“What others?” I said. But Nico was already out of the car and making for the stairs.
There are a lot of steps leading up to the main double doors. You can’t miss the doors. They are painted gold. Not yellow. Gold.
If the doors fail to impress, wait until you open them.
“We’re in the Venetian Ballroom,” said Nico. “I can’t wait for you to see it.”
Nico grasped one of the gold handles and pulled. I walked into the foyer and was immediately blinded by sparkly light dancing off a wall of mirrors.
The Forum has a huge ballroom and a smaller banquet hall. So theoretically, two events can take place at one time. Not so for my wedding. We would have the whole building to ourselves. This was more a safety precaution than anything else. A lot of, shall we say, important people were going to be at my wedding. Big Sally, for one. The security would be top-notch.
The event rooms are on the main floor, which has an impressive twenty-foot ceiling. The kitchens and storage rooms are on the floor below. The land slopes downward at the back, so you can make deliveries without having to bother with stairs.
I walked past the tacky Greek plaster statues and the busts of Roman emperors. The Venetian Ballroom was straight ahead.
“Wait,” Nico called after me. “I want this to be a surprise. Close your eyes before you walk in.”
I sighed and closed my eyes. Nico was always one for the dramatic. He took my arm and guided me into the room.
“You can open them now,” he said.
I obeyed. Then looked. Then gasped. “Oh my god, Nico, this is fab!”
“You like it?” I could hear the happiness in his voice.
“I love it!” I clapped my hands together. Yes, it was over the top. But done in such a cheerful way that you couldn’t help but smile.
Nico had gone to town with the black-and-pink theme. Draperies of shimmering hot pink fell from rods high on the ceiling to pool on the floor. About thirty round tables for eight were set up. Each was draped with a black tablecloth. Silver cutlery and chargers gleamed under the many enormous chandeliers. Bright-pink linen napkins puffed out of every wineglass on the table.
The centerpieces were concoctions of mirror, crystal and more hot pink. I could see flower vases rising up from the center to magnificent heights. Everything sparkled as sunlight cascaded in from the palladian windows.
“Wait until we get the flowers,” said Nico. “And the ice sculptures. That will really pull it all together.”
Ice sculptures. I had to grin. Well, at least it wasn’t the pink flamingos I had been half expecting.
“Have you seen the head table?” Nico said.
I turned my gaze to the right. The head table was a reverse of the others. Black draperies framed the rectangular table. A pink tablecloth ran the length of it, with a glittering silver runner down the middle. Instead of centerpieces, the table had two enormous silver candelabras at each end. No kidding. Those candle holders had to be four feet high.
“It’s gorgeous, Nico. I truly do love it,” I said.
“Hi, Gina!” Pinky was walking across the parquet dance floor. Did I mention a dance floor? Yes, the room is huge. You could seat 250 people for dinner and not have to move tables afterward for dancing.
“Hasn’t Nico done a fabulous job?” She rushed right up to me and planted a kiss on either cheek. Then she did the time-honored thing of wiping her lipstick off my cheek with her thumb. She moved on to Nico next.
My aunt Pinky lived up to her name. That was a fuchsia wool Versace dress she was wearing. Pinky is a former beauty queen who still looks the part. She is the youngest of my mother’s sisters.
“Oh! Before I forget. Gina, I don’t want to alarm you, but Rosina in Palermo told Vera that Zia Sophia has seen a—”
“Crow! I know. I’m dealing with it.” That was a lie. I wasn’t dealing with it well at all.
“Come into the bridal room,” Pinky said to me. “We’re working on place cards there.”
“I need to go check something,” said Nico. “Be back in a bit.”
I dutifully followed Pinky into the bridal room, which was a special room off to the left, set aside for the bride and her attendants. It was over-the-top fluffy, dripping lace and satin. In fact, one might mistake it for a Victorian bordello.
Three very old ladies were seated around a glass table. It held a pile of lists and name cards.
“Gina!” said my great-aunt Rita. “You see? We all came to help.”
And there they were, the female contingent of the Last Chance Club from the Holy Cannoli Retirement Home. Minus Mad Magda, of course, who was at the hospital with Jimmy.
I started around the table to give my kisses. Great-Aunt Rita first, then Mrs. Pesce and Loose Trudy.
About Loose Trudy. Don’t ask. I did, and I’m scarred for life.
“Thanks for helping. You’re all wonderful to come here.” It was the right thing to say. I watched as they settled back in their chairs, each smiling broadly.
What a bunch of old dears. They looked so sweet in their colorful pastel tracksuits. You’d never know they were all retired ex-mobsters who had done time for armed robbery.
“So you bagged yourself a big one,” said Loose Trudy. “I like the big ones.” She giggled.
“You like anything that comes with a wiener,” said Mrs. Pesce. Her pug face was set to disapproval.
“Sausage, Jeanie. Big round sausage. Wieners are for sissies.”
“Behave yourself, girls,” Great-Aunt Rita ordered. “This here is a solemn occasion. Ain’t every day a mob goddaughter gets married.”
“I’m not a—” I started to protest. “Well, okay. Technically, I am. But not practicing,” I added.
“She’s had enough practice,” snorted Loose Trudy. “Them Loan Rearranger burglaries and all.”
Oh for crissake. Would I never live those down?
“Gina? Can you come downstairs with me for a minute?” Nico popped his head around the doorframe. His eyes were wide and frightful.
I looked over at Pinky, who shrugged. “Go,” she said. “We’ll be here for a while.”
TWELVE
I followed Nico out of the ballroom and to the main hall. He was really hoofing it.
“Wait up!” I yelled when he got to the stairs at the side of the building. “What’s this all about?”
“You’ve got a major in chemistry, right?” he said, galloping down the steps.
“A minor.” What the hell was up with Nico?
He waited for me at the bottom of the stairs. Then he beckoned me to follow. We hurried down a long corridor with no windows. At the end of it, he turned left into a small room.
The first thing that hit me was the odor. What was that awful smell?
Bertoni and Lou were sitting at a rickety wooden table. Sitting might not be the correct word. Bertoni had his head down on the table and appeared dead. Lou was slumped against the back wall.
An empty bottle sat on the table. Cases of similar bottles lined the right wall of the room.
“Hi, Gina,” said Lou, opening an eye. “Wanna try some grappa?”
Holy shit! This must be bootlegging headquarters. What a good cover, in the bottom of the banquet hall. Who would ever think to check here?
“They’re drunk,” said Nico with disgust. “They were supposed to be looking after the still for Magda, and they’re totally shit-faced.”
“How long have they been like that?” I asked.
“No idea,” said Nico. “But it doesn’t look right in there.”
“Wuz Gina doin’ ’ere?” muttered Bertoni.
“She took chemistry in college. She might be able to help,” explained Nico. He walked to the far door and threw it open.
I started to follow Nico into the room and stopped dead in the doorway.
A wall of vapor whooshed at me. The stinging kind that hurts your eyes and turns your throat raw.
“I don’t know anything about stills, Gina. But this
doesn’t seem right. Should it be overflowing like that?”
I peered into the room.
I’d only seen stills before on tv and in movies. I had visions of a large copper kettle over an open flame. Connected to the kettle would be a coil of copper tubing from which a trickle of clear moonshine would run into a glass jug.
The one in front of me was a high-end version, made of polished stainless steel. But the purpose of the apparatus was unmistakable. All the right bits were there, down to the blue flame of the propane burner under the kettle.
It didn’t take a chemistry degree to figure out something was very wrong. Alcohol was bubbling out of the top of the jug and spreading across the floor. Any minute now it would reach the propane flame.
“That’s ethanol!” I said. “It’s highly flammable. Nico, we’ve got to get everyone out of here right away.”
“But—”
“You go upstairs right now and get Pinky and the girls out of the building. DO IT! NOW! Don’t waste a second.”
Nico knew me well enough to know I wasn’t kidding. He turned and ran. I shut the door to the still room very carefully. Then I walked to the table and lifted the end of it with a jerk. Bertoni slid to the floor.
“Get up!” I yelled to them both. “We’ve got to get out of here. The still’s going to blow.”
“Wha’?” said Lou.
I kicked Lou in the leg. Then I kicked Bertoni even harder. I would have liked to kick him more, but there wasn’t time.
“Get out of here right now. Take the nearest exit. I MEAN IT!”
I helped to haul them up. Then I shoved their miserable drunken bodies out the door.
There wasn’t much more I could do. I had no idea how to stop the overflow.
I closed the door to the connecting room carefully and followed the boys into the hall.
Bertoni had made it to the end of the corridor. He pushed open a steel door and disappeared into daylight. Lou was right after him. I followed Lou but stopped just short of the door.
I scanned the walls for a fire alarm. There it was! I ran to it and pulled the bar hard.
The alarm was deafening. My heart was pounding like a jackhammer. Loud noises do that to me.
I hit the steel door, pushed hard and vaulted out into sunshine. Bertoni and Lou were standing a few feet away, looking dazed.
“Get over to the parking lot! As far away as you can,” I ordered.
I didn’t wait for them. I ran around the side of the building and up the laneway, to the front entrance.
Nico was standing by my car with Pinky and the old ladies. “Get farther back!” I waved my arms and yelled, “Down the driveway!”
Nico put his arm around Great-Aunt Rita and together they skedaddled. Pinky helped Mrs. Pesce, and Loose Trudy lived up to her rep. She was fast.
I took one look back at The Forum and hoped I wasn’t right. Yes, it would be embarrassing, especially since I had pulled the fire alarm. But rather that than—
Boom!
“Holy shit!” yelled Bertoni, behind me.
Lou wet his pants.
THIRTEEN
Half an hour later, the fire trucks were still sloshing water into the back side of The Forum.
Pinky had taken the old ladies back to the retirement home. Loose Trudy wanted to stay and watch the “hotties”—firemen—but Mrs. Pesce won out in the end.
Lou and Bertoni were lying on the hillside up from the laneway, passed out. I stood beside them, feeling numb and sort of on guard. A lot of people would be wanting to kill those two for what they had done. Or, rather, hadn’t done.
I was greedy. I wanted that pleasure for myself.
The afternoon was turning chilly. The air was acrid with smoke. I stood silently with my arms crossed over my chest, waiting for Nico to return. He had gone to speak to the fire chief or whoever was in charge.
I watched as Nico walked slowly up the laneway. He had both hands in his pockets. His black-rimmed eyes looked stunned.
“It blew out the back wall,” said Nico. “Then the fire climbed to the second floor.”
I stared at him blankly.
“The second floor, Gina,” Nico said patiently. “The still was right under the ballroom.”
Now I got it.
“The ballroom is going to be a mess,” he said. “The windows blew out. They’ve got the fire mostly under control, but it’s completely flooded in there. Not to mention the smoke. And I expect the floor is unstable or nonexistent. I can’t imagine the damage.”
Certainly not something you could fix in two days. That was for sure.
“I’m so sorry, Gina.”
“I’m just glad we got everyone out okay,” I said.
“Me too.”
We stood beside each other in shared misery. I had lost my wedding hall. Nico had lost his beautiful decor. It was an altogether crap situation.
“Did you know a flock of crows is called a murder of crows?” Nico said, out of the blue.
Before I could kill him, my cell phone sang the Godfather theme. I glanced at Nico. “I don’t think I can take any more bad news.”
The caller was Sammy. “I have some bad news,” he said.
I held my breath.
“Your wedding champagne has been stolen.”
“Stolen,” I repeated mechanically.
“New York is getting hammered by the ice storm, and the reception hall has burned down.”
“I know about the hall,” I said.
“Yeah, there might have been a still in the basement.”
“Old news, Sammy. Anything more? ’Cause I really gotta go.” I clicked off without waiting for his response.
All the airports would be closed in New York. My mom wasn’t going to be here in time for the wedding.
Really, I was doing quite well. I wasn’t even crying yet.
“I need to phone Pete now,” I said, wondering how long I could stall the tears.
Nico nodded. “I’ll just go see how the fire trucks are doing, shall I?”
I watched Nico slink down the laneway. Then I speed-dialed Pete. He answered immediately.
“The reception hall has burned down!” I said.
Pete started to laugh.
“It’s not funny,” I wailed. “Those blasted boys from Buffalo have blown up our wedding hall. I’m looking at it right now.”
“How…?”
I didn’t stop to explain. I was in full rant mode now, complete with swinging arms. “The wedding champagne has been stolen. My mom won’t be here in time for the wedding. And now there won’t be a reception. What are we going to do?”
Pete said, “I have an idea. Stay right where you are. I’ll be there in ten.”
***
He was there in ten.
I was sitting by myself on a low cement wall between two Roman columns, with my red coat wrapped tightly around me. I was also enveloped in an odor of recently burned reception hall and bad moonshine.
I waited for Pete to come right up to me and lift me into his arms.
“You are sort of a mess,” he said. I sniffled into his chest. “A cute mess,” he said hastily, playing with my hair. “Except for… what is that smell?”
“Blown up grappa still.”
I could feel the chortle start deep in his chest.
“It’s not funny,” I said, pushing back.
“It’s sort of funny,” said Pete. His whole body was shaking as he tried to control himself.
“Our reception hall just burned down!” I thudded a fist on his chest. “The wedding is in two days. What are we going to do?”
I stared at him, eyes wide. His face went from laughing to serious. Very serious.
“Elope,” he said.
I froze.
“You’re kidding.” I searched his face to see if he was.
“I mean it. Come with me right now. We’ll go back to the condo, pick up what we need and just go.”
“And leave everyone in the lurch?” It was unthin
kable. Aunt Pinky would kill me. Not to mention Aunt Miriam, Aunt Vera and—oh my god—Nico. Nico, who had worked for days and days on the black-and-pink decor, for the hall that no longer existed…
“Listen to me.” Pete put both hands on my shoulders. He pushed me back to look right into my eyes. “Do you really love me?”
“Of course I—”
“Then let’s do this. Right now. No more bad-luck omens, no stolen anything. We just get on a plane, fly away from this burg, away from the family. And get married.”
He was pleading. I could see it in his eyes. And just like that, I knew it was the right thing to do.
“Okay,” I said with a quick intake of breath. “But where? The airports east of here are all closed.”
Now he grinned. “Vegas, baby.”
“Vegas.” I could feel my heart lifting. “That’s a wonderful idea! Lainy is singing there right now. She can still be my maid of honor. Can I tell her?”
“Yes, you can tell her. But no one else. No family.”
“Vegas!” I said, clapping my hands. “We’re getting married in Vegas. Hey! I have a cousin in Vegas.”
Pete sighed. “Of course you do.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I want to thank all the usual suspects: Cathy Astolfo, Alison Bruce, Cheryl Freedman, Don Graves, Joan O’Callaghan and Nancy O’Neill. Your support of me and this series is something I treasure
Warm thanks also to my many friends at the Hamilton Literacy Council. You give me purpose, and a whole lot more.
Lastly, this couldn’t happen without Ruth Linka and the whole team at Orca Books. They take my wacky tales and turn them into something magical. I am forever grateful.
MELODIE CAMPBELL got her start writing stand-up comedy. Her fiction has been described by editors and reviewers as “wacky” and “laugh-out-loud funny.” Winner of ten awards, including the 2014 Derringer and the 2014 Arthur Ellis for The Goddaughter’s Revenge, Melodie has over two hundred publishing credits, including forty short stories and eleven novels. She is the former executive director of Crime Writers of Canada. She lives outside Toronto, Ontario. For more information, visit www.melodiecampbell.com.
The Bootlegger's Goddaughter Page 5
