by April Lurie
“So, is he your boyfriend?” Little Joe didn't seem angry anymore, just sad.
“Oh … you mean Dominick? No, not … really.”
He hung his head for a moment, and when he raised it again he pulled me even closer. “Listen, April, be careful, okay? I don't want you getting hurt.”
His face was really close to mine now, and for a minute I actually thought he was going to kiss me. But just as I was about to say, “Don't worry Joe, I'll be fine,” Mr. Luciano walked through our front door.
“Would you look at that?” he said. “You're having a party! Now how come I wasn't invited?”
We all stood there gaping. All of us, that is, except Larry. “Dad! Hey, Dad! Look! I'm playing the bongos!”
Mr. Luciano smiled and shook his head. He walked over to Larry and put one hand on his shoulder. “That's great, son, really, I'm glad you're having a good time with your friends. But your mother and I have been very worried. You're supposed to come right home after school. You know that.”
Sammy gave me one of his uh-oh-you're-in-trouble looks.
Larry's face crumpled. “I'm sorry, Dad. It's just …” He looked around the room. “Well, first Dom wanted to hang out, and April said it was okay, and then we watched Matt and Bettina practice, and Sammy asked if we could play a song, and—”
Mr. Luciano laughed. “Larry, Larry, it's okay. I figured you were over here.”
“It's my fault, Mr. Luciano,” I said. “I should have taken Larry home first. I wasn't thinking.”
“Yeah,” Sammy agreed. “It's April's fault.”
Jeez. Some brother.
Thankfully, Mr. Luciano gave me a reassuring nod. “No harm done, sweetheart. You're a good girl. I know you'd never let anything happen to Larry.” I shot Sammy a smug look while Mr. Luciano smoothed Larry's hair affectionately. I glanced around the room. Matt, I noticed, was looking rather nervous, but Bettina had placed both hands on her hips and was rolling her eyes to the ceiling. According to Redbook, this would be labeled a “combative stance.”
“Why, hello there, Bettina,” Mr. Luciano said. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Hello, Sal,” she answered dryly.
“Just Sal?” he asked. “Not Uncle Sal?”
“You're not my uncle.”
“Well, that depends on how you look at things. According to your father, we'll always be family. He's uh, away on a business trip now, isn't he?”
She blew a wisp of hair from her forehead. “Yes, Sal, you know he's on a business trip. And for your information, we're just rehearsing for the play.”
From across the room, I saw Little Joe and Marcella casting worried glances at each other while Dominick set down his guitar and gazed at Soft Sal like he was some kind of celebrity.
“Ah, yes, the play,” Mr. Luciano said. “And it looks like someone has a new dress.” At first I thought he was talking about Bettina, but then I realized he meant Matt.
Matt glanced at his tunic and laughed nervously. “Oh, yeah. It's a different costume. I've got the part of Romeo now.”
Mr. Luciano nodded. “Interesting.”
“Not that I … asked for it, or anything,” Matt said. “You see, Brandon Ritchie—he was the original Romeo— well, he came down with chicken pox and I was the understudy. Anyway, Bettina's here because I needed some extra practice. I'm not very good at the suicide scene.” Matt swallowed and his Adam's apple jiggled up and down.
“Hmmm.” Mr. Luciano tapped his chin. “That's kind of ironic, don't you think? You and Bettina, playing two … what do they call them? Oh, yeah, star-crossed lovers?”
Matt's eyes shifted back and forth. “Um, well—”
“Leave him alone, Sal,” Bettina said. “We're rehearsing. That's all. As you know, I don't go out with boys. But when I'm thirty-five and my father gives me permission, I'm sure it will be with some fat, bald, greasy friend of his with connections and lots of cash.”
Larry started laughing, and then Sammy joined in, even though I was sure neither of them had any idea what Bettina was talking about.
“Whoa, whoa,” Mr. Luciano said, putting up both hands. “Let's not get into that, okay, sweetheart? Especially in mixed company. Besides, I was just joking around. Matt knows that. Right, Matt?”
“Oh … sure, Mr. Luciano.”
“Well then,” he said, addressing the entire room, “I'm glad you kids are having a good time, but Larry and I better get home before his mother faints from worry.”
“Wait, Dad!” Larry said. “I want you to meet Dom!” He grabbed his father's hand and pulled him to the piano bench. Dominick stood up. “Remember? I told you? Me and Dom are in a band!”
Mr. Luciano chuckled. “Well, of course. Hello there, Dom. Larry never stops talking about you.” He shook Do-mi nick's hand and surprisingly didn't seem to mind the long hair, satanic T-shirt, and hoop earring.
“It's nice to meet you, sir,” Dominick said. “Larry's a great drummer.”
Mr. Luciano nodded humbly. “Yes, well, unfortunately I can't take any credit. Larry gets all his charm, talent, and good looks from his mother's side of the family.” Dominick smiled politely at the joke, but now Mr. Luciano's eyes were zeroing in on his marijuana-leaf necklace. “Hey, uh, Dom, you don't smoke that stuff, do you?” His tone was still friendly, but you could tell he meant business.
Dominick's hand flew to his throat. “Oh, no, sir. No. I've never touched it. In fact, I really don't know where I got this thing.” He tucked the charm into his shirt. I had to say, he was a pretty convincing liar.
“Mm-hmm,” Mr. Luciano said. “‘Cause I'll tell you right now, I don't want Larry hanging around with anyone who smokes dope.” I thought this was a bit hypocritical, since it was common knowledge that the Mafia was into drug dealing, but I was not about to bring that up.
“Oh, no,” Dominick agreed. “Definitely wouldn't want Larry hanging around with anyone like that.”
Mr. Luciano gave Dominick a firm pat on the shoulder. “Great. Looks like we're speaking the same language, Dom. I like that. Oh, and one other thing.” There was an amused grin on his face. “Don't go stealing any more drums from that band teacher, Ruffalo, okay? If you need something, just come and ask me.”
Dominick blinked a few times. “Oh … sure. Thank you, Mr. Luciano.”
“No problem. Now, Larry, we really need to go. Get your books and say goodbye to your friends.”
After Larry had gathered his things, we said goodbye, but before leaving, Mr. Luciano turned to Matt and said, “I'll see you around, Romeo. Stay out of trouble, okay? And good luck with that suicide scene.” I wondered if there was any hidden meaning behind that.
When they were out of sight, Matt sank onto the sofa and let out a gust of air. “So that went well, don't you think?”
Bettina took a seat beside him and gently kissed his cheek. “Don't worry, Matt, it'll be okay.”
Meanwhile, Little Joe was frowning and mumbling to himself, “See, I told them we shouldn't have come here, but does anyone listen to me? Noooo.” Suddenly he seemed to remember that Dominick was still in the room, and he went back to giving him the death stare.
“Hey, uh, Sammy?” Dominick said, glancing worriedly at Little Joe. “Want to show me that Star Wars collection now?”
Sammy's whole face lit up. “Oh, yeah! I almost forgot. Come on, it's up in my room.”
As the two of them raced upstairs, Little Joe and Marcella took a seat on the sofa across from Matt and Bettina. It looked like they were about to have a what-to-do-when-the-Mob-is-after-you brainstorming session. I figured if Matt wanted me to leave, he'd certainly let me know, but for the moment, I decided to take an inconspicuous seat in the corner of the room.
“Listen, guys,” Bettina said. “Don't worry. I've known Sal all my life. He won't say anything to my father.”
Matt stared at her in disbelief. “But … Bettina, how can you say that? I mean, did you hear him?”
“It's true, Matt,” Marcella sa
id. “Sal talks a lot, but he'd never rat on Bettina. Besides, why do you think they call him Soft Sal?”
“Well, that's reassuring,” Little Joe said, throwing up his hands. “I mean it's nice to know we're dealing with a sentimental murderer.”
“Hey, Bettina?” Matt said. “What's your father's … you know, code name?”
She didn't answer.
“Go on,” Little Joe said, “tell him, Bettina. Tell him what they call your father.”
She sighed. “Okay, fine, I'll tell you. My father is Roberto ‘Bobby the Bull' Bocceli, known for strangling a man with his bare hands and lighting a cigarette while the poor sucker took his last breath. Nice, huh?”
The room fell silent. I was beginning to feel a bit woozy, so I put my head between my knees and breathed deeply. Hushed voices rose from across the room, and Little Joe said something about the party being over. Just as I was about to get up and leave, I heard Bettina's dress rustling as she crossed the floor. “April?” I looked up and saw her face looming above me. “I can't stay much longer, but I was wondering, can we talk? Privately?”
“Oh, sure.” Matt, Marcella, and Little Joe had gone to the kitchen to clean up, so I quickly led Bettina to my room and closed the door. Sammy's bedroom was right next to mine, and you could hear Dominick doing a Darth Vader impersonation while Sammy made Wookiee noises.
“I really like your posters,” Bettina said, looking around. “Cat Stevens is one of my favorites. He's a great songwriter.”
“Oh, thanks. Yeah, he is.” It was kind of embarrassing since my room was a total pigsty, but Bettina didn't seem to mind. She tossed aside the half-empty bag of Bar-B-Que chips (my own personal stash) and took a seat on my bed. Hanging over my chair was a lace bra sprouting broken elastic and a pair of dirty underwear. I crumpled them into a ball and sat down.
Now she was looking at my half-melted skull candle. “I especially like that song,” she mused aloud, “The Boy with the Moon & Star on His Head,” from Catch Bull at Four. “It's so … deep.”
I nodded. “Yeah, it is.” I really liked that song too, but the truth was I had no clue what the lyrics meant. I tossed my dirty underwear into a corner. “So, what did you want to talk about?”
“Actually,” she said, “I wanted to give you something.”
Uh-oh. She pulled an envelope from her dress pocket, and I held up both hands. “Oh, no, please, I don't need anything, really.”
She gave me a puzzled look. “But it's a letter. For Matt. I wanted him to have it in case … well, in case anything happens.”
I stared at the envelope. I was relieved to hear there was no cash inside, but the alternative didn't sound too good either. “What do you mean?” I asked. “What might happen?”
“Well.” She paused for a moment. “It's no secret about my family. You know who my father is. And he's made it clear who I can see and who I can't see.”
I nodded, figuring that a blond-haired, blue-eyed sixteen-year-old Scandinavian boy was in the category of Can't See.
“And,” Bettina continued, “I know this sounds weird because Matt's your brother and everything, but I really love him. He's so different from other guys. I've never met anyone like him before.”
There was definitely some truth in that last statement, but I didn't think Bettina meant it the same way I did.
Now her eyes were starting to well up. “It's complicated. I mean, I know this sounds crazy, but in my own way, I love my father, too. And if anything should happen, like, if it becomes too dangerous for me and Matt to see each other, I want him to have this letter. It'll explain everything.”
Reluctantly, I took the envelope from her hand. “All right,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “If anything happens, I'll make sure he gets it.”
“Thank you.” Now a tear was rolling down her cheek, but she quickly wiped it away. “I'd better get going. My mom's expecting me for dinner.”
I hid the letter in my sock drawer and the two of us went downstairs. Matt, Little Joe, and Marcella were waiting by the front door. “Come on, Bettina,” Matt said, “we'll walk you girls home. Well, halfway, anyway.”
From the porch I watched the four of them stroll down the street. When they reached the corner, Matt took one look behind his shoulder, and when he saw that the coast was clear, gently placed his arm around Bettina.
A moment later, a loud voice bellowed from inside the house. “Luke Skywalker! This is your master, Darth Vader! Put down your light saber and surrender to the dark side of the Force!”
“No! Never! I will never surrender to you, Darth Vader!”
I stepped inside and saw Sammy and Dominick charging down the stairs, action figures in hand. They jumped onto the sofa and started wrestling.
I stood there shaking my head at the two of them, and when Dominick saw me he yelled, “Wait! Hold on, Luke! Now we must set aside our differences, join forces, and capture the beautiful Princess Leia!” He ran, scooped me up in his arms—which I have to say was an amazing feat since I was more like Helga the Gargantuan Viking Princess—and dropped me onto the sofa. Together, they started tickling me mercilessly.
“Cut it out! Sammy! You know I hate getting tickled!” I kicked and flailed and at one point I think I whacked Dominick right in the head.
They tortured me for a while, but amid all my protests I was basically enjoying the attention from Dominick. His breath smelled like spearmint gum, and I liked the way his hair felt when it brushed against my cheek. When I was completely out of breath and about to give up, I heard someone calling my name. “April?” Through a tangle of arms and legs I saw my mother and father standing just a few feet away. They did not look amused.
“Oh, hi, Mom! Hi, Dad!” Sammy jumped off the sofa and gave them each a hug. “We're just playing Star Wars.”
“Uh-oh,” Dominick whispered under his breath. He stood up and fluffed a pillow back into place. “Um, hi, Mr. and Mrs. Lundquist. Sorry about that. Sammy and I were just goofing around. I guess we got carried away. I didn't mean to—”
“Who, exactly,” my mother interrupted, “are you?”
Before Dominick could answer, Sammy said, “That's Dom! April's new boyfriend!”
“What?” My mother's eyes widened. She turned to my father, but he just shrugged.
“Sammy!” I blurted out. “That's not true! I've never even had a boyfriend.” I could have shot myself for offering that last bit of information.
“But …” He looked at Dominick, confused. “That's what Dom told me.”
My jaw fell open. I was horrified yet intrigued at the same time.
“Oh … well.” Dominick laughed a little. “I think you got that mixed up, Sammy. You see, April and I are just friends.”
Surreptitiously, he turned and winked at me. I still wasn't quite sure how to interpret this, but I decided to play along. “That's right,” I chimed in. “Actually, Dominick came here to see Larry. Not me. They're in a band.”
My dad didn't seem to be buying this. He looked at Dominick. “You're in a band with Larry? The kid across the street?”
“Yeah,” Dominick said. “Larry's a great drummer. We play together at school.”
“It's true, Dad!” Sammy said. “Larry was here before you guys got home. You should have seen it! He was playing my bongos, and Dom was playing the guitar, and Matt was dancing with Bettina, and I was dancing with Marcella, and then … well, Mr. Luciano came over to get Larry, and Little Joe said the party was over.” He shrugged. “It was fun, though.”
As Sammy blabbed, my parents seemed to be only half listening. In fact, they didn't even catch on that Matt and Little Joe were here with two strange girls. Instead, they were busy studying Dominick. While my mother focused her attention on Sabbath Bloody Sabbath's death demons, my dad took in the long hair, earring, and questionable necklace. I swear, if their thoughts could have been broadcast on their foreheads, they'd both have read: DANGER.
SPAWN OF SATAN.
“Well, I'd be
tter get going,” Dominick said. “My dad's probably wondering where I am right now. It was really nice to meet you.”
My parents nodded silently. Neither of them mentioned that it had been nice to meet him too.
Dominick handed Sammy his Darth Vader action figure and picked up his guitar. “Well, goodbye, April. I'll see you at school.” He patted Sammy on the head. “Bye, Sammy. I had fun.”
“Me too! Bye, Dom!”
As Dominick disappeared out the front door, I inched my way toward the staircase.
“April!” my mom called in that no-nonsense voice of hers as I raced to my room. “You better get back here! We need to talk!”
The rest of the weekend was one miserable lecture after another. Friday night's topic, over a bowl of broiled tofu and steaming bulgur wheat, was how teenagers need to choose friends wisely. On Saturday morning when I cranked up my favorite Grateful Dead tune, my mother stormed into my room, flipped off the stereo, and gave me an earful about “these rock groups who promote drugs, sex, and suicide.” After arguing with her that the Grateful Dead was actually a peace-loving, melodic band, I was informed that all good music died with Elvis, and was then handed the Lundquists' New House Rules, number one being: No strange boys allowed over when parents are not home.
As you can imagine, it was very tempting to spill the beans about Matt, their fine upstanding young son, sneaking around with Roberto “Bobby the Bull” Bocceli's daughter, but a promise is a promise, and I was not about to break mine. Besides, I had to admit, I liked Bettina, and Matt was way less of a jerk when they were together.
Anyway, by Sunday afternoon I was actually looking forward to smacking around a tennis ball, even if it was with Bert and Walt. The only downside was that Poly Prep, the snooty high school where Walt insisted we play because his family owned a permit, had a dress code: standard, all-white tennis gear. Since I usually played tennis in a ratty old T-shirt and cutoffs, I had to borrow my mother's hideous white skirt—the kind with the bloomers underneath—along with her collared Izod shirt, with the little alligator on the breast pocket.
