“It’s home.”
“It’s not. Stori, I like you a lot. I can help you if you let me.”
“You don’t like me. You think you’re better than me.”
“That’s not true.”
“Please. I could see it the first moment you walked in here. You’re just a lying, deceiving little bitch like everyone else in this world. And by the way, that top looks horrible on you. It washes out your face.”
Our tender moment is destroyed; I’m back to secretly hating her again. Except this time I don’t bother hiding it. “You know. I’m trying to be your friend here. But you’re never going to make any friends with that horrible attitude.”
“What does someone like you know about friends?”
“Me? I have lots of friends. I know how to make them and how to keep them. And it definitely doesn’t involve being a sour puss with everyone I meet.”
“Phaa.”
“What, you don’t believe me?”
“Lady. I sized you up the minute I laid eyes on you. Them fancy clothes and jewelry. What a front.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You are trying to be someone you’re not. Trying to fit in with a crowd you don’t even like. It’s just ‘cause they’re popular, and have lots of money. It’s not cause you really like them.”
“There are lots of very nice rich people in the world.”
“And you don’t know any of them.”
“You know nothing about me.”
“Why are you getting so mad, then, if it’s not true?”
“Because you shouldn’t be making assumptions about people.”
“So you’re allowed to come into my house and make all the assumptions you want? Is that how it works?”
“I’m trying to help.”
“You lie. We’re just another case to add to your file. You don’t care about us.”
“That’s not true.”
“You don’t care about anyone. Not your job, not your friends. So who do you care about, Miss Van Patten?”
“I don’t have to take your shit.” I get up and grab my things in a hurry and make my way for the door. “You know maybe you’re right about me not having any friends. But at least I’m not a bully!”
She turns back to the stove satisfied she’s won the battle, but deep in her heart she knows I will win the war.
12: Stori
Minutes after Priscilla’s gone, someone’s ringing the bell from the stoop. I bet it’s her, wanting to say sorry. I fly downstairs and fling the door open and say, “What?!” But to my shock and horror it’s Uncle Joe!
I try to slam the door shut, but he uses his patent leather shoe as a wedge on the door saddle.
“Get the fuck out of here. Or I’ll call the police.” I’m fighting against the door with all my might, kicking at his shoe. I don’t know if he still has his gun, but I’m sure if he makes it in here it’s not gonna be good. “I’ll scream,” I warn him. That’s all it would take in the Valley. When a neighbor screams everyone comes running. Uncle Joe knows it. “Wait. Just wait. I’m not here to hurt you. Please, Stori.”
“You tried to kill me.”
“A bad time. You caught me at a bad time. I was all jammed up. I’m here to make it right.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You have my word, Stori. I give you the word of the Valley.”
The word of the Valley. It is used in lieu of contracts, more binding than any legal document, even from the courts.
What is he kidding me? He hasn’t lived here in over five years. His word is garbage. “You don’t live here anymore,” I remind him.
“So what are you saying? I don’t remember? I didn’t grow up here? My mother didn’t die three houses down the street? I’m not a ‘Merigan, Stori.”
“Well you sure aren’t one of us.”
“Fair enough. I’m not one of you guys either, okay? But I ain’t no ‘Merigan.”
I ease up on the door, but still block his path inside. “Anything you have to say to me, you say it right there. Mom and Regi are sleeping. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you inside.”
“Fine. Have it your way.” He backs off and curses and paces up and down the steps. He’s all jittery again, the way he was in Soda Can Alley. What a skitz he is. I’m starting to wonder if maybe he does do drugs.
I come outside and shut the door behind me. It’s freezing out here and I hug myself for warmth. “You better make it quick.”
“I just came to say I was sorry, that’s all. Things got a little out of hand, and I’m a man of honor and I know when to admit I’m wrong.”
“Ok. I forgive you.” I really don’t and he knows it. “Can I go now?”
“Come on,” he pleads. “Let me in. You’re freezing.”
I whistle to Donny and Christopher, Tony Carp’s boys, across the street. They’re leaning on the bumper of a Monte Carlo, smoking. They look over and nod.
“I’m going inside now with my wonderful uncle!” I tell them.
They salute me and Donny yells, “Enjoy!”
I cut a look at my uncle that says, fuck with me and Tony Carp’s boys will be on you like flies on shit. He’s not appreciative. I know, deep inside, he still wants to belong here. Even though he’s too far gone.
Inside the kitchen I don’t offer him anything to eat or drink.
He sits at the table and laces his hands in front of him. “Okay. So there’s something else I need to tell you.”
“About my dad? You know where he is?”
“No. I don’t. But I do know that there were some people looking for him. People he owes money to, from his gambling days.”
“Who?” I ask. “Tell me their names.”
“Are you crazy? Stori, I know you’re young but I’m sure you’re aware of the way things work around here. I’m sure you know about the Tapparellis. They control the cops and they pay the mayor and his cronies good money to keep their noses out of things.”
“So what are you saying?”
“Stori. I don’t know how to put this. But if your father owed money to the Tapparellis I don’t think he will ever be coming home.”
“So your saying he’s dead. Mo killed him.”
“I’m saying, guys like that, in debt, who can’t control their impulses—they can get into some really deep trouble. And it’s not safe for you to be running around the Valley asking all sorts of questions. Because you just might come across some knucklehead who thinks he knows something. And then well…” He acts like I know what’ll happen next, swooping his arm out to his side like he’s ushering the very truth into the room. I do know where he’s headed, but I feign ignorance just to annoy him.
“Look,” he says, bristling. (My uncle is known for a raging temper) “You know damn well where it will get you. Trouble. Okay? So just stop looking. And stop asking questions.”
“Why do you care, Uncle Joe?” This time I really want to know. He was a good uncle once, when I was about Regi’s age. I remember him bringing me to the arcade downtown and getting one of his mobbed up goombahs to slip him the key to all the games, so I didn’t have to play to win. He just opened the glass cases and let me reach inside. “You used to be a good uncle,” I tell him. “But not now. So why do you care?”
“I still am!” he shouts. “Damnit. I still am. A good fucking man. Just because I’m not in the Valley anymore, what does that make me scum?”
You sold your soul to the devil, I want to say. But I only give him this: “You left my father behind.”
“I’m a good man,” he tells me, looking like he might cry. “I deserve what I got in life. I deserve the money. I deserve the house. Don’t I? Stori. Don’t I?”
What did my uncle Joe mean by all that stuff he said? Is he trying to tell me that my father was killed by Mo and if I go asking questions Mo will kill me too? Is my life in danger? My sister’s? My mother’s? Did my dad do something that could have put us in harm’s way?
&nbs
p; I’m so confused.
I pull on my coat and boots and head to the street. Tony Carp’s boys are still hanging by the Monte Carlo. I come down my stoop and cross over.
Donny and Christopher are tatted, scarred and tough as Teflon. “Hi Donny. Hi Christopher.”
“What up girl?” Donny says indifferently.
“What up Putz?” says Christopher. “Where was that crazy ass uncle of yours off to in such a hurry?”
“Who knows,” I say.
“You looking for Carp?” Donny asks as if he’s already trying to get rid of me. One thing about guys from the Valley: if they even assume that you’re talking to one of their boys they will treat you like a leper. Every since me and Tony got tight all his boys barely talk to me. Once, one of his friend’s cousins asked me out and Tony had a conniption fit. At first I was kind of flattered by his reaction and thought maybe it was because deep inside he had feelings for me, but Ernestine knew better; she was outraged. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she squealed right after I told her. “He doesn’t ask you out himself but won’t let anyone else either? What does he think, you’re his property? That’s so freaking sexist. I’m sick of all these guys around here treating us like we belong to them.”
“It’s kind of a respect thing, I guess,” I told her, not wanting to believe Tony could do anything wrong.
But Ernestine wasn’t having it. “That kind of mentality objectifies women and is unfair. He’s patronizing you!”
Donny’s kind of cute and I could see myself having a crush on him if maybe I got to know him a little better. Anyways, Tony’s tied up with Desma. I’m sure Donny knows. Just in case I’ll set the records straight. “I’m not looking for Carp. He’s probably with his girl. I actually wanted to talk to you guys.”
“Go ‘head.”
There’s really no segue into what I’m about to ask so I just put it right out there. “I need a piece.”
They exchange mischievous glances, smirking like I just told them a joke.
“I’m serious.”
Christopher puts his pinched cigarette to his lips and takes a hit. “What you need a piece for, soldier?”
“That’s my business.”
“You ever even held one before?” They snicker, all condescending.
Normally I would say something ugly but my pride has been having to take a back seat lately. I stay cool. “No.”
“Go ‘head girl.”
“So I’ll need you to show me how to use it too.”
Donny shakes his head. “Nu uh. Carp gets wise he won’t be too happy.”
“Tony isn’t my father,” I snap. “Since when does he decide what I choose to do?”
“Trust, kid. He got his eye on you.”
“He does not.”
“You wouldn’t know if he did.” They start to snicker again, that infuriating little guys-only snicker that says Your just a dumb girl and don’t know any better, but we do. It always makes me want to scream.
“Yes I would. He’s with Desma now, didn’t I just say it?”
“That don’t mean shit.”
I’m starting to understand Ernestine’s aggravation now. I’m sick of everyone acting like I belong to Tony or something. What kind of shit is that? Like he can just label any girl he wants his and they don’t have a say? I’ll rip that label right off and shred it to pieces right in his face! “Listen. Last time I checked I’m a Putzarella, not a Carpenesi. I’ll pay you. Whatever you need. I got it.”
“It’s gonna be a few bucks, Putz.”
“I said I got it.” I don’t really have it, but I’ll figure that part out later.
Donny’s shaking his head.
“Man, that’s trouble, bro,” Christopher says turning his face into the street, a sign he’s officially dismissed me.
“He’s right Putz. You better scram.”
Back inside my kitchen I turn the flame on again under the skillet. My broccoli isn’t done yet. I want to make a salad, but what’s the point? Regi isn’t gonna wake up and neither is my mother. I set the table for one. I put the lamp on over by the window. I sit on the radiator and stare outside just wishing that someone will come and rescue me from this loneliness.
Someone’s walking by. Of all people. It’s Sidewinder—the man who called my father retarded. They call him Sidewinder because he walks in zigzags down the street, never walking in a straight line—he says it’s an OCD thing, but everyone knows he’s a hopeless drunk. I hate Sidewinder. I don’t think I can ever forgive him for what he did to my father.
My father didn’t respond to him. I know he wanted to, but it’s hard for him to get the words out. I wasn’t going to let Sidewinder get away with it so I hit him. Hard. He fell to the ground, coughing and laughing. Then he got up and pulled out a knife. It didn’t take a millisecond to know what to do. I stepped forward, pushed my cheek into the knife, grabbed my wrist and broke skin.
Sidewinder pulled the knife away, looking like he saw a ghost. “What?” I asked him. “You ain’t never seen LOVE?”
As Sidewinder pounded pavement, my father grabbed me by the shoulder roughly and smacked my wound. “Why?” he demanded. “Why did you do that?”
“I love you,” I told him, shaking all over. “I would die for you, Daddy.”
“No,” he demanded. “No. I’m going to take you somewhere.”
He brought me to the Cage. It took a while but he convinced the ref to let me fight. The first round was a nightmare. I took a terrible beating. In the corner my father yelled at me, “Where’s the fighter in you now?”
I told my father, “I want to stop.”
“No you don’t.”
“I don’t like this. I don’t even know her. Why would I hurt a stranger?”
“Because you can!” he told me.
“Please Daddy. I wanna go home.”
And that’s when he said it. The thing I will never get out of my head. “Look at me!” He hollered. “I can’t talk! Look what you did to me! I should have let you drown!”
The day I jumped off that dam, I wasn’t try to kill myself. I was actually happy that day. So happy that I leapt off that dam without a care in the world. So happy that I forgot my father would jump in after me. That he couldn’t swim.
I grab the vase of pussy willows at the center of the table and hurl it against the wall.
13: Joe
I sit down in the shoe shiner’s chair outside of the Funicelli Shoe Shop and Mr. Funicelli’s grandson comes out.
“Like a shine, sir?”
“What do you think?”
He stoops down and starts his work.
I’m really getting tired of it. Of everyone’s undying loyalty to the Valley. They treat this place like it’s the Garden of Eden or something.
But what did the Valley ever do for me?
I’ll say it cause I ain’t scared like the rest of them. It lied.
The Valley with all its codes of honor and righteous pride lied right to my face and thought nothing of it.
The day I discovered that I had been duped was in seventh grade. I was playing hooky with Mo and his boys. Yeah, Mo. The one who threw a baby down the stairs just because it was crying. I’ve known him since even before that baby and let me tell you, he was just as mean. There was an all girl’s private school three blocks from ours and one of the girls was famed to be frisky. Mo said she was gonna meet us in the playground right after recess and even though I took a pass he dragged me along anyways. Even back then, there wasn’t saying no to the guy. It wasn’t like today, where bullying is a crime and shit. The kids today don’t know what it was like. Being on the street with no parents around and some sociopath telling you if you don’t come see a girl he’s gonna go see your mother later. Back then, kids like Mo ran the streets. Even the cops was scared.
I was still a little green at the time, if you know what I mean, and I suppose I was embarrassed about banging in front of my friends. Plus, my mother was a teacher at the school so I was all shook
up about getting caught so close to her job. My mother was no novice with the wooden spoon. You think that thing is only used for stirring sauce, then you never grew up with an Italian mother. When she whipped me in the face with that thing I could have sworn it was full of lead. “Out with the demons!” she would yell. My mother was always talking about the devil waging his wars in our hearts and how we had to take up our swords and fight him. But I never believed any of that shit. There was never any harm in having a little fun, even if it got you in trouble sometimes. My mother was one of those women who never smiled and was always moaning over her bible. Made me sick.
Turned out the girl was a no-show. On our way out of the parking lot someone spotted this old woman wearing an apron. She was picking up trash with a gloved hand, shoving it into a trash bag.
“Hey trash lady!” Mo yelled. “Suck on this!” he grabbed his crotch and we all got a good laugh.
Ha ha. Poor lady. She didn’t deserve it. But it was still funny.
But then the woman turned around to face us. You wanna know who that old lady was? Do you? Do you!
It was my mother.
That’s right. She was a trash picker. She lied to me the whole time, telling me she was a schoolteacher. My father lied to me too. That lazy bum let her rummage through maggots all day long and then sat his fat ass on the couch at night while she served him dinner. Chuckling at Ralph Kramden from the Honeymooners, sipping on a beer.
When I got home later that day I wanted to call her out on it. You’re a trash picker and Pops doesn’t even care. All that praying you do ain’t shit. I was hoping she would hear those words and take out that wooden spoon and beat me with it. Cause I would stand there the whole time and not feel a thing. Nothing she could say or do would ever hurt me anymore.
But I didn’t say a peep. Only that I wasn’t hungry. I never ate home again, or at least at the table with them. My mother put up a fuss for a while, but eventually she let me be. She said, “If those hooligans want you more than Him then let them have you.” At least she had my brother Frank. He was her prize you know.
The Book, the Key and the Crown (Secrets of the Emerald Tablet Book 1) Page 14
