by Jolie Damman
“How could you have known?” I shook my head. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter.”
Her eyes bulged. “It doesn’t matter? Are you sure? What if another gang comes shooting the whole place up when you are working there? Do you want Luca to lose his only family?!”
I shook my head again, her words aching my heart. “It’s not going to happen. And what do you expect me to do? I can’t quit that job. I need the money for us and Luca’s medicine.”
She threw her arms over her head in frustration and opened her mouth, but it was Luca who then spoke, “What’s going on? Why are you two fighting?”
He was just outside his room, his hands on the doorway’s frame. I hurried to him and went on one knee. “We are not fighting. Don’t worry about it.”
He beheld me with a clear expression of vagueness. Luca had his condition and he was a depressed boy most of the time, but he wasn’t stupid. His scores spoke for themselves.
Rita and I just shouldn’t have been arguing inside the house.
As the moment of silence thickened, I spoke, “Come on. Back to bed. You’ll have a full day tomorrow morning at school.”
Luca didn’t say anything; he merely gazed at me like he wished he could tell me he didn’t believe my words. It made me feel bad, but I still stood up and took him back to bed. I pulled the blanket up to his chin, and turned off the light.
I then leaned on the wall of his bedroom and respired.
Rita walked over to me, her hand still holding her stinking cigarette. “Just think this through. If something bad happens while you are working there, don’t hesitate to quit the job. I’m sure we can find something better for you.”
“Thanks,” I said, smiling reticently. She padded to the backyard of the house, but I didn’t believe we could find another job for me easily. Being accepted to work as a waitress in the Bello Italiano had already been hard enough, after all.
Whatever has to happen, I was thinking, I’m going to do the best for Luca.
Angelo
People walked here and there. Cars and trucks came and went on the road in front of me. I was sitting at a table, alone, and my hands were holding a newspaper. On the table made of iron was a cup of hot tea. My mind was barely aware of the cloudy sky and the birds as they flew from one building to the other, hunting for food.
I flipped one page, and then another, and another until I stumbled upon a title that caught my attention.
I was looking, in reality, for the international sports section of the newspaper, but I also couldn’t deny that the story they included here mattered to me.
And it counted maybe a bit too much.
As I read the title, it was as if the world around me had frozen. Infertile man finally does it! His wife is so happy she can’t believe it! The title was a bit melodramatic and ridiculous, but it still made me care about the story, and so, I read on.
Dustin Walters has been infertile his whole life. Well, not anymore! Thanks to an intensive treatment and many nights in the operation room, now he can finally have proper sex with his wife, who herself is so happy she can’t help but plan a world-wide trip once their baby is born.
Okay, that got even more ridiculous, but I continued to read on.
What kind of harsh therapy did he subject himself to in order to mitigate his infertility?
In our clinics, you can pay for the same treatment Mr. Walters has gone through. If you are a man with the same problem, don’t hesitate to call us. Mr. Walters is now happier than ever, and his wife is jubilant to have their first baby. It’s all a question of perseverance and believing that it can happen!
It read more like a joke article, and it made me question the truthfulness of it. I pulled out my phone and Googled the name of the clinic.
But the search engine found nothing, like it didn’t even exist.
This local newsprint had to have been desperate as fuck to have included a piece of fake news like this on one of its pages, I speculated before putting it on the table.
Still, the story made me question if it was conceivable. My whole life had been plagued by this fear that I could never make a woman happy without being able to make her pregnant. I tried it many times with Tiziana – that had been my way to make father give up on his quest to make me marry Alide – but it just never worked.
I could produce sperm like any man, but it was more translucent than what I had seen in photos on the internet.
I didn’t think there was a way to fix something like that, and if I ever got a woman pregnant, it would be through sheer luck…
Alide
Checking the calendar, I couldn’t help but notice a month had passed since I began to work in the Bello Italiano. Work was tough. It tired me every day, both mentally and physically, but it was still the best option I had.
Plus, Mr. Romani treated me so well. It was like he was trying to be a father figure to me or something. I wondered why he took such a liking to me, considering he was the Don of a mafia family.
Well, maybe the Mafia thing was behind them now and they focused only on their restaurant business these last few years. I couldn’t know that for sure, but since Rita ceased getting all worked up about me still working here, I kind of pushed aside the memory of that horrible photo which depicted them torturing a man in a suit.
I glanced around the room for the customers and padded to Mr. Romani’s office. I knocked on his door and then heard him saying, “Come on in, Alide.”
I opened the door and gave him a shy smirk. He added, “You’ve been working here for so long I already know when it’s you who’s knocking.”
“Well, I hope I haven’t disappointed, sir,” I said, interlacing my hands in front of me in a protective manner. Despite his overall gentleness with me, I still couldn’t ignore he was the Don of his Mafia family.
“You have actually exceeded my expectations.” He gesticulated with his hand downward. “Sit. I’m going to get your payment.”
He opened a drawer and took out of it a couple of money stacks. Just a glance was enough to tell me something was wrong about them. “Here it is,” he said, handing them to me.
To make sure I wasn’t about to tell him something stupid, I counted all the money. He said nothing as I did so. I postulated he was going to say I didn’t trust him or something of the sort, which would make me nervous.
Regardless, I still needed to find out if the amount was correct.
But it wasn’t. The salary was supposed to be 2880 dollars, but the money stacks amounted to 3500 dollars.
Did something happen?
Why was he paying me more than what we agreed on when I signed the contract? And, as far as I knew, he mentioned nothing about bonuses, and I did no extra time, other than that evening when I tidied up his son’s room.
“Mr. Romani, I think there’s something wrong. You are paying me more than my wage.”
He waved his hand in front of him and leaned on the chair. “It’s fine. I don’t need the extra money. You, on the other hand, do.”
I studied his eyes, asking myself if he knew about Luca and how we lived. Did he? Did Angelo tell him something about that? Should he even care, if he was aware?
I considered objecting to him paying me more than I needed, but decided not to. He was right. I needed his money, and the extra was enough to save up a big chunk for the PS4 Luca wanted so much.
I could just imagine him jumping around when I told him the good news.
“But Mr. Romani, I don’t even know how to thank you.”
He stood up and walked with me to the door. “No need to thank me. You are a good girl, and you deserve only the best.”
I stepped out of his office, my heart still galloping. Rita was going to have to eat her words about Mr. Romani.
“Tell me.” His expression grew serious. “What do you think of my son?”
My heart lunged. “Angelo? I… don’t know. We haven’t spoken much.”
“Still, tell me what you think about him. I’m
curious.”
Why was he curious about that? I had nothing to do with Angelo, even if I thought he was handsome and I wondered if we had a chance together if he was from a different family.
“He’s a nice guy, Mr. Romani. He’s just like you.”
He nodded a couple of times, ruminating my words. “I see. Thank you for speaking your mind.” He then smiled. “Well, spend your money wisely. I’ll see you back here next week.”
“Thank you, Mr. Romani.” I bowed. “I won’t waste the money, that I promise.”
His smile widened a bit, and he then closed the door.
How weird, I asserted it all was as I changed back to my white top and jeans. But hey, if he was willing to pay me more than what I was owed, then what did I have to complain about, right?
Chapter 5
Things are Looking Up
Alide
Before going back home, I stopped by the pharmacy and bought Luca’s medicine for his coughs. I was so glad I had more than enough money for it. We survived through so many months where we made just the sufficient to put food on the table.
It was also going to be nice digesting something that wasn’t the local Burger King’s menu, I conjectured before getting out of the bus and walking back home.
Maybe, after buying his PS4, I could save enough to send him to a good clinic. We needed to find out why he’d been coughing every day. He didn’t always cough blood, but it still happened, and it was reason enough to make me worry about him.
More than ever before, I wished we had a public health care system here in New York.
I opened the door to our home and trod in. Luca was sleeping on the couch, making me put my hands on my waist. Rita was sitting on her comfy chair, and the TV was on. I didn’t need to glance at it to know what show she was watching.
Westworld.
Her head turned to me, and sensing my disenchantment, she said, “I-I-I wa-was just about to put him on his bed.”
“Riiiiight,” I said, smirking funnily at her. I sat by Luca, and couldn’t help but notice how frail he appeared to be.
His phone was on the floor and the screen had been turned off, I perceived with a glance.
“I’ve got good news, Rita, and you are going to have to take your words back about Mr. Romani.”
Her eyes narrowed as Luca stirred, but didn’t wake up. “What do you mean?”
I fished out the money stacks he gave to me, and showed it to her. Her eyes shot open. Despite the shock I knew she was going to have, my mind was thinking about something else.
Couldn’t Mr. Romani have paid me through a bank transference? And that’s when it hit me.
He couldn’t.
As a Don of the Mafia, he couldn’t use the bank system like everybody else without compromising his operations. His tendency to be old school made sense to me now.
“Holy shit! That’s a lot of money.”
“It’s 3500 dollars.” I fished out the packs with Luca’s medicine. “And, I’ve got these as well.”
This time, Luca stirred and fluttered his eyelids open. He sat up on the couch slowly, rubbed his eyes, and glanced at me and Rita. “What’s going?” He asked.
I opened a medicine pack and gave him a pill. His eyes widened. “It’s for your coughing, Luca. Take it.”
He strode to the kitchen, poured some water into a glass, and took it. Upon getting back, I voiced, “Take one in the morning and one at night, okay? It should help you.”
He nodded and sat on the couch gently. For the first time that night, his eyes landed on the money stacks, and they shot open. Even someone almost fully blind would have known that was much more money than NYC’s minimum wage.
“Holy shit!” He said a bit louder than normal.
I picked up a stack of money and uttered, “This I’m saving up for your PS4.”
“For real?”
I nodded. “For real,” I responded and hugged him before kissing one of the temples of his head.
He felt so cold.
I wished I could save up the money to send him to a good clinic instead, but I did promise I would buy him a PS4. I couldn’t go back on my word like that.
We then all hugged each other as we watched another episode of Westworld. It was horrible, but being with them like this, together and united, more than made up for it.
Angelo
I paced in front of my dad, his nostrils blazing. “I’m not going to keep doing this! She already told me where she last saw him, and it didn’t help us.” I paused, staring at him. “It’s over, father. She can’t tell us anything more.”
He waved his hand in front of him superficially. “Fine, fine. Get her out of there before I change my mind.”
I walked to the door as fast as my legs could take me, feeling a surge of annoyance in my heart. Father could be so stubborn when he wanted to.
When I wrapped my fingers around the knob, he said, “Did you talk to Alide already? She’s been working with us for quite a while now.”
“I’m not going over to her to tell her we are going to marry. She doesn’t even know what she is to us. Why don’t you tell her everything instead?”
“It should be you.”
“Why should it be me?! I don’t want to have to marry her. She would add nothing to our family.”
“Enough!” He punched his desk. “You are going to do as I ask of you, and you are not going to spout your bullshit again.”
When I threw the door open, he barked, “And her father’s vow will be respected.”
I said nothing. I just closed the door behind me with force and stormed out of there as I ignored Prudenzio’s pleas to hear him out about something I didn’t care about at all right now.
I didn’t want to and didn’t have the right mind to talk to him about anything at this moment.
And there was still Vinicio.
I just hoped he would get out of the city somehow. I was already tired of hunting him down and obeying our father all the time.
Alide
The customers stood up and walked away. Man, what a mess they left behind. I pulled out a clean handkerchief and began to clean off the pieces of lasagna that were on the table, putting them on a dustpan.
I didn’t complain about working here much, but when I did, it was because of something that pissed me off so. fucking. much.
Being a waitress here could be so much better if the customers respected me and the other workers.
People peregrinated on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, some with their arms linked. Some were smiling, others were laughing, and some were all alone. The sky wasn’t overcast like in most days.
The surrounding environment was also being decorated by the sounds of cars driving, accelerating and pulling over.
If there was one thing Little Italy should be proud of, it was how it tended to attract many and all kinds of people to it.
I finished putting the pieces of lasagna into a small plastic bag when the front door opened loudly. In stepped Angelo, and for the first time since we met in Central Park that day, he was smiling and laughing as if he had nothing to worry about.
I knew it wasn’t the case, but that’s the impression I got from him.
The customers in the restaurant stopped what they were doing to watch Angelo and his men sitting at one of the tables. I glanced around and found out I was the one supposed to take their orders.
My heart raced a little, but I reminded myself I was their waitress and my job was to serve them, regardless of who the customer happened to be. I adjusted my shirt to make sure it looked perfect on me, and then walked to them with my small notepad and four menus in my hands.
There were four of them, including Angelo. I recognized one of the other three. His name was Prudenzio, and if I remembered correctly, he was his right-hand man. I was sure they had a proper title for him in Italian, but I couldn’t remember what it was.
It mattered nothing to me anyway, and so, I continued to them. They were still laughin
g and talking noisily about something I couldn’t make out, and couldn’t care much about.
Or maybe, I did care, because I caught myself listening to their words and trying to discern what they were finding so funny.
I also couldn’t get my eyes off Angelo.
I couldn’t remember have ever seen him looking this happy before. I guessed there were many things about him I still didn’t know, and now, more than ever, I wished I could know what they were.
“And then, she farted!” Prudenzio blurted out, making all his friends burst out laughing so hard the other customers stopped what they were doing, again, to glance at them with arbitrating eyes.
I cleared my throat and said as I tried not to sound too judgmental, “Can I help you guys?”
They glanced at each other, and then cleared their throats and adjusted their postures. “We’ll have a bacon pizza. Make it large, and get some Budweisers for us as well,” Angelo said, sounding more serious and contained this time.
I scribbled their orders and padded out of there.
They resumed their chatter, but contained themselves. There was still the occasional laugh or loud sentence, but nothing more than that. The restaurant had returned to its regular level of noise.
I stood behind a short wall where the cooks had been making the pizzas. I had just delivered the orders to the main cook, and he said it would take them no time to make them. We also had plenty of Budweiser cans in the main fridge, so that was a nonissue.
And that all meant I had some minutes to think and contemplate…
I rested my forearms on the short wall made of red stones and leaned down on it, my body weighing on the structure. It separated the huge fireplace where the pizzas were being baked from the rest of the Bello Italiano.
I sighed and gazed at Angelo. He still smiled and threw his arms over his head whenever he said something I was sure had sounded ridiculous to his friends. They were still cracking jokes, and he was having a good time with them.
Seeing him like that made me think, again, that I knew nothing about him…
