“Yes, ma'am. And my uncle Frankie Borelli, too.”
“Of course,” the principal said. “I was a history teacher here then. Your father was an excellent student. And your uncle was an excellent, um, athlete. I have your records from Carrington Prep here. I see you're following more in your father's tradition. So, can you explain your behavior in Mr. Frommer's classroom today?”
“No, ma'am. He called on me, and I sort of freaked out.”
“Well, see that it doesn't happen again. Everyone knows and respects your uncle Frankie, but I can be very tough on troublemakers, and I'm happy to get tough on you if you're one of them. Now get on back to class.”
Math was over. Tommy was in the yard. He ran over to Nicky and said, “That was awesome! Frommer almost had a heart attack. Next time he calls on me, I'm gonna say, ‘You talking to me? Are you talking to me?’”
Nicky shook his head. “I gotta get a milk before the bell rings.”
The cafeteria woman was just closing up. Nicky said, “Wait! Can I get a milk, please?”
The woman groaned but reached down for a milk.
“Two milks, please!”
Nicky turned. The dark-haired girl from first period ran up behind him. “Please!” she said.
Nicky leaned into the window and said, “Sorry. Could I have two milks, please?”
“Thanks,” the girl said. “I'm Donna, by the way. We have math together. You're not from around here, huh?”
“No. I'm from New Jersey. Carrington.”
“Wow. What are you doing here?”
“Staying with my grandmother.”
“Too bad,” Donna said. “I bet Carrington is nicer.”
“It's okay. But the food is better here,” Nicky said. “My grandma is a great cook. I get a lot of stuff I don't get at home. My mother is a vegetarian.”
“That's funny,” Donna said. “My dad's a butcher.”
The bell rang. Donna said, “Gotta go! See you tomorrow in first period.”
Tommy caught Nicky by the elbow just as Nicky was leaving school.
“By the way, thanks for saving me with Frommer today, before you got in trouble,” he said.
Nicky coughed “C squared” into his hand and grinned. “Fugheddaboudit.”
Tommy laughed at him. “So what are you doing tomorrow night?”
“I don't know. Probably nothing.”
“Excellent. I'll meet you right here, in front of school, at seven o'clock. We'll go do something.”
“I'll see if I can.”
“Cool. And what's the deal with you and that Donna, anyway?”
“Nothing. I just met her.”
“Better not let Conrad see you. He's Donna's old boyfriend. He'll give you another beating.”
“All I did was say hello to her.”
“Forget it,” Tommy said. “He won't touch you if he knows you know me. Plus he knows who your uncle is. If he forgets—remind him.”
“Okay,” Nicky said. “I'll see you tomorrow.”
Grandma Tutti shushed Nicky when he got home and went into the kitchen.
“Your uncle Frank!” she whispered to him. “He's sleeping. He was up three nights straight. You can tell me everything later.”
Later came. They could hear Uncle Frankie taking a shower. Nicky said, “So this guy from school asked me if I could hang out with him tomorrow night.”
“What guy from school asked you that?”
“Tommy Caporelli.”
Grandma Tutti clucked her tongue. “We'll ask your uncle.”
When Uncle Frankie came out, he said, “Yo, Nicky,” and gave his nephew a hug. He kissed his mother and said, “What's that smell?”
“We're having braciole and rigatoni,” she said.
“Beautiful! Every guy needs a little brajole—eh, Nicky?” He winked at his nephew. “So how's it going over at the school?”
“He's got a date to go make trouble with Tommy Caporelli tomorrow.”
“Saturday night with the boys,” Frankie said. “That's good. But with most guys it's Friday night out with the boys, and the goomars. Saturday night is for the families and the wives.”
Nicky said, “What's digoomarV
“It's, you know, a girlfriend. Or a mistress.”
“Frankie!” Grandma Tutti said. “Are you teaching him to be a jerk?”
“Ma, I'm just telling him how it is,” Frankie said. “And don't worry about Tommy Caporelli. He's a little wild, maybe. But that's okay. My friends, when they were kids, they were all wild. And they're still my best friends today.”
“Sit down and have some dinner,” Grandma Tutti said.
At the table, Frankie said, “I remember Charlie Cement figured out a way to get free food from Fat Farouk—you remember him, right?”
Nicky nodded. “The hot dog guy?”
“Right. One of us would ask Fat Farouk for a cream soda. Then he'd pay for it, all in nickels and pennies. While he was doing that, another kid would let the air out of one of Fat Farouk's tires. Then the first kid would say, ‘Hey, Fat Farouk! You got a flat tire!’ Farouk would go look, and a third kid would grab a handful of hot dogs and buns. We'd have a feast.”
“Frankie!” his mother chided. “That's a tenible story.”
“Then, the best part,” Frankie said. “Two other guys would come along a few minutes later and offer to fix his tire for a dollar.”
“Would he pay you?”
“Of course. What's he gonna do? He's so fat, he can't change his own shoes without help.”
“Frankie!” his mother said.
“It's true,” Frankie said. “I found out later that Fat Farouk knew what was going on the whole time. He was friends with Charlie Cement's dad. He'd go visit him and say, ‘You owe me five bucks for hot dogs your kid stole.’ And Charlie's dad would pay up. Some hoodlums we were!”
“Those were bad boys, your friends,” Tutti said.
“It wasn't just them,” Frankie said. “Your goody-goody son Nicky found a way to get free soda. You remember those old-fashioned soda machines with the bottles lined up behind a glass door? Nicky carried a bottle opener in his pocket, and a straw. When he'd get thirsty, we'd go over to the gas station. He'd open that glass window, pick out a flavor, pop the cap and stick the straw in. He'd drink it down, then pass the opener and the straw to the next guy. Free soda!”
Grandma Tutti said, “Hooligans!”
“We had a ball,” Frankie said. “I wish it never ended.”
Nicky said, “It's hard to imagine my dad doing that stuff.”
“I know,” Frankie said. “It didn't last. He got serious about school and all. Then he grew up! The rest of us are still acting like kids.”
“You can say that again,” Grandma Tutti said. “You and your friends. You're still a bunch of hoodlums.”
“That's right, Ma,” Frankie said. “Speaking of growing up, Salvatore Carmenza's getting married again.”
“Already?” Tutti said. “His first wife is barely cold in the ground.”
“Ma! Eight years!”
“He's rushing into it,” Tutti said. “Who's the new wife? And where is the wedding taking place?”
“Carol Grimaldi. And Scarantino's. The wedding hall.”
“Expensive,” Grandma Tutti said. “The a boost is going to kill you.”
“Tell me about it,” Frankie said.
Nicky said, “What's a boost?”
“The a boost,” Frankie said. “It's the money you give people at a wedding. Or a funeral. Or a first communion, or maybe a birthday party. It's just a little money to help with the expenses.”
“How much is it?” Nicky asked.
“It depends. With a place like Scarantino's, and the food they serve, and the cost of the band, the a boost will have to be three or four hunge.”
“Three or four hundred?”
“At least. But what are you gonna do? He's my best friend since grade school, and I'm the best man. Can I give a crummy a boost? I'd never
hear the end of it.”
After dinner, Frankie and Nicky stretched out in the family room. Frankie cranked the easy chair out until it was almost level with the floor, and he let out a huge sigh.
“It's good to be home,” he said. “It's good to have you here, too. You hear anything else from your folks?”
“Not since they called and made me go to school.”
“That's good, though, right? You made a friend already.”
“Yeah. I guess so.”
“Otherwise, you'd be hanging around with your grandma all day. That's not much fun.”
“Why isn't it?” Grandma Tutti asked as she came into the room. “We have fun, Nicky and me.”
“I bet you have a ball when I'm not here,” Frankie said. “Speaking of which, I have to go away again. I gotta see a guy in Arizona.”
“Arizona! In the summer! Who goes to Arizona in the summer?”
“Me, Ma. I leave in the morning. I should be back on Sunday night.”
“But, Frankie!” his mother said. “You know what day tomorrow is.”
“I know, Ma, believe me. But you got Nicky. He can go with you.”
Nicky said, “Go where?” But no one answered him.
Frankie checked his watch and said, “That's settled. Now we can have some entertainment. They got Scar-face on TV—the original, with Paul Muni, not the Cuban one with Al Pacino. So everybody don't talk for a while.”
Fifteen minutes later, before Scarface had pulled his first caper, Frankie was snoring in his easy chair. Grandma Tutti said, “Listen to him. Like an ox. You turn the TV off when you're done, okay?”
She gave Nicky a kiss on the forehead and said, “Good night.”
When the movie ended, Nicky turned the TV off, left his snoring uncle and went down the hallway. Frankie's door was open. His gym bag lay on the floor next to the bed.
Nicky knelt down and unzipped the bag.
It was an armory. There were three pistols. There were a dozen ammunition clips. There were two things that looked like safety flares, and two things that looked like hand grenades. Lying next to the bag was a bulletproof vest.
Nicky went down the hall to his room fast and shut his bedroom door.
Whatever his uncle was doing was serious. Why did he need all those weapons? You didn't go someplace with that kind of firepower if you were just kidding around. This was war. And the guys Uncle Frankie was fighting—did they have weapons like that, too? Was that why he had a bulletproof vest? What if he got shot?
Maybe that was why he was going to Arizona. Maybe he was on the lam. Maybe he was going to lie low for a few days, until the heat was off. Maybe he would be okay.
Nicky went to bed. He had trouble falling asleep. He tried to imagine Uncle Frankie in Phoenix, at a swanky hotel, by the pool, or playing golf, underneath a palm tree, or a cactus. He tried to imagine Uncle Frankie safe. He fell asleep still trying.
ncle Frankie had gone when Nicky got up. Grandma Tutti was in the kitchen, humming a song to herself. She turned and said, “Come and have some breakfast. We're going to the cemetery.”
“What for?”
“It's my wedding anniversary today. I always go visit your grandfather on our anniversary. Sit down and eat, and we'll go.”
It took almost an hour to get there. First they walked to the corner, Nicky's grandmother carrying a shoulder bag and a bouquet of fresh flowers. They caught a bus, took another bus, walked for several blocks, took another bus and finally walked through the gates of a cemetery spread out over a rolling green hill.
“Look around,” his grandmother said when they got near the top of the hill. “These are your people.”
There were half a dozen Borellis. Nearby there were Capotortos and Bolinos and Ventimiglias and Fiandras and a hundred other Italian families. Nicky's grandmother opened her shoulder bag. Out came a tablecloth, some sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, a bottle of Pellegrino water, two apples and a camera.
While they ate, Grandma Tutti pointed at the headstones.
“Mrs. Bolino did my hair the day I got married,” she said. “She had a little shop. The Fiandras had a fruit store. Carmine Potenza—I remember his funeral like it was yesterday—was your grandfather's partner in the brick business. You see the big monument there, with the flying angel ?”
Nicky looked and nodded.
“That is the Faronellis'. Mr. Faronelli was the pa-trone. Very powerful man—and rich. Very kind. When your uncle Frankie broke his foot, Mr. Faronelli sent someone to speak with the company that was delivering the bricks. All that time in the hospital for your uncle, and your grandfather and I never saw a bill. That's how problems were solved in the old days. Now let's take a picture.”
Grandma Tutti began patting her hair and straightening her dress. She stood in the empty space next to her husband's headstone—the empty space where, Nicky realized, Grandma Tutti would be one day. She rested her hand gently on the stone and said, “Like this. Get the camera.”
Nicky said, “You want me to take a picture?”
“No. I want you to take an X ray. Of course take a picture. Just like this.”
Nicky held the camera so that his grandmother was in the center of the frame, next to her husband's grave.
“No,” she said. “Make sure your grandfather is in the picture. Can you read the writing?”
Nicky moved closer until he could read “Arturo Borelli. Requiescat in Pace. 1912-1977.” He could see all of his grandmother but her feet.
“Yes.”
“Take the picture.”
The camera clicked. Tutti said, “Okay. Take some more, to make sure.”
“Do you want to stand on the other side or something?”
Grandma Tutti said, “Nicky, no. This is my place. On this side. We slept in the bed that way, too. Take some more pictures, and we can go home.”
∗ ∗ ∗
Tommy was waiting for him that night in front of the school. He called, “Yo, Nicky!” and waved. Nicky almost laughed out loud. “Yo, Nicky!” Nobody had ever called out to him like that before. He liked it.
“What's up?” he asked.
“We gotta go see this guy,” Tommy said. “We got a chance to make a couple of bucks. Then we can go to the movies or something.”
“Make a couple of bucks how?”
“I dunno. We gotta check it out.”
They took off running. Tommy led him down one street, over a block, through an alley, across a park, down another street, through the front door of a deli and out the back door onto a different street.
Nicky, out of breath, said, “This is like playing SimCity.”
“More like Grand Theft Auto,” Tommy said. “That's the best.”
“Maybe the best street game,” Nicky agreed. “But BlackPlanet is the best.”
Tommy said, “You're right. BlackPlanet is genius.”
Nicky stopped dead. “Whoa. You play BlackPlanet?”
“Who doesn't?” Tommy said.
Nicky beamed. “What level?”
“I'm in nine—almost ten. What about you?”
Nicky said, “I haven't even beaten eight. You must have all the cheats.”
“C'mon, man. I've invented cheats. This is it.”
Tommy led Nicky through the front door of a corner candy store. There was a little old man behind the counter. He jerked his head toward the rear of the store and said, “Over there.”
A man wearing an overcoat and a baseball cap—in summer, on a warm evening—was sitting in the back. He looked at the two boys over the rim of his coffee cup and said, “Siddown. You're Tommy, right?”
“That's right,” Tommy said.
“You're supposed to be alone.”
“This is Nicky. He's okay.”
“Siddown—both of youse.”
The man had yellow skin, and he smelled like cigarettes. When he smiled, his teeth were yellow, too.
“Here's the deal,” he said. “You don't know me. We never met. You never saw me.
Got that?”
Tommy nodded and poked Nicky. Nicky nodded, too.
“If you forget that, you're finished. Capeesh?”
The man took an envelope out of his overcoat pocket, withdrew five twenty-dollar bills and spread them on the table in front of him. The bills looked greasy and old. Nicky thought at once of his uncle and the counterfeit twenties his friends used to pass.
“This is a hundred dollars,” the yellow man said. “Alls you got to do is spend it. You can buy whatever you want with it. There's only two things you got to remember. One, never spend two bills in the same place. Two, never buy anything that costs more than ten bucks. Got that?”
Tommy nodded and said, “Why?”
“Because I said so,” the yellow man said, and raised one yellow hand like he was going to smack Tommy. But Tommy didn't flinch. The man smiled. He said, “Tough guy, huh? That's the deal. Spend these bills. Buy whatever you want. Bring me the change. You get a hundred bucks, and you bring back fifty. You keep half. I get half. Got that?”
Tommy smiled and said, “Sure. It's easy.”
“What about you?” the man said to Nicky.
“Sure,” Nicky said. “You're making us an offer we can't refuse.”
Tommy turned and stared at him. The man with the yellow skin stared, too. Then he said, “Just spend the money, and bring me back half. Keep your mouth shut. If anyone looks at you sideways, run like hell. And whatever happens, you never, ever say nothing about me. If you do—right?—you're cooked.”
“Great,” Tommy said, and shoved the bills into his pocket.
“Come back here exactly a week from now, and you'll get a hundred bucks more,” the man said.
Out on the street, Tommy took Nicky's arm and pulled him halfway down the block before he spoke.
“Can you believe this? Fifty bucks—for nothing!”
“Sweet,” Nicky said. “I guess.”
“You guess what? It's beautiful. Couldn't you use fifty bucks?”
“I don't know. I have some money already.”
“Yeah, me too. About fifty cents.” Tommy took the twenties out of his pocket and waved them in Nicky's face. “Hey, what if we took the whole hundred and never went back?”
“Don't you think that guy would come and get us?”
“That guy? Give me a break!” Tommy thought about it. “Well, maybe. Come on. Let's see if this thing works. I'll let you go first.”
Welcome to the Family Page 4
