn, driving east through Beverly Hills into the hallowed territory of the Sunset Strip. As I drove into West Hollywood, I spotted the Whisky A Go-Go where the Doors played their first gigs and Jim Morrison found his voice, and moments later I saw the sidewalk in front of the Viper Room where River Phoenix took his last breath. Farther east on Sunset, I passed the Chateau Marmont where John Belushi ended his career and his life. Giants—all dead from a similar weakness. Their ghosts lived on in the minds and souls of all those who chased the same dreams these creative giants had. Some called L.A. a Fool’s Paradise. Considering myself to be one of those fools, I could not disagree. I guided my car off Sunset, taking La Brea up to Hollywood and past the Walk of Fame. Tourists filled the sidewalks with their uncharacteristically L.A. outfits: Europeans with short shorts; Japanese with their ubiquitous Americanized sunglasses and digital cameras; and overweight Midwesterners with screaming kids in tow. The Chinese theatre crossed my vision on my left side, as I glimpsed a crowd of people watching a street performer finish up his dance routine. I kept driving, leaving the Hollywood morass behind me. I had to share the last twenty-four hours with someone and figured Luci and Izzy would be happy to see I had snapped out of my miserable, pitiful state. I reached Vermont and cut back to Sunset, driving southeast down through the Silver Lake Hills, palm trees haphazardly climbing into the sky on either side of the street. The mixed language of Spanish and English marketing signs passed me on both sides, old and new establishments mixed along the road. Echo Park was in the slow process of gentrification, money cozying up to the less fortunate, slowly squeezing them out of the picture in the name of progress and growth. I cut a left on Coronado, driving past the old California Craftsman style homes that dotted the flats of Echo Park and much of East Los Angeles. Up ahead, past the stop sign, I could see Izzy in the front yard tending to her flower garden. Slowly, I pulled up to the house and parked my car, the hum of the engine grabbing Izzy’s attention. She turned my way and gave me her sweet smile, her body straightening up as she shifted in my direction.
For the first time in a long time, I was glad to know I was somewhere I was wanted.
4 College – Pennsylvania
I attended college but never graduated. My college years are significant for three reasons: 1) I met Luci Gardner; 2) I dated Jennifer Breaker; and 3) I stumbled into my future career path.
LUCI GARDNER
Luci entered my life during the spring of my sophomore year. College was not what I expected, mostly because I didn’t know what to expect, though I expected something different. Rather than partying and wasting late night hours with meaningless socializing, I spent my time studying, working out, and smoking pot. My latent antisocial tendencies came to the fore early in my freshman year. I had trouble relating to the other students: their wealthy backgrounds, how they slid in and out of social networks with grace and pizzazz, the way they traded partners and friends without batting an eye. I quickly discovered I was best served by putting my energies into my academics and my newly found love for weight training.
By sophomore year, I made no attempt to hide my disdain for the social scene on campus, even willing to spend the little money I had on a local meathead gym rather than train at the school facilities so I didn’t have to listen to the inane banter between the fraternity brothers and jocks. The off-campus gym equipment was more suited to my growing weightlifting habit while allowing me to self-isolate even further. Most of the clientele came in from the local factories, rough guys who trained hard and talked little. The gym was bare bones, no fluff. Weights, benches, bars, a single water fountain. That was it. With little chatter, and ne’er a woman to be seen—other than the owner’s big-haired daughter working the front desk—all focus was on training. Aside from the local radio station blasting out of the jerry-rigged speakers hanging from the four corners of the room, th
e only sounds heard were metal on metal when a set finished or the occasional grunt while weight was being hoisted or squatted or dropped. I fit in perfectly, keeping my head down and my mouth shut. No one bothered me. As far as I knew, I was the only college student who trained there, though no one seemed to hold it against me. Most of these guys worked shift hours, so the gym was very busy from 5 a.m. to 11 a.m., the early guys needing to make their 8 a.m. start time, the later guys rolling in from the night shift and wanting to get their training out of the way before they went home to sleep. From 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. the gym was quiet, so I tried to fit my training in midday because I had unfettered access to the machines. Plus, there were fewer intimidating hulks standing around watching me put up my less than impressive amounts of weight.
One day I was training hard and feeling confident about my gains in strength over the recent months. Late in the morning the gym was empty, the last stragglers having left only minutes before. I had the gym floor to myself. I decided to attempt a 220-pound bench press, placing two 45-pound plates on either side of the barbell and locking them off with clips to secure them. This was a first for me, but I was sure I could handle it. Taking a deep breath, I lifted the barbell from its inverted V holders. Two seconds later, I found myself in the untenable position of trying to lift the bar off my chest. With all my strength, I pushed up, but to no avail. Gravity, the amount of weight, and reality were all working against me. The bar digging into my chest became more intense as each second passed. I cursed myself for putting the clips on. Otherwise, I could have tipped the bar in either direction to let the weights fall off. It would have made a terrible clatter and grabbed the embarrassing attention of the gym owner’s daughter, but I figured that was better than being asphyxiated because I was an idiot. I was beginning to panic. I tried rolling the bar down my chest toward my stomach, hoping I could roll it the length of my body and let it fall over my knees onto the ground. But the bar was not cooperating. It was becoming entrenched on my chest, closing up my lungs. At that moment, two hands appeared from behind me.
Jon Fixx Page 7
