“How about a cup of hot chocolate?” he asked.
They worked in tandem. Lenny placed a kettle of cold water on the stove, Frankie removed two mugs from the cupboard; Lenny took two packets of hot chocolate from a box in the pantry and handed them to Frankie, Frankie emptied the contents of each packet into the mugs; Lenny poured the hot water, and Frankie handed him a teaspoon. Since Filomena passed, most meals and chores around the house were handled like this. Lenny paid a neighbor to clean the house, and Angie helped out on most weekends, but Frankie and Lenny carried out the day-to-day household chores like an Olympic tag team.
They sat at the enamel-top kitchen table and blew steam off the mugs of hot chocolate.
“I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” Lenny said.
“More than usual? Is that possible?” Frankie responded.
“Funny. Seriously ... I’ve been thinking about you taking the final semester off from high school. You already have enough credits to graduate. Give yourself a break before college begins.”
Frankie sipped his hot chocolate.
“Why not travel?” Lenny asked.
Frankie glanced at the clock above the window over the sink, a plastic chef with a chef ’s hat, apron, and handlebar mustache. The clock’s face sat on the chef’s large belly. Lenny asked Frankie if he was listening to him.
“Yes, I’m listening. You want me to travel,” Frankie said.
“I didn’t say that I want you to travel. I was just thinking the next few months offer you an opportunity to do something that you won’t be able to do once you start college.”
“Nope. Finishing high school feels like the right thing to do,” Frankie said between sips.
“You’ve already finished high school.” Lenny struggled to remain calm. “It’s not just traveling I’ve been thinking about. I was thinking that this might be the perfect time to ... well, to get to know your mother.”
Frankie choked and spit hot chocolate across the table into Lenny’s cup and onto his white shirt. Lenny jumped back and reached for the roll of paper towels next to the sink. “We’ve talked about this before. I just thought that ...”
“No,” Frankie said, interrupting. “What you’ve always said is that meeting Violetta would be my decision. When — more like if — I want to meet her, you would help me. That’s what you said. The last thing I need right now is another parent.” Frankie downed the rest of his hot chocolate. “I told Gennaro that I’d stop by after we got home from the cemetery.”
“I know where she is,” Lenny said, hoping to shock Frankie into listening.
“No shit! So do I. You’re not the only one who knows how to use the Internet. If I wanted to contact her, I could have done it years ago. She’s a professor at UCLA, but I don’t want to contact her. I don’t want to travel. What I want is for everything to stay the same.”
If Lenny were drinking, it would have been his turn to choke. Not that he was surprised by what Frankie said, but hearing the words spoken aloud made his fears as real as Vincenzo once grabbing his chest and falling to the sawdust-covered wood-planked floor. The words stay the same! along with the sound of Vincenzo’s death rattle echoed within Lenny’s skull.
“Go ... go see Gennaro.” Lenny’s voice was small, as if he were defeated.
Frankie placed his empty cup in the sink and kissed Lenny on the cheek. “I’m sorry, but I like it here, and you’re the only parent that I want. I don’t owe Violetta anything and neither do you.”
“You don’t owe the DiCicos anything either,” Lenny said.
Frankie paused at the kitchen door to the yard. “At least they’ve been here, which is more than I can say for Violetta.” The tone of his voice was more matter of fact than accusatory, and Lenny didn’t have a comeback. How could he? Frankie was right. For better or worse, the DiCicos were always there for Frankie.
After the kitchen door closed, Lenny heard Filomena’s whisper. He loves you. Is that so bad?
“You know it’s not that,” Lenny said.
He’s a good boy. No drugs, no alcohol, does well in school, and he even goes to church.
“Church! Don’t remind me.”
Okay, I won’t remind you. Maybe he knows something that his smart father never figured out.
Filomena’s voice became clearer, and Lenny caught fleeting glimpses of her sitting across from him at the kitchen table. First hints of her white hair, next the small gold hoops that clung to her earlobes, finally her warm brown eyes beneath the sparkle of her glasses.
“You know, every day Angie looks more and more like you.”
Lenny left Filomena sitting at the table and walked through the dining room, opened the French door to the dark office, ignored the disapproving glares from the portraits and daguerreotypes crowding the walls, sat at the desk, turned on his computer, clicked the email icon, and scanned the short list of incoming emails until his eyes locked on the name of Dr. Violetta Vitkus. The already cramped room turned claustrophobic as if every photograph were leaning over his shoulder to view what he was staring at in shock. He clicked the email and read the text:
Dear Lenny,
What a wonderful surprise. Sorry I didn’t respond sooner, but — well, I guess I have a lot to be sorry about. Entering Frankie’s life (btw, I like his name) at this point might be too little too late, but if you really think I can help, I’m more than willing. It’s the least I can do. I’ll be in New York for Christmas. We can connect then. Think about it.
Vi
Think about it! As if Lenny hadn’t been thinking of and hoping for this moment everyday for the past 18 years. He reread the email at least a dozen times before he scrolled down to read the email that Vi had responded to.
He remembered writing her, but then the boys startled him and he closed the computer, probably without turning it off, and then Gennaro gave him Big Vinny’s letter, and who the hell could think of anything else after that. He traced and retraced what had taken place since writing the email: the boys surprising him in the office, closing the computer, getting the note from Gennaro, giving the envelope to a stranger on the train station, meeting Tootsie, and Big Vinny getting released on bail, but not Michael or Jimmy. A few moments earlier Frankie said that he didn’t owe Violetta anything, he didn’t want to contact her, and he wanted everything to stay the same. But everything staying the same was exactly what Lenny couldn’t allow.
“I’ll be in New York for Christmas,” she wrote. She might already be here, Lenny thought and pressed reply.
“Call me when you’re in town,” he typed, added his cellphone number, and pressed send. How simple it was. What he couldn’t bring himself to do for almost eighteen years, he did in a second, without even thinking about it. “Call me ...,” he typed as if they had just seen each other.
The weight of Filomena’s hand pressed down on Lenny’s shoulder. She walked out on you, Lenny. She also left her son. A good mother doesn’t leave her son.
“What’s worse,” Lenny said, “a mother who left her son, or a mother who won’t ever let her son go?”
The weight lifted.
That night, Lenny’s sleep was fitful. Had Vi checked her email? Was she already on a plane heading East for Christmas? Maybe she was already in New York.
The next morning, Lenny dressed, ate breakfast, and opened the store with the movements of an automaton. The warm loves of Italian bread did little to take the chill out of the cold December morning. Instead, the heat and the aroma of the fresh baked bread soured his stomach, and everything about the store — the two long, narrow aisles piled to the tin ceiling with groceries and paper goods; the frayed burlap bags of dried beans and grain; the temperamental sliding glass doors on the display cases of cold cuts behind the counter; even the Christmas lights — irritated him, as did the thought of the hectic days ahead. Aside from the regulars there would be the once-a-year Christmas customers looking for special items they could find only at Lasante’s — or so they said. It was as if Christmasti
me, especially the Eve, pulled at the roots of even the most assimilated Italians, and shopping in Lasante’s made them feel as if they were coming home. But for Lenny it meant long, tiresome days and home did not have the glow of nostalgia that it did for those who had moved on.
Lenny filled the bread case and thought it curious that Vi was coming East for Christmas. She didn’t have family here, at least that’s what Lenny thought.
19
With Filomena gone, Lenny’s two youngest sisters spent Christmas with their in-laws, but since Lenny was the only father Tony knew, and Tony’s wife, Laura, didn’t have any family to speak of, they drove the bumper-to-bumper traffic with their twin sons from Central Islip to spend Christmas with Frankie, Angie, and Lenny. For the sake of the twins, the adults did their best to make it as festive as possible, but there was no ignoring Filomena’s absence. During Christmas dinner the twins voiced what everyone was feeling — “We miss Grandma ... It doesn’t feel like Christmas without her ... Will we ever see her again?” And it was Frankie who took them on his lap and soothed them, as if Filomena were channeling her love for her youngest grandsons through her oldest grandson.
The day passed with forced smiles and teary eyes. The little ones seemed relieved when Tony said that it was time to hit the road.
Angie and Lenny helped Tony carry gifts from the house to the car while Frankie helped Laura dress the two squirming boys in boots, coats, hats, scarves, and gloves. Laura was a petite, pretty woman with endless patience, not only for her twin boys, but also for Tony, who had been spoiled by Filomena and his siblings. He was the baby of the family, and his sisters carried him around as if he was one of their dolls, even after he was long able to walk on his own.
“Okay boys, I think that Mommy has you dressed for a nor’easter,” Tony said. “You look like helium balloons in the Macy’s Parade. Should I tie you to the top of the car?”
“Hey, big fellas, give Grandpa Lenny a hug,” Lenny said, and his nephews jumped on him. They were husky little guys with tons of energy, and they nearly knocked him over.
“Wow! Careful, boys, Grandpa Lenny’s not as young as me,” Tony said. “Come to mention it, he’s not as strong or good looking either.”
“I’m still strong enough to knock your dad down to size,” Lenny said, chuckling, and wrestled his nephews into the car.
As the car pulled away from the curb, Angie and Lenny blew kisses to the boys, and Frankie disappeared into the house. Angie took Lenny’s arm and they climbed up the brick stoop between snow-filled cement flowerpots. The color lights strung round the windows looked harsh, as did the large Santa Claus face despite his sympathetic smile. Lenny missed the sedum’s small star-shaped blooms and the more showy hydrangeas in the gardens.
Inside the house, Frankie sat in the living room checking his cellphone and thumbing through books that Angie had given him for Christmas, while Angie wiped the few remaining crumbs from the dining room tablecloth. She was a handsome woman. Not as pretty as her younger sisters, but elegant in a casual way — like royalty on a day off. Eyeing the occasional strands of silver in her otherwise dark brown hair gave Lenny a fleeting sense of sadness. Since Angie’s divorce, she’d had no one special in her life. And her former husband, who Amelia and Irish called Mr. Feminist, had been special only in that he couldn’t keep his hands off his coeds. Since their divorce there had been a few guys who sounded good politically, but, like her ex, proved to be empty barrels.
She had met the last man she dated at a lecture on global warming. He lambasted the organizers of the event for holding the lecture in a third-floor walkup that wasn’t accessible to people in wheelchairs, and of course Angie was immediately attracted to him — also his thick, wavy hair and bedroom eyes didn’t hurt. On their third date, he invited her to dinner at his place in Park Slope. He lived in the basement apartment of a brownstone, but he didn’t own a shovel and hadn’t cleared the snow from the steep steps down to his apartment; Angie slipped and twisted her ankle. So much for accessibility.
Lenny chuckled at the memory of Angie telling him this story.
“What’s so funny?” Angie said.
“Oh nothing. The snow outside just reminded me of one of your Mr. Sensitives.”
“Which one?”
“Umm ... have you ever thought about dating a Republican?”
“It’s Christmas, Lenny. Let’s change the subject. Do you want more coffee?”
Through the archway into the kitchen, Angie appeared and disappeared from view — a taller, less animated, and younger Filomena.
“Sure, coffee sounds good.”
“How about you, Frankie?” she called from the kitchen. “Do you want anything?”
“No, I’m good. I’m thinking of walking down to Gennaro’s for a little bit. If that’s okay.”
“If what’s okay?” Lenny said, though he had heard Frankie.
“If I go down to Gennaro’s for a while. I didn’t give him his gift yet.”
Angie set out two demitasse cups of espresso, and Lenny took a seat at the dining room table while Frankie charged up to his bedroom, and then back down to the front door. “Oops! Almost forgot his gift,” Frankie said and grabbed a box from under the tree.
The house shook when he slammed the front door.
Angie stirred sugar into her espresso. “What’s gotten into him?”
“Maybe he got a text from a secret admirer.”
“Don’t tell me it’s Lena.”
“You’re warm.”
“Spare me the games, Lenny. Who’s the girl?”
Lenny added a drop of anisette to his espresso. “Gennaro.”
Two bayberry scented candles burned down almost to their candleholders — a pair of bisque Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus Vincenzo had bought for Filomena years ago in Little Italy at a shop on Mott Street. Tongues of fire floated above the jolly couple’s heads while Angie’s eyes widened, and Lenny selected a sfogiatelle from the few pastries left on the red and green platter. He tapped some powdered sugar off the pastry, pressed his free hand against his full stomach, and returned the pastry to the platter.
“Frankie told you this?” Angie said.
“Not in so many words, but it’s something I’ve surmised for a long time. Guess I’ve been trying not to think about it, but last night, when I came downstairs to turn off the Christmas tree lights, they were curled up together like two spoons, asleep on the couch.”
Angie rolled her eyes and took a sip of her espresso. “Is that all? You know how Gennaro is. He’s like a big puppy.”
“Angie ...”
“This is speculation, Lenny!”
Lenny took a deep breath and sighed. “Look, Angie, if Frankie is gay, he’s gay. Not a damn thing we can do about it. As I said, I’ve thought this for a long time, so it’s no shock. I didn’t say I love the idea. Life is hard enough, but things are changing. At least they’re changing beyond 104th Street. I saw these guys a few months ago in Central Park. Two guys with their little girl.” Lenny shook his head and threw up his hands as if he were trying to make sense of his own words. “Regardless, what I’m really worried about is that Frankie’s feelings for Gennaro are another reason for him not to leave this lousy neighborhood and another reason not to go to college.”
“You’re so obsessed with Frankie going college that you’re imagining things.”
“I didn’t imagine last night when I overheard Frankie tell Gennaro that he didn’t want to leave him. Fortunately, Gennaro’s not encouraging him to stay. He told Frankie that he should go. In fact, Gennaro might enlist in the Marines.”
“From this you figured out that Frankie is gay, and he’s in love with Gennaro?”
“You’ve never wondered why Frankie, a good looking, friendly kid never had a girlfriend?”
“Well, I didn’t say ...” Angie looked away from Lenny and ran the palms of her hands against the tablecloth as if smoothing out problems.
“All right then.” For a few moments they sa
t quietly and drank their espressos. Lenny cracked his knuckles. Angie picked lint from her sleeve. The steam radiators hissed followed by several bangs.
“Well, as you said, times are changing. The important thing is that he knows we love him.”
“No, the important thing is that he gets the hell out of here. Times will never change on 104th Street.”
Angie nodded. Lenny told her that he’d been thinking about selling the store and the house, and that that’s what he really wanted to talk to her about, not whether or not Frankie is gay or how they could be supportive. “The best thing we can do for Frankie right now is make sure he gets as far away from 104th Street and the DiCicos as possible. If a bird doesn’t have a nest then it has to fly.”
“Frankie being the bird?” Angie said.
“Exactly!”
“Nice metaphor, Lenny, but ...” Angie ran her thumb along the rim of the demitasse saucer. “Let’s begin with the fact that you’re 50, and the store has been your life.”
“The store has been the means, but not my life,” Lenny said. “My life has been raising all of you, getting you through college, and then raising Frankie.” He tried to say this without sounding resentful. It was a simple and, he thought, obvious fact. However, Angie took offense.
“You didn’t exactly raise Frankie by yourself.”
Most Precious Blood Page 14
