Brothers, Boyfriends & Other Criminal Minds

by April Lurie

  I turned to Little Joe, but he just shrugged like Matt was the most stubborn person in the whole world and there was nothing either of us could do about it. Reluctantly, I joined the others and climbed into the backseat of the car. As we drove off, Matt cupped one hand around his mouth and called out, “You punks better have my sister home by eleven! I'll be waiting up!”

  The dance turned out to be a disaster. Not so much for Bert, Walt, or even me, as for Brandi. In the car she sat on a slice of pepperoni that had fallen off Walt's brother's pizza and wound up with a big grease spot on her butt. If this wasn't bad enough, a few minutes into the dance Walt spilled red punch all over her blouse—actually, my blouse—then tried to mop it up with a wet napkin, leaving her with a big pink see-through stain. Let's just say it was a mistake for Brandi to wear a lace bra that night.

  Anyway, after drying herself off with the hand dryer in the girls' bathroom, she seemed to shake it off, but when Walt refused to dance, claiming he had two left feet (he actually used that expression), this sent her over the edge, and for the rest of the night, she and I did the New York Hustle while Bert and Walt ate miniature tuna fish sandwiches and watched.

  Needless to say, we got home way before eleven, and to my surprise, Sammy and my parents were already asleep. I hated to admit it, but I was a little disappointed. For some reason I'd imagined that my first date would be like one of those corny sitcoms where the parents pace the floor chewing their fingernails until the girl comes home and they barrage her with questions. But I guess after meeting Bert and Walt they were just glad I was out “having fun” with a couple of “nice boys” instead of sitting in my room playing Grateful Dead albums and burning my skull candle.

  Matt, however, kept his promise and was waiting up. “Hey, Monk, is that you?” he called from the basement. When I heard his voice, a flood of relief swept over me. Not only was he alive after his dress rehearsal, but it sounded like he was still in one piece.

  “Yeah, it's me.”

  I plodded down the stairs and stared in disbelief. Matt, still in costume, now with Sammy's plastic toy sword in hand, was fencing with an imaginary opponent while playing my favorite Doors album on Sammy's Fisher-Price record player. As Jim Morrison belted out “Love me two times, baby, Love me twice today …,” he jumped on top of the coffee table, tossed the sword into the air like a baton, and caught it. There was a huge grin on his face. “So, how'd your date go with those two clowns?”

  I lowered the music and studied his legs. I hadn't noticed it before but you could see swirls of hair beneath his tights. Disgusting. “Um, o-kay, I guess.”

  “That shrimp in the platforms didn't try anything on you, did he?”

  I rolled my eyes. “No, the shrimp in the platforms didn't try anything on me. Now, what, may I ask, are you doing?”

  Matt leaped off the table and landed right in front of me. I could smell his Musk for Men aftershave. “I'm celebrating, Ape!”

  I looked at him like he was crazy. “Celebrating? What, the fact that you're not dead?”

  Matt chuckled and shook his head. “Oh, ye Chimp of little faith. Don't you realize the gods are in my favor? From now on, Mercutio is no longer. I, dear sister, have been given the part of Romeo.” He took a bow.

  My eyes widened. “You're kidding. What happened to … what's his name?”

  “Oh, you mean Brandon Ritchie?” He shrugged. “Chicken pox. Poor guy.”

  He started to snicker and I gave him a shove. “Oh, yeah, right. You sound soooo sorry for poor Brandon.” I couldn't believe I'd spent half the night worrying about Matt, and here he was celebrating Brandon Ritchie's chicken pox.

  “Hey, is it my fault the guy's got bad timing? Now, watch this.” He set down the sword and picked up two other props—Sammy's Fred Flintstone cup and my old life-sized Barbie. In his best British accent, he began to recite Romeo's famous last words. “Here's to my love!” He paused and took a sip of imaginary poison from the top of Fred Flintstone's head. “O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die!” He clutched Barbie to his chest, kissed her faded pink lips, convulsed a little, then keeled over. A moment later he stood up. “So, what do you think?”

  “I think you're mental.”

  “Hey, come on, Ape. Can't you be happy for me? I mean, this is big. I've got the lead role. My career as an actor is about to take off.”

  “Right,” I said, “and on opening night, you'll be kissing Bettina in front of like a thousand mobsters. Doesn't that worry you? Just a little?”

  He tossed Barbie and Fred onto the sofa. “Monk, you're exaggerating.”

  “No, I'm not! Listen, Matt, you need to be careful. Every time I talk to Mr. Luciano, he asks these questions about you. It's seriously freaking me out.”

  He blinked a few times. “He does? Like what?”

  “Well, like this.” I cleared my throat and tried to make my voice sound raspy, like Marlon Brando's. “So, sweetheart, how's your brother? You know the one, Sunshine Boy? Is he keeping his nose clean? He's a nice kid and all, but sometimes nice ain't enough. You gotta be smart, too, if you know what I mean.”

  Matt's face twitched a little. “You know what, Ape? I think you've been watching too many Godfather movies.”

  “Matt!” I wanted to strangle him. “Come on! Don't you get it? We live in a Godfather movie. They're dangerous people. You can't mess around with them or their daughters. Brandi told me that Bettina's father is one of Colombo's capos. That's huge.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

  “And what about that guy in the black Jaguar convertible—the one who picked Bettina up at the park? I'm telling you, Matt, he looked armed and dangerous.”

  “Him?” He waved this away. “Nah, that's just Bettina's overly protective cousin Nicky. He's harmless.”

  “Well, he sure didn't look harmless to me.”

  Matt sighed. “Listen, Ape, I know what I'm doing. Besides, except for play practice, I haven't seen Bettina or talked to her on the phone for two whole weeks.”

  Suddenly I remembered that little phone conversation I'd listened in on. “Okay,” I said. “But what about when Bettina's father goes away on his little business trip? What are you gonna do then?”

  Matt narrowed his eyes. “How did you know about that? Has Little Joe been talking to you?”

  I shook my head. “It doesn't matter how I know. Matt, these guys have thugs working for them all over the place. I mean, is Bettina really that important to you?”

  Matt didn't say anything for a while. He just stood there staring at me. Finally, he took a deep breath and flopped onto the sofa. “Yeah, she is. Totally worth it. You don't understand, Ape. You're too young.”

  I didn't appreciate this comment, but I was not about to bring up the fact that I, too, knew what it was like to be in love. Well, sort of. Ever since Dominick kissed me in the playground it was all I could think about. But now I had to try a different angle since Matt was being such a mule. “Okay,” I said. “Think about this. What if Mom and Dad find out? I mean, they'll kill you before Colombo's hit man gets a chance to pour the cement.”

  Matt didn't think this was funny, and at the mention of our parents, his face darkened. He stood up and grabbed my arm. “You haven't said anything to them, have you?”

  “No!” His fingers were digging into me. I tried shaking him off, but he grabbed me tighter. “Cut it out, Matt! That hurts.”

  “Listen, Monk.” He was trying to sound tough, but I could see fear in his eyes. “Swear to me that you will not tell Mom and Dad about Bettina and me.”

  “Matt, stop!” He was scaring me now.

  “I mean it!” he said. “Swear.” He looked like he was possessed.

  “All right, fine. I swear. But only if you promise not to do anything idiotic. And if something happens, you need to promise that you won't see her anymore.”

  Matt shook me. “I already told you, Monk. I know what I'm doing.”

  “Do we ha
ve a deal, or don't we?” I said.

  He gave me a lethal stare, but I didn't back down. Finally, he let go and waved me away. “Fine, whatever. Deal. Now, get outta here and leave me alone. And from now on, stay out of my freaking business!”

  My arm throbbed and I felt a sob rising in my chest. I didn't want Matt to hear me cry, so I ran upstairs as fast as I could. In my bedroom, I punched my pillow over and over. At that moment I hated Matt more than I ever had in my entire life. But for some reason I knew I'd keep my stupid promise. I only hoped he'd keep his.

  Brandi moped for most of the weekend, but on Monday morning, she greeted me with an enormous smile. “Guess what?” she said. “Walt called last night.”

  We were crossing the street, heading over to Larry's house. “Oh?” I said. “And you're happy about that?”

  “Well …” She shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, I know he acted pretty lame at the dance, but after talking to him on the phone I realized that he's just shy. Anyway, he asked if you and I would like to play tennis with him and Bert next weekend. I said yes. I hope that's okay.”

  “What?” I was just about to ring Larry's doorbell; I stopped with my hand in midair. “Wait a minute. Walt asked if you and I wanted to play tennis with him and Bert, and you said yes ?”

  She nodded guiltily.

  I threw up my hands. “Come on, Brandi, didn't the guy ever hear of singles? You know, two people, one ball?”

  “Please?” she begged. “I already told him we would.”

  The consolation prize for going to the dance with Bert had been that I'd never have to see him or Walt again. But as usual, Brandi hadn't kept her end of the bargain. She looked at me with pleading eyes.

  “Fine,” I said. “Whatever. But I'm telling you right now, this is the last time. No more favors. A few games of tennis, and after that, you and Walt are on your own.”

  Part of me wanted to bring up the fact that I already had a boyfriend, well, sort of if you counted the kiss, and because of this I really shouldn't be giving Bert the wrong idea. But since I wasn't exactly in the mood for one of Brandi's lectures about what a creep Dominick was, I kept my mouth shut and pressed Larry's doorbell.

  A moment later, Mrs. Luciano appeared. This morning she was all dolled up with fake eyelashes, teased hair, and bright red lipstick. “Hi, girls,” she said with a big smile. “Come on in. Larry's almost ready. Oh, and I have a little surprise for you in the kitchen.”

  Brandi and I looked at each other. Surprises in the Luciano house could be just about anything—from pinches on the cheek to maybe a dead guy hanging in the freezer.

  We followed her in, and as we passed a marble bench in the hallway, she patted it a few times and said, “Just leave your books here. You can get them on the way out.”

  We hesitated, and from the look on Brandi's face I could tell we were thinking the same thing. If we set down our books, Soft Sal would probably crawl out of the woodwork with a wad of bills and slip a couple more hundreds between the pages. However, Mrs. Luciano was eagerly waving us on, and wonderful smells were wafting from the kitchen, so we went.

  Inside, on a red and white checkered tablecloth, sat two steaming cups of espresso and an assortment of Italian breakfast pastries. Mrs. Luciano smiled and said, “Mangia, mangia. Sweets for the sweet.” It reminded me of the scene in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, where the beautiful White Witch gives Edmund the enchanted hot cocoa and Turkish delight. After that, he was in her service. Forever.

  “Wow, thank you, Mrs. Luciano,” I said.

  Brandi was eyeing the pastries. “Thank you, but … we don't want Larry to be late for school.”

  Mrs. Luciano laughed. “Don't be silly! There's always time to eat! Now, enjoy. I'll check on Larry.”

  Already my mouth was watering, and as soon as she left, Brandi and I sat down and began stuffing our faces. We each ate two cannolis and two chocolate-covered biscotti, and let me tell you, after eating Grape-Nuts for breakfast for the past few months, it was heaven. We licked our fingers, drained our espresso, and with full bellies joined Larry and his mother in the living room. She was busy combing his hair, and now Soft Sal was perched on his papal throne. Our books, I noticed, were no longer sitting on the marble bench, but lay on the coffee table directly in front of him. Talk about obvious. Brandi nudged me.

  “So, girls,” he said, reaching over and handing us our books. He even knew whose were whose. “Did you enjoy the pastries?”

  “Oh … yes,” I said. “Thank you, they were delicious.” I elbowed Brandi, who, at the moment, seemed to have forgotten her manners.

  “Oh, yeah,” she said, “they were great. Thanks.”

  He nodded. “Wonderful, wonderful. We just wanted to do something nice, you know, since you girls have been so good to Larry.”

  I glanced at A Clockwork Orange—the book Mr. Cornelius had recently loaned me. I figured that if I'd had X-ray vision, Benjamin Franklin would have been staring up at me with some kindly words of advice like He that lieth down with dogs, shall rise up with fleas. “Um, Mr. Luciano,” I said, “it's really not necessary to give us anything. I mean, we like helping out with Larry.”

  Mrs. Luciano was trying to make a part in Larry's hair. He pushed the comb away and gave me a big smile.

  “Yeah,” Brandi chimed in. “We don't need anything. Really.”

  Mr. Luciano laughed. “Nonsense,” he said. “Everyone needs a little something every now and then. Besides, we've got plenty to spare.” He looked at his wife. “Isn't that right, Marianne?” I noticed that no one was mentioning the word “money,” so it was hard to know if they were talking about cash or cannolis.

  Mrs. Luciano reached over and pinched our cheeks. “That's right,” she said, “not to worry, girls, we have plenty. Now, Larry, come here and let me fix your hair.” She licked her thumb and was about to tame his cowlick when he dodged her and ran out the front door. “Oh, Larry!” she called, shaking her head. “Well, I guess you girls better run along.”

  Quickly, we said our goodbyes, and as we chased Larry up the street it finally hit me. Not only was my idiot brother dating a made man's daughter, but Brandi had been right. Whether we liked it or not, we were officially doing business with the Mob.

  For some reason, Larry was in a very good mood this morning. He walked along the avenue singing “Pinball Wizard” and jingling change in his pocket. Brandi and I watched him closely as we turned the corner onto Eighty-fourth Street and P.S. 201 came into view. The chain-link fence was still a temptation for Larry, but we'd made a deal that he was not allowed to take out his drumsticks until after school, and even then, the fence was off-limits. Fair game was trash cans, stop signs, johnny pumps, and lampposts. “Larry,” Brandi said, “you remember what we talked about, right?”

  He'd been walking a few paces ahead of us, so he turned around, rolled his eyes like we were total morons, and sighed deeply. After one week of public school, Larry had acquired quite the attitude. “Yeah, yeah, I remember,” he said. “But it doesn't matter ‘cause Dominick's coming back to school today. We're gonna play music at lunch. I'm in his band.”

  “Whoa!” Brandi said. “Wait a minute, Larry.” But he ignored her and plowed ahead. “See that, April,” she whispered to me. “It's what you get for hanging out with that lowlife. You've created a monster.”

  When we caught up with Larry, he started singing “Pinball Wizard” really loud, hoping to drown out Brandi, but it didn't work. “Larry,” she said, tugging on his sleeve. “Dominick and Pee Wee got suspended last week for stealing those drums. You can't play music with them at lunch anymore. You'll get in big trouble.”

  He stopped singing. “Uh-huh. We can too play. Dominick told me.”

  This got my attention. “Larry, what do you mean Dominick told you?”

  He groaned and threw up his hands like he couldn't tolerate our stupidity any longer. “Dominick called me, okay?” he shouted. “Yesterday, on the phone. He said we could play in Mr. Ruffalo's ro
om. I'm in the band.”

  This totally shocked me. How could Dominick call Larry instead of me? Especially since I was probably the only Lundquist in Dyker Heights and there must have been at least fifty Lucianos. It didn't make any sense.

  But I didn't have much time to think about this, because as we approached the schoolyard, there stood Dominick and Pee Wee surrounded by a pack of screaming fans. I swear, you would have thought Mick Jagger and Keith Richards had come to town. Anyway, all of this would have been all right, except for the fact that Roxanne DeBenedetto was there too. And from the look of things, she was Bianca, and Mick didn't seem to mind.

  “Larry, my man!” Dominick called. He waved Larry over, completely ignoring me, and I got a sick feeling inside. As Larry ran to join the members of his band, Brandi shrugged and said, “Well, I guess it's no surprise that Larry and the juvenile delinquent wound up together. They're both destined for a life of crime.”

  All week Dominick was surrounded by his groupies, so we were back to square one in the barely-noticing-I-was-alive department. Occasionally, he'd offer me a smile in the cafeteria, or a two-finger wave from the water fountain, or flash me a peace sign in the hallway. I thought about giving him the full-blown silent treatment, the kind where you don't even make eye contact, but I figured that would be too obvious, like I was mad or something. Which of course I was, but I couldn't let him know that.

  Anyway, Tuesday afternoon when I was at the orthodontist's office waiting to have my braces tightened (a bimonthly torture), I read this article in Redbook about body language and how it can tell you a lot about how a person feels. So, for the rest of the week, this is what I did: whenever I saw Dominick, I struck a cool, blasé pose, flicked my hair around, and chatted with my friends, even if I had nothing important to say. I wanted him to know that I was just fine, and that he was the last person on my mind.

  But the truth was that all I could think about was Dominick and what an idiot I'd been. Not so much for kissing him (that part was pretty great), but for believing that our kiss actually meant something. I decided that from that point on, I would never let myself get so crazy over a guy. It certainly wasn't worth it. So when Friday rolled around and Dominick strolled over to our lunch table asking if I wanted to come and hear their band play in Mr. Ruffalo's room, I shrugged and said, “Oh, no thanks, maybe some other time.” From the look on his face, I think it was the first time a girl had ever turned him down. “Besides,” I added, “we SP girls have a whole new stack of naked men to look at, so I'm kind of busy.”