Skin Games

by Adam Pepper

  I followed her.

  Our couch had been taken over by a couple of muscleheads and their dates, so Nicole found an empty chair and plopped down while sucking in air.

  “Wow, you wore me out,” she said.

  “I wore you out? You were rockin’ it out there.”

  “You did okay yourself, Sean.”

  “I tried.”

  I looked behind me and Scrubby Mike walked in, followed by Griff.

  “Hi, Mike,” Nicole said.

  He nodded to her, then said to me, “Let’s go.” With a quick jerk of his neck, he motioned towards a lit-up exit sign.

  “Come on, Mike,” Nicole said. “Sean is hangin’ with me.”

  “We have to go,” he said. Without another word, he walked to the side exit. Griff followed.

  Nicole stood up and said, “You don’t have to listen to him. Stay for a while.”

  “I think I should probably go. But I had fun.”

  “You don’t have to take orders from him. He isn’t your boss. Vinny is.”

  “Yeah, but he’s kinda like, my superior, you know?”

  “No, I don’t know. But if you have to go, Shamrock Sean, you run along.”

  “Will I see you again?”

  “I’m here all the time. They make great pizza here. Come by for lunch. You’ll find me.”

  I laughed. “You come here for lunch?”

  “Every day.”

  “But your dad owns the Cucina.”

  “The pizza sucks at the Cucina. I eat lunch here.”

  “You’re funny, Nicole.”

  “So are you, Shamrock.”

  “Then I guess I’ll see you.”

  “I guess you will.”

  I pushed open the windowed door and walked outside. Scrubby was standing on the corner. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. His eyes said it all: the narrow pupils and pointed eyebrows. His lips were tight, his shoulders tense.

  He didn’t approve.

  I knew he didn’t like seeing me with his cousin. I knew it probably wasn’t a good idea either. But the truth was I was a stupid kid without a care in the world. I would soon though. Soon, I would care, a lot.

  * *

  Of course, I wasn’t there when Scrubby Mike reported back to his uncle, Don Mario about what went on between me and Nicole at Costa’s. But I have a pretty good idea what must have happened. Knowing those guys as well as I do, and the way they talk, the way they think, I can hear the conversation in my head, just exactly the way it must have went down.

  They were in the downstairs dining room at Mama Libardi’s Cucina, most likely it was that very night. Scrubby Mike was still in his black, button-up dress shirt and freshly shined black shoes. Shit, Mike didn’t shower but twice a week at best, and he did his laundry even less, so I highly doubt he went home to change or anything.

  Not likely. He went straight to see the big boss, to suck up and kiss ass. It didn’t matter whose expense that was at, just so long as he kept himself in the good graces of Don Mario. Without Don Mario, Scrubby Mike was nothing. He owed more money around town than he’d ever be able to pay back—between his nickel-a-week coke habit and his love for betting horses, basketball, and pretty much any other sport you could wager on. Not to mention Scrubby could not pick a winner to save his ass.

  The guy was a fuckin’ loser. The only thing he ever won in his entire life was the sperm lottery. He shared DNA with the boss of the neighborhood.

  So picture Mike, half frozen and half out of breath, showing up at the Cucina well after closing. Joey Mix and his crew were probably at the bar having a nightcap while waiting for his girlfriend, Danielle, the Friday night bartender, to finish cleaning up.

  Mike tried to scurry by but Joey said, “Hey you hoodlum, stop and have a drink.” And Scrubby, never one to pass up a free drink, pounded back a shot of Cuervo and then when Joey said, “Come on, just one more,” he responded, “Later, maybe. I have to talk to Mario. It’s important.” “Okay, Okay.” And with that Joey finally let him go.

  By the time Mike made it downstairs, Mario was polishing off the last plate of veal and peppers for the night, and the indigestion was setting in, mixed with fatigue and an overall pissed-off outlook on life in general.

  So when Mike said, “Mario, I have to talk to you.”

  I’m sure Mario said something like, “Tomorrow. I’m fuckin’ tired. I gotta get outta here at a decent hour. I still have to empty the registers and make sure the drawers are correct.” Mario always counted the money. Every night without fail. He didn’t trust anyone else to do it, and if there was one buck missing, it would be accounted for before anyone left for the night.

  “Just give me a minute, Uncle Mario. It’s important.”

  Now Mario was really getting short tempered. He probably picked up his arm and showed Scrubby Mike the back of his hand, as if he were about to slap him with it.

  “It’s about Nicole.”

  The magic word. The only thing possible that Scrubby Mike could have to say that was worth disturbing him at this late hour. Gucci Mike, who most likely was there too but had been ignoring Scrubby up to that point, I’m sure looked up from his plate of veal, and now Scrubby had the room’s attention.

  “Nicole was dancing with Shamrock Sean tonight.”

  “What? Where?” Mario’s breathing got heavier. The hair in his nostrils began to whistle.

  “At Costa’s.”

  Gucci Mike looked at Mario and waited a second or two to make sure his input was welcome, then he said, “Are you fuckin’ kidding me? Why would she be dancing with that bum?”

  Mario’s breathing grew louder. He dropped his fork and it pinged off the plate. Mario took a thick, Cuban cigar out from his breast pocket, then took out a solid gold and stainless steel cigar clipper and snipped off the end of the cigar. He didn’t light it, instead putting it in his mouth and chewing on the end.

  “I don’t know. I think she likes him,” Scrubby said.

  “Was Vinny there? He knows better than to let that happen,” Gucci Mike said.

  “He was, but he and Tommy Guns took off with some chicks.”

  “That fuckin’ guy. Always thinking with his dick instead of looking out for the boss’s daughter. Shamrock is his guy. He should make sure that kid don’t step out of line.”

  “I know,” Scrubby said. Then he inched closer to Mario and asked, “You want I should say something to Vinny? Or what?”

  Mario looked down at his plate of veal. He removed the cigar from his mouth then spit a wad of tobacco dead in the center of the ceramic plate. Mario asked Scrubby, “His mother is that broad Vinny’s been fuckin’, right?”

  “Yeah. Yeah. That’s her.”

  “No son of an Irish slut is gonna date my daughter. No fuckin’ way.”

  “She’s Italian, Mario. His old man was Irish.”

  The room went silent other than Mario’s whistling nostrils. Scrubby looked at Gucci Mike, but they both knew better than to say a word.

  Finally, Mario erupted. “Disgracia! She’s Italian? And she fucks every man in town for a buck.”

  “Ever since her old man split and left her, she’s definitely been around.”

  “Something is gonna have to be done about this.”

  “You want I should talk to Nicole? I’m her cousin. Maybe I can reason with her.”

  “Are you kidding? You don’t say a fuckin’ word to her. You tell her that I don’t like this kid, then she’ll only like him more. That’s how these girls are today. Anything to break their father’s heart.”

  Scrubby and Gucci Mike both shook their heads in mock sympathy.

  “We’ll have to find another way to take care of this.”

  Chapter Ten

  * * *

  It was probably three o’clock in the morning by the time I got home from Costa’s. So I slept in until eleven or so the next day. Once I got out of bed, cleaned up and dressed, it was getting close to noon. Just on time for a slice of pizza fo
r lunch.

  I walked down the steps and into the living room and saw my mother’s legs pointing upward on the couch. At first, I thought something was wrong, like she’d had a heart attack or something. I ran over to her.

  Once I got up close, I saw an empty bottle of Beefeater not far from her head. I could smell the remnants of gin in the rug, and there was a tipped-over ashtray and butts all over the floor.

  “Come on, Mom. You’re gonna start a fire.”

  I reached behind her shoulders and straightened her up and onto the couch, then let her down softly.

  She groaned; then she licked her dry mouth but didn’t open her eyes or say a word.

  I picked up the bottle and put it on the coffee table. Then I picked up the butts one by one and tossed them into the ashtray. Using my cupped palm like a shovel, I did my best to pick up what I could of the cigarette ash and put it back into the tray. I slapped my hands together, and the dust from the butts came off my hands.

  “He doesn’t love me,” I heard my mother say. Then she took the pillow from the couch and put it over her head.

  I sat down next to her and rubbed her legs.

  “Vinny doesn’t love me,” she said.

  I didn’t have a response. Of course, I knew she was right. I knew she loved Vinny, probably much like she’d loved my father. She didn’t have much luck with men, my mother, but she didn’t do a good job in the selection process either.

  The pillow came off her head and she looked up at me. “Sean?”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “You love me, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do, Mom.”

  “I can always count on you, can’t I?”

  “Of course you can. You can always count on me.”

  She sat up on the couch. The gin must have settled in her stomach because she gulped and grabbed her belly. For a second, I thought she was going to throw up. But she recovered and smiled at me. Then she stroked my hair and said, “You’re a good boy, Sean. You always have been.”

  “I do the best I can.”

  “You do great. You’ll never be like your father or like Vinny. Will you, Sean?”

  “No. Of course not. I’ll never be like them.”

  She took a hold of my chin and forced me to look her in the eye, then said sternly, “Never, ever be like them. You be a decent man. You hear me?”

  “Yes, Mom. I hear you.”

  “Good. Good boy, Sean. Are you going out?”

  “Yeah. Thought I’d get a slice of pizza for lunch.”

  “Can you bring me home a carton of smokes and a liter of Beefeater, please honey?”

  “Mom, you’re drinking too much and smoking too much. I don’t like it.”

  “Sean, please. I’m your mother. Now be a good boy and bring it home for me.”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  I couldn’t say no to her. Even though I knew the shit was killing her. I could see it on her face, that leathery complexion she was getting; I could hear the onset of emphysema in her voice. She was just barely forty years old, twenty-one years my senior. I couldn’t stand watching it happen, but I couldn’t stop her either. I guess I just didn’t have the strength. I was finally making some money and contributing to the household after all those years of her working two and three jobs. Who was I to deprive her of her smokes and gin? I had the cash to buy it for her. I had to share it with her. I just didn’t know any other way to help her.

  I should have tried harder.

  I walked outside and up to Tremont Avenue, crossed over to the south side of the street then made my way down to Costa’s. The place smelled great. The coal brick oven was blasting and there were several fresh, steaming pizza pies laid out on display behind the glass counter.

  I looked up and down the restaurant, then sat down on a stool at the counter and ordered a slice. It tasted every bit as good as it smelled. Just as Nicole promised.

  There was no sign of her, though. After downing the slice, I got up and walked to the back area. No sign of her there, either. I used the men’s room and walked back to the front, then ordered another slice.

  Finally, the pizza guy behind the counter asked, “You okay, man?”

  “Yeah. Yeah. Fine. The pizza’s delicious.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No, thank you. It’s really good.”

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine. Why?”

  “You just seem a little fidgety, is all. Something up? You’re making me nervous, man.”

  “Sorry. I’m fine. Really.”

  The guy turned his attention to pounding dough into a circle for his next pie. I started looking left and right again. When I looked forward, he was looking at me again.

  “Come on, man. Just tell me what it is. You’re freakin’ me out.”

  “Do you know Nicole Torretta?”

  He smiled instantly; the look felt malicious as his goatee curved with his chubby jaw line, but I didn’t find it condescending. Then he said, “Oh, now I get it. Of course I know Nicole. She’s in here just about every day.”

  I nodded and grimaced a bit, then said, “Where is she? We were kind of, supposed to meet for lunch.”

  “She isn’t exactly an early riser. She usually comes in around two, two-thirty.”

  “Oh, I see.” And here, I thought I was the one who slept in. I stood up, reached in my pocket and took out a five. The slices cost a buck each, and I guess I was feeling like a big shot. I dropped the five on the counter and said, “Thanks, man. Keep the change. I’ll be back a little later.”

  “I’m sure you will be.”

  I walked outside and crossed the busy roadway, ignoring the green light and not bothering to walk down to the crosswalk. A livery cab honked at me while changing lanes; he didn’t slow down. I walked casually, as if I was bulletproof.

  On the other side of the street was the liquor store. I bought a liter of gin and then walked next door to the bodega and picked up a carton of Virginia Slims.

  When I got back home, I called out, “Mom. I’m home.”

  She didn’t answer. I put the smokes and gin down on the table and was about to turn and leave again, when I heard a horrible noise coming from the bathroom. I walked over and gently knocked on the door.

  “Mom? You in there?” She didn’t answer, but I heard gagging noises. “Mom, you alright?”

  She coughed loudly then said, “Yeah. Yeah. I’m fine. You get my smokes?”

  “Yes I did, but it sounds like you don’t need them.”

  “Thanks. Just leave ‘em on the table.”

  I shook my head, sighed, and walked out of the house.

  A little after two o’clock I headed back up to Costa’s. A fire-engine red, two-door BMW was parked out front; matching red tassels hung from the rearview mirror. There was a parking meter on the sidewalk in front of the car showing expired.

  I walked into the restaurant and saw Nicole sitting alone at a small, two-person table that ran along the far wall. She had a magazine opened in front of her and was chewing on a slice.

  “Is this seat taken?” I asked, as I walked up and pointed to the open seat.

  She didn’t look up as she said, “Do I know you?”

  My heart dropped, and I turned about to leave.

  “Sean, I’m kidding!” she said loudly. “Would you sit down, silly.”

  I caught my breath and sat down.

  “You want something?” she asked. “You should try a slice. They are really good.”

  “No. It’s okay. I already ate.” I looked out the window at the red BMW. “Is that your car?”

  “Yeah. Do you like it?”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s nice. But the parking meter is expired.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “I don’t know. Just thought you’d want to know.” I checked my pockets for change but didn’t find any. “You want me to get some change and feed the meter?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Oh. Okay.�
�

  She took another bite and covered her mouth with her hand while asking, “Are you sure you don’t want a slice?” She pushed the half eaten slice at me and said, “Try a bite. It’s delicious.”

  “I believe you. I believe you,” I said with a laugh.

  “I don’t have the cooties. Just try a bite.”

  “Okay. Fine. I’ll try.” I took a bite of her pizza. She looked at me with eager eyes as if my taking a bite of her pizza was the most important thing in her life.

  “It’s good, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. It’s good.”

  “Told you.”

  “You were right.”

  “Of course I was right. I’m always right.”

  “I’ll bet. I’ll bet you are.”

  “So tell me a little about you, Sean.”

  “Okay.” I paused, wanting to think of something cool to say, but I wasn’t that fast on my feet. “I live with my mother in a house over on Hollywood Avenue near the high school.”

  “Oh, cool. It’s nice over there.”

  “Yeah. I’ve lived there all my life. It’s pretty nice. Probably not as nice as your house.”

  “I live in Pelham Manor with my dad.”

  “Oh, wow. It’s real nice in Pelham Manor. So, it’s just you and your dad?”

  “Yeah, my mother died when I was little. I hardly remember her. So, it’s always been just me and my dad. No brothers. No sisters. Just us.”

  “And your cousins.”

  “Yeah, plenty of cousins. Plenty of uncles. But just me and my dad in the house.”

  “That must have been rough growing up without a mother.”

  “Sometimes. Sometimes it was really rough. But my dad tried really hard. You probably think my father is mean, but he really isn’t.”

  “I don’t think your father is mean at all.”

  “You’re probably afraid of him. It’s okay. Most people are.”

  “I’m not afraid of him.” We both knew I was lying. But she let me off the hook.

  “So you and your mom live alone?”

  “Yeah. My father ran out on us, and now it’s just us.”

  “Oh, that sucks.”

  “Whatever. We don’t miss him.”

  Nicole looked at her watch, a cute, pink, plastic band with a small face. She stood up and said, “Sorry to run out on you, but I’ve got plans to meet Kim and go shopping.”