by April Lurie
Bert and I took one court, and while I gave him several pointers for scoring big at the net, Brandi and Walt played a game of singles on the other. But after a while, Brandi got tired of this and suggested we play some doubles. Only this time she wanted to be on my team.
“All right,” I said skeptically. “But you better not play like a pansy.”
“Oh, don't worry,” she answered, flashing me a devious smile. “Today you and I are going to kick their butts.”
“Now, that's more like it.”
Brandi and I won the first two games, but as Bert got the hang of playing the net, he started making some pretty excellent drop shots and they wound up winning the third. In the middle of game four, Big Joe spied us on the courts, so the imbeciles left their game of two-on-two and came strolling over. “Well, well,” Big Joe said, leaning against the fence. “Looks like Brandi and the Chimp are creaming the two Xa-fairy-land boys. Way to go, girls!”
Little Joe was trailing behind, staring into the sky and twirling his basketball on one finger. “Hey, Joe,” Fritz said, waving him on. “Get a load of this. Brandi and Ape are killing the fairies.”
I sighed deeply. “Just ignore them,” I called over to Bert and Walt. “The Neanderthals are bored and don't know what to do with themselves.”
But just as I was about to serve for the next point, Walt raised his racquet and said, “Hey, April, hold on a minute, okay?” He left us and headed toward the fence. “Hey, guys?”
Big Joe crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. “Yeah?”
Tony and Fritz elbowed each other. Little Joe stopped twirling.
“What do you say we play some ball?”
Fritz guffawed. “What kind of ball are you talking about, Walt?” He grabbed the basketball from Little Joe, and as he bounced it, he swung his leg around and sang, “A, my name is Alice, and my husband's name is Al …”
Tony thought this was hilarious, but Little Joe didn't think it was funny at all. He grabbed his ball back from Fritz and told Tony to shut the hell up.
“Actually, I'm talking about basketball” Walt said. “A little two-on-two. Me and Bert versus Fritz and Tony. The two Joes sit out.”
While the imbeciles thought this one over, Bert crept up behind Walt and tapped him on the shoulder. “Walt, are you crazy, man? They're gonna slaughter us.”
Meanwhile, Tony stepped forward. “All right, yeah, you got it, let's play some two-on-two. In fact, we'll even be generous and spot you guys ten points.”
Bert nodded eagerly at this suggestion, but Walt was already shaking his head. “Uh-uh, we don't want any points—just one game, fair and square. Take it or leave it.”
Fritz nodded. “All right, we'll take it. Let's go.”
* * *
While the guys left for the basketball courts, Brandi, Sammy, and I picked up stray tennis balls. “Wow,” Brandi said. “I am so proud of Walt. He finally stood up to them.”
“Yeah,” I said, glancing nervously ahead. “I just hope he and Bert don't get their butts handed to them. If they do, we'll never hear the end of it.”
After packing up our tennis gear, Sammy climbed into the stroller and we headed for the courts. They were about to start their game, and apparently Big Joe had declared himself referee. As we passed by the bathrooms, Little Joe stepped out from behind the redbrick wall. “April, can I talk to you for a minute?”
Brandi gasped. “Jeez, Joe! What's with you lately? Do you enjoy scaring us, or what?”
“Oh, sorry. I just need to talk to April. It's important.”
She looked at me and rolled her eyes. “All right, fine, whatever, have your talk.” She took the stroller from my hands. Come on, Sammy, let's go. They obviously don't want us here.”
When Brandi and Sammy were safely out of earshot I said, “What's going on, Joe? Is everything okay? Is Matt all right?”
“Oh, yeah, I mean no, I mean … Matt's fine. That's not what I wanted to talk to you about.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced around nervously. His eyes landed on the nearby picnic tables. “Can we sit down together for a few minutes?”
“Um, yeah, sure.”
We walked a little way, and I took a seat on one of the hard stone benches. As the coldness seeped into my jeans, Little Joe gently eased himself beside me. We were so close, our knees were touching, and I could even smell the clean sweat drying off his forehead and jersey. Without speaking, the two of us looked at the sky. The sun was just beginning to set, and through the bare branches of the tall oaks you could see a mixture of pink and purple clouds. “Wow, it's a pretty night,” I said.
“Yeah.” He tapped his fingers against the stone.
“Joe? What did you want to talk about?”
“Well”—he cleared his throat—”I was wondering if you had time to think about … things.”
“Things?”
“Yeah. Like you and me.”
“Oh—that.” I glanced over at him; he seemed to be holding his breath. “Well, you see … I … sort of have a boyfriend now.” A missing boyfriend, I wanted to add, but that was too complicated to explain at the moment.
He swallowed and lifted his eyes toward the basketball courts. Big Joe had just called a foul on Walt, and Fritz was taking his free throw. “You mean that guy—Bert?”
He said Bert's name the way I used to say Walter—like he was a total dork. I shook my head. “No, not him.”
“So, the other one, huh? Dom?”
“Yeah.”
“I see.”
“But, Joe, I—”
“No, no, it's all right. You don't have to explain anything, I was just wondering, that's all. Besides, it probably wouldn't work out anyway. Matt would kill me.” He patted my knee. “Come on, we better head over to the courts before the guys start talking.” He stood up and rubbed his hands together.
“Joe?”
“Yeah?”
“I really don't care if they talk.”
He shrugged and smiled. “Yeah, me neither.”
We walked together in silence, watching the big orange sun sink behind a row of houses across the street, and for a moment I wondered what it would be like to walk along the path holding Little Joe's hand, talking, maybe even stopping for a moment to share a kiss. Things used to be so easy between us—before that day at the beach, before he started acting so strange.
But soon, Sammy was calling us. “April, Joe! Come and see! Bert and Walt are winning!”
We rushed over to watch the rest of the game, but in the end Fritz and Tony won by four points. However, Bert and Walt won something more important than a basketball game—respect from my brother's pathetic friends. “I gotta say, you guys put up a good fight,” Big Joe said, clapping the two of them on the back. “Xavierian High School is officially two fairies below their normal quota. Keep up the good work, men.”
It was starting to get dark now, so Brandi and I said goodbye to Bert and Walt, plopped Sammy in the stroller, and raced home. Brandi made it back just in time for dinner, and as I wheeled Sammy up the driveway I heard voices coming from the kitchen.
Inside, Dominick was sitting at the table, my parents flanking him. There was a plate in front of him, and on it was a half-eaten turkey burger on whole wheat, a mound of brown rice, and several asparagus stalks. “Dom!” Sammy ran and flung his arms around Dominick.
Dominick had a mouthful of food. He chewed quickly, swallowed, and hugged Sammy back. “Hey, buddy, how ya doin'?”
“I'm great!”
When Dominick saw me standing in the doorway, he flashed that cute smile. “Hi, April, sorry I didn't tell you I was coming. Actually, I just stopped by to say hello—the guys and I were practicing over at Larry's—but your mom insisted I have something to eat.”
“Oh, okay.”
He turned to my mom. “And by the way, Mrs. Lundquist, this food is delicious. I wish my dad cooked half this good.” He picked up his cup and took a huge gulp. “And this tea is awesome. What do you cal
l it again?”
My mother was beaming. “Red Zinger.”
“You were practicing at Larry's?” I said.
“Yeah, I just got back in town this afternoon, and the guys wanted to catch up. Larry's got drums in his basement, and his dad let us play down there. Afterward, I was in the neighborhood and, well, I knew your mom mentioned I could stop by sometime—”
“Oh, yes,” my mother said. “That's fine.” She turned to me. “We even met the other members of Dominick's band.”
I looked at her and then at my dad. “You guys met Pee Wee and Ronnie?”
“Yes,” my dad said, nodding. “They're … interesting boys.”
“Here,” my mom said, patting her chair, “come and have a seat, April. You too, Sammy. I'll get you some dinner.”
As Sammy and I took our places at the table, my dad said, “Well, before you came in, Dominick was just about to tell us what kind of music his band plays.”
“Oh, right,” Dominick said, setting down his fork. “Let's see, my tastes are pretty diverse. Pee Wee, Ronnie, and Larry mostly like mainstream rock, but I've been getting into some older stuff like CCR, the Yardbirds, Arlo Guthrie, Buddy Holly, some of the early Beatles—I'm writing some of my own songs, too.”
My dad was obviously impressed. “Really? That's quite a list.” Unlike my mother, who considered Neil Diamond and Barry Manilow cutting edge, he had pretty good taste in music. “So,” he said, sighing deeply, “big tragedy this summer, huh?”
I had no idea what my father was talking about, but apparently Dominick did. He frowned and shook his head. “Oh, man, when I heard the King died, I shut myself in my room and didn't come out for three whole days.”
My mom set our plates in front of us and nodded sadly. That was when I realized they were talking about Elvis. I guess he was a big sensation in the fifties, but when I saw him perform on TV last year wearing dark glasses, fuzzy sideburns, and a jewel-encrusted white suit, I thought he should have put his legend to rest long ago.
Thinking about Elvis, my mother must have gotten all sentimental and nostalgic, because she placed one hand on Dominick's shoulder and said, “You know, Dominick, I think it's wonderful that you've taken Larry under your wing. What a kind thing to do.”
“Oh, no,” Dominick said. “You see, you've got it all wrong. Larry's a great drummer. We're lucky to have him.”
“Is that so?” She smiled and began fiddling with my hair. “I'm not sure if you know this, Dominick, but April used to play piano. It's a shame she quit because she had talent.”
“Mom,” I said, waving her off. “You're talking about me like I'm not even in the room.”
“You mean …” Dominick looked at me, confused. “You didn't tell your mom about Ruffalo?”
Up until this point I'd only been picking at my food, but now I shoveled some brown rice into my mouth. It had a gluelike consistency and a similar flavor. “No,” I mumbled, “I guess not.”
My mother scratched her head. “Do you mean—Mr. Ruffalo, the music teacher at your school?”
“Yeah,” Dominick said. “He's been giving April piano lessons during lunch for the past couple of weeks.”
She looked at me, stunned. “April, why didn't you tell us? That's—well, that's wonderful!” It was amazing how Dominick was racking up points with my parents— especially my mom. Not only was he an Elvis fan, but he'd shown benevolence to a poor retarded boy, and now he'd gotten me interested in piano. “Oh, my,” she said, with a worried look, “we must owe him some money!”
I was about to explain that Mr. Ruffalo was teaching me on a trial basis for free, when the back door swung open and Matt and Little Joe walked in.
“Good news, everyone!” Matt announced. “The first three performances of Romeo and Juliet have sold out. However …” He fished in his pocket, then held up his hand. “Here are some prize tickets for the final show!” He slapped them down on the table and suddenly noticed Dominick was sitting there. “Hey, what do you know, it's the guitar player.” He turned around. “Look, Joe, Dom's here.”
Matt gave Dom a high five while Little Joe stood frozen in the doorway. Meanwhile, my mother picked up the tickets and flipped through them. “Matt?” she said, “there are ten tickets here. Who are the extra six for?”
“Well, let's see, Ape wanted a ticket for Brandi, that's one, and then there's one for Big Joe, Little Joe, Tony, Fritz …” He paused, realizing there was still one extra, and smiled. “I guess the last ticket's for Dom.”
Dominick had just taken a bite of his turkey burger, and when he heard the news he practically started choking. “Wow, are you serious? Thanks, man!”
Matt nodded. “Sure, no problem. Hey, Joe, what do you say? Looks like Dom's going to the show with you guys.”
We all turned to see Little Joe's reaction, but he'd already disappeared out the back door.
By the first performance of Romeo and Juliet, Matt's black eye required just a light dusting from Cover Girl, and the purple bruises on his arm had faded to pale yellow dots. Since there were no further injuries and I hadn't seen Nicky Jag for quite a while, I figured that either (1) Matt had told the truth about getting clobbered in basketball practice, or (2) Soft Sal had worked his Mafioso magic and Bobby the Bull Bocceli had chosen to back off.
Now it was the evening of the final show. Matt had already left for the performing arts center, and Brandi and I were sitting on the living room sofa watching his friends stroll through the front door, each of their outfits more hilarious than the last. Big Joe was the first to arrive, in a mint green leisure suit he'd borrowed from his cousin. Next, Tony came in wearing an assembly uniform (navy high-waters, wrinkly white shirt, and red tie) that must have dated to seventh grade. But the one who took the prize was Fritz, sporting a silver-studded black leather jacket with matching pants. When Brandi saw him she said, “Hey, Fritz, where'd you hitch up your Harley?”
Last was Little Joe. He was the only one who looked classy and (I must admit) handsome in a nicely fitted charcoal suit, pale pink shirt, and black tie. He even had a white handkerchief tucked neatly into his breast pocket. For some reason, he seemed more at ease tonight, laughing and joking with his friends, and thankfully he didn't ask for any private chats. “Hey, April, Brandi,” he said, pointing his thumb at the Three Stooges lined up against the wall. “You think they're gonna let these clowns into the theater tonight?”
Brandi shook her head. “From the looks of things, I doubt it.”
“You know,” Little Joe went on, “I heard the Village People are looking for a few backup singers. You guys might be perfect.”
“Funny, Joe,” Fritz said, flipping him the bird. “You're a regular riot.”
By 7:15 everyone had arrived except Dominick, and since the play began at eight, my mom was pacing the floor and generally freaking out. “April, are you sure Dominick knew it was tonight?”
“Yes, Mom. I talked to him at school yesterday. He knows it's tonight.”
“Well, maybe you should call him again. It's getting late. If he hasn't left yet, we could always pick him up at his house.”
I sighed. “All right, I'll try one more time.” I got up, walked into the kitchen, and dialed Dominick's number. As it rang for the fifth time, I glanced into the living room and caught Little Joe's eye, but he quickly looked away and went back to ribbing his friends. “Oh, wait, I know, maybe Wild Cherry could use you in their opening act.” He strutted around and sang, “Play that funky music, white boy …”
After ten rings there was still no answer. I hung up and walked back out.
“Well?” my mom said.
“He's not there.”
She glanced at her watch. “We'll wait five more minutes, then we have to leave.”
I watched the clock on the wall as the minutes slowly ticked by. To be honest, I wasn't surprised Dominick hadn't shown up. Ever since he'd eaten that turkey burger at my house he'd been acting kind of strange—more like his old Mick Jagger self—and o
n Friday when the bell had rung after lunch he'd told me he had someplace to go, and I wound up walking to Mr. Cornelius's class alone.
At exactly 7:27, my mother announced it was time to leave. Since there were nine of us, we had to take two cars, so Matt's friends drove with my dad, while Sammy, Brandi, and I piled into my mom's Volkswagen. I sat up front with her, silently staring out the window, and as we drove along the streets of Bay Ridge she leaned over and whispered, “You never know, sweetie, there's still a chance he might meet us at the theater.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, maybe.” Even though I figured the odds were about a million to one.
She squeezed my hand. “Either way, we'll have a good time. We always have a good time when we're together. And Matt is so excited for you to see him in this play.”
The Brooklyn Performing Arts Center was ablaze with lights and swarming with people, inside and out. We parked and walked briskly through the courtyard where I'd seen Matt and Bettina making out just two weeks before. I was amazed at how different the place looked at night—the marble banisters gleamed in the moonlight, and the fountain reminded me of an exploding Roman candle on the Fourth of July. Inside, the lobby was thick with women's perfume, woolen suits, and hints of cigarette smoke.
We had the best seats in the house—sixth row center— and as the lights dimmed I glanced around at the people filling the auditorium. The Lucianos were just two rows behind us. I waved to them, noticing several more gangster types nearby, but with the lights low and everyone dressed to the nines it was hard to tell the criminals from the working class.
Then, just as the orchestra began to play, a guy in a black suit swaggered in, followed by an entourage of shady-looking characters. One wore dark glasses, and I was surprised he didn't trip over his own feet. I glanced at Little Joe, who was sitting a few seats away from me. He'd been watching the guy too, and when he saw me leaning over, trying to catch his eye, he nodded gravely. There was no question about it. The guy was Bobby the Bull Bocceli.
Soon the curtain opened, and before I knew it I'd completely forgotten that half the mobsters from Dyker Heights were packed into the theater. In fact, after a while I didn't even care that Dominick had stood me up and the seat beside me was empty. I'd been transported to the ancient city of Verona, and my whole focus was on two hopelessly-in-love teenagers.
