Mafia Aphrodite

by O'Neil De Noux

  Z-man spurted a full load into her, balls slapping her ass. When he pulled out a stream of come oozed from her. Z-man yanked up his pants without looking at her and both men went inside and left her there, spread-eagle, dripping their semen. They were finished with her.

  So this is the way they do it in the old country, thought Lucy as she sat up, waited for her breathing to return to normal and then went back home. Cal was waiting for her in a pair of black shorts, a silver-coloured semi-automatic pistol tucked into the waistband.

  ‘You all right, Lucy-Lou?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Just another fucking.’

  He shook his head and followed her in.

  ‘You feel randy?’ she asked.

  ‘Around you? Always.’

  ‘Good. Get your brother.’

  She went into the bathroom to clean up before going into the living room. Earl came out of the bedroom naked and the twins moved to Lucy. ‘No condoms this time, Lucy-Lou.’

  ‘Give me some African come, will ya?’

  They did, not so forcefully, both looking into her eyes, both kissing her, telling her how much they cared with their eyes. Finally, when they were finished and she lay on the sofa, she felt satisfied, finally. Aphrodite was spent. For the moment.

  Chapter 11

  Does The Vatican Know That’s Missing

  Lucy took a long bathbefore climbing back into bed with Sal, and showered again the following morning before wrapping a shortie, red kimono around her naked body, her wet hair bundled in a towel, not a hint of make-up on her face. She expected Sal to be sitting at the kitchen table with the twins, which he was, but she didn’t expect The Guag. The twins got up.

  She knew from The Guag’s eyes before he told her. He waited until she sat before he said, ‘It’s your papa.’ She nodded and looked at Sal who looked pale, a full coffee mug in his hand.

  ‘May I have a cup?’

  Sal got up and poured her one, dropped in two Equals, the way she liked it and brought it to her. Cal tried to show no emotion in his eyes but Earl’s eyes were red. She took a sip, squeezed Sal’s hand and pulled him into the chair next to her.

  She asked The Guag, ‘When?’

  ‘Four-thirty this morning.’

  She lifted her mug again, saw it shaking and put it down. ‘Did he wake up first?’ If he did and she wasn’t there, she’d never forgive herself.

  ‘No. A nurse was in the room with him and his heart finally stopped.’

  She gave him a hard look in the eyes. ‘That the truth?’

  He seemed surprised at her directness but nodded. ‘Absolutely.’

  She looked at Sal again and asked, ‘What’s today?’

  ‘The 23rd.’

  ‘Monday, Tuesday or what?’

  ‘It’s Tuesday.’

  She looked back at The Guag who told her, ‘We’ll lay him out Thursday and the funeral service will be Friday. Give everyone a chance to get in.’

  ‘Everyone?’

  ‘Lucy. Your father had more friends than you’ll ever imagine. Too many to have a private ceremony, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

  She hadn’t thought about it at all, refused to think about burying her father.

  ‘What funeral home do we use?’

  ‘Sputatelli’s in Ocean Springs.’

  Lucy blinked twice. ‘You putting me on?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘There’s no Irish funeral home, like O’Hara’s or a nice Jewish one, Goldstein’s. No. We always have to Wop it up, don’t we?’

  The Guag looked genuinely confused. He opened his hands and said, ‘It’s been pre-arranged.’

  ‘By whom? Didn’t we use a funeral home here in the Pass for my mom?’

  ‘Reece and Adams,’ said The Guag. ‘You father didn’t like the food, wanted Sputatella’s for his wake, then burial next to your mama. He laid out specific instructions in the event of his demise.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘The day after we buried your mother.’

  Food? At a wake? What food?

  She looked at Sal again, and saw the concern in his eyes. ‘Well, babe,’ she said. ‘Looks like we’ll have to watch The Light Touch some other time.

  Lucy held it in as long as she could, had her big cry at home alone around midnight. Over a glass of Valpolicella, sitting at the dining room table, the tears came and wouldn’t let up for a good hour. After, she managed to finish her glass of wine and two more before falling exhausted into bed and stayed there most of Wednesday.

  Thursday afternoon the twins drove her to Ocean Springs for a private viewing of the body. Sputatelli’s Funeral Parlour looked like a mini-medieval castle. Made of tan field stone with minarets, arched walkways along the second floor and what appeared to be a watch tower out back. A prim portly man with a bad comb-over and a pencil-thin moustache greeted Lucy who wore a very different little black dress for the wake. Wide and almost to the knee, it had a high-collar and half-sleeves, black panty-hose and black heels topped off the ensemble. She wore her hair long and loose, curled by her curling iron. Her make-up was subdued and lipstick dark brown.

  ‘I’m Gino Sputatelli,’ said the man with the comb-over, a well-practiced look of concern on his face. ‘Please allow us to extend our heart-felt condolences for your loss, Signorina Incanto.’

  ‘It’s Miss Incanto. I’m American, not Italian.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ He took a step back and led her through a foyer dominated by a huge statue of the Blessed Virgin surrounded by five angels, two with wings spread open, each measuring a good five feet in length.

  ‘Does the Vatican know that’s missing?’ she asked.

  Gino did a double take and smiled, sort of.

  The parlour where her father’s casket rested had red carpet and green walls with white piping – colours of the Italian flag. Uncle Leo stood just inside the doorway, nearly filling it with his girth, towering over Eddie ‘Big Nose’ and two other soldati. Louie Something stepped in as she entered. He carried two bowls of lasagne, passing one to Leo.

  Her uncle wrapped a chubby arm around Lucy and gave her a gentle hug and said, ‘I love you little girl and always will. You know that.’ He pulled back and said, ‘I’m gonna do everything you want, capiche?’

  ‘May I have a private moment with my papa?’

  ‘Of course.’ Leo herded everyone out, closing the door behind him.

  Lucy walked slowly to the coffin and stood over the body of Luca “Big Luke” Incanto who looked like a shrunken version of the man who took her to the beach and Disneyworld, who raised her with loving kindness, who doted on his little princess. The mortician had tried to fill the sunken cheeks, put colour where it had faded, make this shadow of a man look like the larger-than-life Don of the Incanto Family.

  She extending a shaking hand and touched her father’s face. Cold and lifeless, this wasn’t her father. It was the shell he’d left behind, like a cicada’s shell clinging to the bark of a magnolia tree. He simply wasn’t there. She leaned over and kissed his cheek and whispered in an ear that would never hear anything again how much she loved him and would miss him.

  Sputatelli laid out quite a selection of edibles from lasagne to veal parmigiana, tortellini, ravioli, fried calamari, cannelloni, fettuccini alfredo and spaghetti with meat sauce. The strong scents of tomato sauce and garlic rolled Lucy’s stomach as she sat in the seat of bereavement near the head of the coffin. Eddie “Big Nose” and Louie Something kept everyone moving after they’d prayed at the coffin, directing them to Lucy where Uncle Leo provided introductions. Realising if she remained seated she avoided most of the hugs and a great deal of the kissing when she extended her hand to shake and squeeze.

  Many of the men kissed her hand, which felt creepy.

  The family’s consigliere came in his black double-breasted suit with light grey pin-stripes. He wiped tears from his eyes, professing his undying love and loyalty to Lucy before taking his rightful place in the parlour doorway with several of his hench
men, all looking tough in their dark suits. Her candidates came in order and she wondered if The Guag had anything to do with that.

  Joe Perito wore light grey, standing out from the dark suits, towering above most at six-three. His thick black hair was slicked back again and she felt tears welling in her eyes when he smiled at her, remembering when he told her they’d met at her ninth birthday party. She sprayed him with Silly String and he accidentally tore her dress. Those bright green eyes stared longingly at her as he moved with the crowd to the coffin.

  She stood for him and he kissed both her cheeks, holding her shoulders and spoke to her in Italian, a phrase she didn’t mind hearing in their native tongue. ‘Ti amo, Cara Mia.’ (I love you, my dear).

  Lucy didn’t trust her voice to speak, knowing she’d start bawling, so she let her eyes speak for her in the short time he stood with her, telling him the special place in her heart beat for the tall man called “Little Joe”.

  “Ox” sported a new hair cut and wore a charcoal grey suit. He winked at her and she studied his cleft-chin profile and deep brown eyes. She rose and he hugged her and said, ‘Nice food you guys are serving.’ She almost giggled and he kissed her cheek and said, ‘I miss you.’

  Al “The Thrill” Racconto wore a black Armani suit, dark brown hair laid perfectly, those deep brown eyes staring right into her as he stood in line. That Robert Redford square jaw, two inch scar, pretty-boy looks drew the gaze of most as he got near. Standing, Lucy pulled him close and a hug was followed by two kisses on each of her cheeks. ‘For the cheeks I can’t kiss right now,’ he said, a sadly-mischievous gleam in those dark eyes.

  ‘From the man who thought I’d be ugly, funny-smelling with a big nose, maybe a mole the size of Rhode Island.’

  ‘Or a hunchback.’

  When Joseph “Speedo” Furfante entered with Lucy’s cousin, she wasn’t surprised. Little Miss Donna Imperiolito had lost the fuchsia streak, her hair back to its natural brown, the same colour as Lucy’s hair. In curls and wearing dark russet lipstick, Donna looked very much like a younger, skinner version of Lucy. Clinging to Speedo’s arm, Donna held a white handkerchief in her right hand and was genuinely grieving as she neared the coffin. She cried softly, then not so softly, burying her head against Speedo’s chest. When they turned to Lucy, she rose and took her cousin in a long hug before letting Speedo kiss her cheeks.

  ‘Sit with me,’ she told Donna. Louie Something pulled a chair up. Donna wiped the tears away, sat very straight and held Lucy’s hand until Sal Comodo arrived. Lucy spotted him immediately as he stood rubbing his leg in line. He looked more like the Sal she’d first met in her office, not as relaxed or confident as he had in Gulf Shores. He seemed out of sorts in the crowd. When their eyes met, he gave her a little smile, took in a deep breath and let it out.

  Moving up to Lucy, those dark brown eyes were large again, expressive as always in this tough-looking man with the vulnerable look. He wore a navy blue suit with a light blue tie and whispered in her ear when they hugged, ‘We’ll always have what we have, babe.’

  She felt tears welling again.

  He pulled back, brushed her cheeks with sweet kisses before cupping her chin in his hand. ‘You are even prettier than Pier. Here’s looking at you, kid.’ And he left her with that Bogie line.

  The rest of the wake was long and tedious and Lucy felt drained by the time the receiving line ended. Donna went with her to the ladies room. Standing next to one another facing twin mirrors as they reapplied lipstick, Lucy asked her cousin, ‘What’s with you and Speedo?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Joe Furfante.’

  ‘Oh.’ Donna looked guilty. ‘He asked if he could escort me and I told him you wouldn’t mind because I was so shook up.’ Donna watched Lucy in the mirror.

  Lucy winked. ‘No problem, kiddo.’

  Yeah. The Guag never saw The Godfather. Right!

  Lucy Incanto sat in a cushioned chair on a small knoll overlooking the gravesite, the strong late-summer sun reflecting off her father’s cherry-wood coffin, nailed shut now, as it sat propped on railings next to the grave. A priest tossed holy water on the coffin as the crowd stood mute, most staring up at Lucy whose eyes were hidden by dark Ray Bans.

  She wore a snug black dress with a square neck and short sleeves, the dress well above the knees but not too short. No black stockings today. She wore suntan-hue panty hose to show off her legs, black heels but no veil or hat. Her hair was fluffed and she knew she looked younger that way. Her eye-shadow and make-up was subdued but she made up for it with dark crimson lipstick to accentuate her full lips. The effect she wanted to produce was of a vibrant young woman, attractive and knowing it. Her point was proven as a good number of the men, including the assembled La Cosa Nostra hierarchy, checked out her legs.

  She never realised how much Uncle Leo looked like Clemenza as he directed the Dons to Lucy. First came “Big Joe” Perito, of New Orleans. Thankfully his son took after his mother for the father was squat and wide-faced. The Miami Don, Joseph “Ox” Cavalcare’s uncle looked so much like Richard Conte, Bardzini in The Godfather, Lucy fought to keep from shaking her head in disbelief. Chicago’s Alphonse “The Turk” Furfante reminded her of a Saracen, dark skinned, lean with coal black eyes. Al “The Thrill” Racconto’s uncle, the Boss of the Kansas City Family was nondescript, a mousey man, much like that guy Phillip Tatallia, the pimp-boss in The Godfather.

  Sal Comodo’s father, the man who called his lame son “The Gimp” represented the Erede Family as their underboss. He was even colder-looking than “The Turk” but better dressed in a dark green suit. Four other Dons came, from Detroit, Cleveland and two from New York City, both who knew her father “from the old days” whatever the hell that meant.

  As each came up to kiss her hand, bowing slightly, it was the scene from the movie, no doubt. Even the FBI played their part, walking around taking down licence plate numbers and most likely taking pictures from the two white vans with the black-out windows parked strategically at either end of the cemetery. Where was James Caan when you needed him?

  When everyone settled and the priest spread incense and bespoke of Lucy’s father, describing a man nothing like “Big Luke” because the priest babbled about her father’s religious beliefs when “Big Luke” had none. He had been more than generous with his monetary support of Holy Mother the Church.

  Lucy sought out her candidates. She spotted Joe Perito and Ox but couldn’t see Al “The Thrill” or Furfante. Sal was off to her right, half hidden behind a line of black-clad women in long veils, women who’d claimed at the wake to be distant relatives.

  As the priest droned on, Lucy remembered what she’d done the previous evening, after the wake. She’d pulled down her English-Italian dictionary and thumbed through it to discover perito, as in Joseph Perito, meant “expert” and cavacalremeant “to ride”, racconto of course didn’t mean raccoon but meant “story” and comodomeant “convenience or ease” which fit Sal. “Speedo’s” last name fit even better – furfantemeant “knave or racketeer”. How apropos.

  She looked up what she already knew. Incanto meant “enchantment or magic” but learned it could also mean “auction or to sell” which sent goose bumps on her arms. After all this was sort of an auction, wasn’t it?

  Zazzera, Z-man’s last name meant “mane of long hair” which fit him and there was no word in English for Guagliardo, which was a village in Sicily.

  After the coffin was lowered and Lucy dropped dirt atop it, she was led away by The Guag. In the limo, she had one thing to say. ‘Keep them in town. I’ve made my choice.’

  ‘Good.’

  The hot sun had drained Lucy. By the time she returned to the estate and climbed out of her clothes, she was exhausted and fell into bed. She woke in the middle of the dark night, realised she was dreaming and rolled over to continue the dream. Most dreams didn’t restart, but Lucy’s did.

  Aphrodite’s work was – pleasure. Her entire being was focused on
giving and receiving pleasure. She thought of nothing but love. Consequently, the other goddesses, many beautiful, strong women, envied her and some were outright jealous. Hera, wife of Zeus, wanted Aphrodite married off immediately. Athena, goddess of wisdom, had the sense to distance herself from Aphrodite and go about her own business, instead of trying to compete with ultimate beauty.

  In Lucy’s dream, Aphrodite was a brunette, looking very much like Lucy and Athena was blonde and blue-eyed. In armour that mimicked the golden armour of Achilles, Athena rode a chariot out of the desert into an oasis where Aphrodite bathed. Accompanying Athena was Achilles and Ajax, both without armour, both pale as they were brought from the afterlife by Athena to the oasis.

  ‘There,’ Athena told the warriors. ‘Bathe with her and your youth will return.’

  The men stripped off their leather wrappings and walked naked into the cool stream where Aphrodite awaited. As she swam with them, she saw the colour return to their faces, the muscle tone of their arms tighten, the gaze in their eyes change from dull and unfocused to piercing stares of lust as Aphrodite moved around them in the crystal water.

  The men took her from the stream and laid her on the grass. Athena returned to caution them. ‘Poseidon is near.’ Athena pointed a sword behind her. ‘The sea lies a few miles in that direction and she,’ the point of the spear moved in Aphrodite’s direction, ‘is from the sea, born of foam in salt water. Poseidon desires her because she is from the sea and should be his.’

  Ajax moved to Aphrodite, knelt at her feet and opened her legs so he could impale her with his throbbing cock. Achilles asked Athena for her sword, which she gave. He smiled at her and told her if Poseidon came across the land, he would be destroyed, god or not.

  ‘Here, on land, I am the champion. The greatest warrior.’

  Ajax worked himself in Aphrodite and she closed her eyes to absorb the pleasure of this mighty and strong warrior as he gave himself to her. He went in like a lion and, well, like the old saying, went out like a lamb, rolled off and fell asleep.