The Russos: Episode Seven

by D. J. Manly

  He looked at the car phone. He had the sudden urge to call Drake, but changed his mind. They had a big fight after the concert last night. Drake was deliberately avoiding being alone with him. There was something bothering him, and he refused to talk about it. Maybe he was just tired or worried about Angelo, who hadn’t so much as picked up the phone to call his father in almost two months. He too was concerned. You’d think Angelo would let them know where he was.

  Anyway, nothing seemed to make sense anymore, even after Mama’s big confession. Drake knew they were not brothers by blood anymore, and still he was making excuses.

  Last night, he said, “Drake, talk to me,” and it was as if he had asked Drake for the moon. He hit the roof. He was beginning to think that Drake never did feel the same way about him.

  He drew in a breath. No, he couldn’t believe that. It was just too painful to think about.

  Well, there was no time to dwell on it now. He would go see Drake tonight and talk to him. Today he needed to see his ex-wife. He needed to look her in the eye after all these years and tell her that enough was enough. He had paid. He had paid dearly. He would not be deprived of his son again. Tony would make his own decision whether she liked it or not, and neither of them had any say in the matter.

  * * * * * *

  When Sandy heard the knock on the door, she knew immediately it was Johnny. She took one last look at herself in the mirror and smiled. The years had treated her kindly. Her legs looked good and were shown off to full advantage in her short red hip-hugging dress with the low-cut bodice. She had gone out and bought expensive red high-heeled shoes to match at some exclusive store on Rodeo Drive whose name she couldn’t pronounce. She had done her hair herself, simply curling it under on the bottom so that it made a nice shape around her shoulders. She put on just a touch of makeup because Johnny had never liked it, and he had always hated strong smelling perfume, so she had opted for a subtle-scented body spray.

  When the knock came again, louder, Sandy decided that she could wait no longer. She walked down the narrow passageway and slid the chain off the door. With a deep breath, she pulled open the door.

  He stood there, looking almost the same as he had on the day they were married, only better. His hair was longer, shaped into a stylish cut. There was never much he could do with his hair because it was thick and naturally curly. It was the one thing she had loved most about him, all that hair.

  “Hello, Sandy,” he said with a polite smile.

  She realized she hadn’t so much as said hello and held the door open wider. “Come in, Johnny. It’s been a long time.”

  Johnny walked in and closed the door behind him. He followed her down the narrow passage to the small living room area that accompanied the suite. She couldn’t be hurting for money. A suite at the Hollywood Hyatt did not come cheap.

  “This is nice,” he commented, more for something to say than anything.

  “Yes. I like it. I figure you have to indulge yourself once in a while.” She sat down in a leather chair and invited him to take the one across from her. “I took the liberty of ordering some coffee. It should arrive soon. Is that all right or would you prefer something harder...a drink, maybe?” She raised an eyebrow.

  “No. Coffee’s fine.” Johnny looked down at his scuffed boots. He really should throw these boots out and get another pair, but they were so comfortable. He looked up at her now. She looked good—terrific, in fact. “You look wonderful,” he said out loud. “You haven’t changed very much.”

  “Thanks.” That brought a smile. “Neither have you.”

  There was a silence then. Johnny was just about to ask her why she had wanted to meet with him when a knock came on the door.

  She sprang up out of her chair. “The coffee. I’ll get it.”

  The man rolled a cart into the living area. There was coffee, milk and sugar on a silver serving platter. There was also a plate of assorted cookies.

  Sandy thanked the man, tipped him and saw him out.

  She busied herself pouring the coffee. “Milk, no sugar, right?” She eyed him.

  He nodded and took the cup from her. “Thank you. Sandy. What is this all about?”

  “I think you know.” She sat back with her own cup.

  “Well,” he took a sip of his coffee, “if it’s about Tony, then you’re wasting your time. Tony is old enough to decide for himself. I’m not holding him here against his will. I have no say in the matter.”

  “But you’ve made it oh so convenient for him, haven’t you?” Sandy gave him an angry smile.

  “Meaning?” Tony glanced at her. He didn’t want to fight. He was too tired.

  “Getting him into school out here...buying him an expensive guitar. He showed it to me. Very nice,” she murmured.

  “The guitar was from the band. It wasn’t even my idea. Do you want me to ask him to give it back?”

  “Of course not,” she snapped. “The damage is done.” She ran her gaze over him. “Do you know he thinks he’s a fag like you now?”

  Johnny sighed. “You always did have a way with words. Look, Sandy, I won’t sit here and be insulted.”

  “Excuse me if I upset your sensibilities...the guy I caught backstage with his pants down, getting his....”

  “All right, Sandy,” Johnny cut her off. He stood up. “That was quite a few years ago. Let’s get to the point. I don’t want to go down memory lane with you today. What do you want?”

  “Memory lane?” She stood up now. “Is that what it is to you? You ruined my life, you ripped out my heart and you call it memory lane?” Her face was red, and Johnny had the distinct feeling that she was going to start screaming in a few seconds.

  “Okay, Sandy,” Johnny sighed. “I’m sorry if I was insensitive. I’m sorry that we got married at all. I know that I thought you would be the answer for me, but you weren’t. You were just a way to hide from myself. But we have a beautiful son that we made together. We could have learned to....”

  “Learned to what...pretend, like Janet does with Drake? She spent her life being his friend so that he could be a father to her son, when what she really wanted was for him to be in her bed every night. Is that being honest?”

  “No, but it’s trying to make the best of...”

  “Do you know how often I dreamed of killing Drake? When I heard you had been shot, I wanted it to be him. I hate him...I hate him with everything that’s in me. He destroyed our marriage.”

  “Drake didn’t do anything, Sandy. It was me. If you want to hate someone, hate me. I love Drake. I always have and I always...”

  “Shut up. I don’t want to hear that. I could have...I would have turned a blind eye if you had wanted a man once in a while. I could have lived with that. I...”

  “But why would you want to live with that?” Johnny shook his head.

  “Because I love you, that’s why. You would have stayed with me. I would have had you.” Tears streamed down her cheeks now. “But Drake...Drake I couldn’t compete with. He was everything to you...everything.”

  Johnny swallowed, wanting desperately to steer this conversation in another direction. “What happened between you and Tom Newton? Tony told me that he thought you were happy with him.”

  “Tom,” she whispered and sat down. “Tom knows now that I have never stopped loving you. Our whole marriage has been a lie.” She looked at him.

  He wanted to cry himself suddenly. There had been too much pain all around. The sad thing was that he could do nothing to ease her pain. He looked at the floor.

  “I want my son to come home,” she announced abruptly, her voice losing that soft vulnerable quality. “He is all I have left of you. You’ve taken everything from me, Johnny...everything. Please leave me my son.”

  Johnny came and knelt down beside her. “You have to stop using Tony as a weapon,” he pleaded, taking her hands in his. “The truth is, you were the one who took everything from me when you refused to let me see my son. You can’t hold on to Tony forever
, Sandy.”

  Sandy pulled her hands away and remained stubbornly silent.

  “You have to let him grow up and make his own mistakes. Tony is gay, and I didn’t encourage him to be. He was like that when he came out here. I would have preferred if he was straight, because being straight is so much simpler in this world, but he’s not.”

  She looked at him, her eyes brimming with tears. “How come I didn’t know? All these years, he never said a word. When did he know himself?”

  “When he was a very small boy, eight or so, he realized that there was something different about him, and then he began to understand what it was when he hit adolescence.”

  “Why didn’t he tell me?”

  “I don’t know,” Johnny replied, standing up. “You’ll have to ask him that yourself. Sandy, don’t be so hard on yourself about it. I don’t think Johnny was able to tell anyone.”

  “Except you?” She eyed him.

  “But it’s like I was telling you,” Johnny insisted, “Tony quickly found out that in this place it didn’t matter, because people in this business were either gay or bi or just didn’t give a damn one way or another.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He was surprised. “For what?”

  “For taking me off the hook. I don’t buy it entirely, but I think you have a point. I still say that if he had felt closer to me, he would have told me.”

  “Believe what you want,” Johnny shrugged. “Just don’t beat yourself up about it. Tony is a great kid. You raised him, so you must have done something right.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. She blinked them away and nodded.

  He was moving toward the door. He turned midway and looked at her as she followed him. “Are you leaving now, going back to Canada?”

  She gave him a sad laugh. “That’s what you really want, don’t you?”

  Johnny opened his mouth and then closed it. How could he deny it?

  “Don’t worry. I’m leaving. I’m going to try once more to get Tony to come home with me, though, and I’m not giving up, Johnny. I will come back.”

  He nodded.

  She took one long last look at him, the curly black hair, those sherry-brown eyes and tried to quiet the longing that was still there inside her.

  He smiled at her. She smiled back.

  He lifted a hand and said good-bye as he moved to the door.

  She placed a hand on his shoulder, unprepared for what it would feel like to touch him again. She suddenly wanted to hold him. She removed her hand as he turned around and met her eyes.

  “I...” she began. “I guess I’d like to kiss you goodbye. Would that be all right?”

  He looked at her. She was trembling. He tried to remember what it had been like to touch her, to make love to her, and discovered that he couldn’t recapture even a glimpse of it.

  “Of course,” Johnny replied suddenly as she moved forward. He bent his head down to brush her mouth gently with his.

  It was a chaste kiss, a kiss that lasted only a few seconds, but the taste of it lingered on her mouth long after he had left her.

  After he closed the door between them, she stood in the window and watched as he waited on the corner for his ride. A few people approached him and he signed a couple of autographs as he waited. Then the car appeared; a long white limo. She saw him politely push through a gathering of more fans, flashing them a smile as he went. Lifting his hand in a wave as he climbed into the limo, he disappeared inside, leaving a group of excited fans waving and screaming in front of the hotel. The limo pulled away from the curb. Sandy watched as it made its way down Sunset Boulevard and then turned the corner. It was now out of sight. He was gone.

  She moved away from the window, cast a glance at the bed in the other room that would never know his presence and walked over to the phone to call their son.

  * * * * * *

  Angelo hated Nevada. It was not only extremely hot, but it was so dry. He couldn’t wait to move on to Las Vegas, as tacky as he had always found that city.

  It was the middle of May already, and they were nowhere close to covering all the places Richard promised they would have by now. They had spent those four extra weeks in Ventura back in the winter, which meant that all the other places had to be changed or cancelled since some of the clubs booked in advance.

  After finishing up in Ventura, they were forced to drive all the way to Fresno to play because the manager threatened to sue them for breach of contract if they didn’t show up. Apparently Richard had already gone ahead and signed something with the manager of the Fresno club. They went over twenty-four hours without sleep.

  Then Richard booked them into this real dive in Redondo Beach called The Bogie Shack. Angelo quickly discovered that Richard owed some money to the guy who owned the place, and that’s why they ended up there for two whole weeks. They played for practically nothing and had to sleep in the van. The guy, a real sleaze named Mr. Anton, offered to rent them the rooms upstairs at a generous fee of sixty dollars a night. With the wages the guy was paying them, they couldn’t afford his rooms.

  When they finally arrived in Nevada, where Richard promised them decent sleeping conditions and a good wage at the Desert Inn, Angelo was growing discouraged.

  They had great reviews everywhere they went, but nothing was happening. It was just one club after another, and he was tired. He still hadn’t found anyone to replace Sam, who managed to find a hundred and one ways to annoy him. What was worse is that Sam had decided to go on a health trip and stop smoking pot. He had met some flaky granola-type girl in Redondo and she urged him to purify his body. Sam was being Sam, only not stoned, which was a hell of a lot worse. Mike threatened twice to quit the group if Angelo didn’t get rid of him.

  Richard was not lying when he told them that they would have nice accommodations at The Desert Inn. Even though Angelo hated the dust and the dryness, the Inn was beautiful. It was a hotel, really, with luxurious rooms and a great bar. There was a raised stage with professional quality light and sound equipment and a super dance floor, and the salary was solid. The managers, Theo and Catina Manero, threw in the rooms and three meals a day as part of the bargain. They were booked for three weeks, Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights and the rest of the time, they were welcome to use the tennis court, the pool, the weight room or anything else.

  Richard was often gone. Angelo suspected that he went into Vegas to gamble, but he didn’t say much. Sam went off on his own, and eventually that girl from Redondo Beach came to join him at the Inn. He hung out with Mike most of the time. They borrowed bicycles from the managers and went sightseeing. Angelo discovered at the end of the day that in spite of some of the spectacular sights, he still hated Nevada.

  The first night that they played the Desert Inn, Angelo was surprised to see Frank Carr in the audience. He was with another man in his fifties who was wearing a blue suit. At the end of the set, Angelo walked off the stage and came over to the table where Frank and the other man were sitting.

  “Frank,” Angelo said, surprised, “it’s great to see you.” They embraced. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hi there, kid. Angelo, this is Alan Concord. He’s the president of Concord Music, which is the sister company affiliated with our outfit. Concord Music is located in Arizona.”

  Mr. Concord stood up. They shook hands.

  “Sit down a minute,” Frank pulled out the chair beside him.

  Angelo sat, puzzled. “Did Dad send you here, Frank? The agreement was that...”

  “Angelo. Your dad didn’t send me. He’s busy now with a new song. Did you know your cousin is appearing in The Russo Brothers’ new video?” Frank’s face was animated.

  Something inside Angelo boiled. Really, he thought, how damn nice for him. Here he was, busting his ass and Tony got to walk right into the band.

  Frank noticed the look that crossed Angelo’s face. He realized maybe he had spoken out of turn. “Anyway...Tony co-wrote the song with his dad, so I gue
ss they thought he should be featured in the video. He sings backup...no guitar. He’s not good enough yet to...”

  “Frank, I don’t give a shit,” Angelo muttered. “So, if Dad didn’t send you...what?”

  It was Alan Concord who leaned forward now. “Drake....Mr. Russo....”

  “Angelo...please.”

  “Angelo. A friend of mine happened to hear you play in Ventura a while back. He was impressed. Honestly, he didn’t realize you were Drake Russo’s son at the time. Anyway, he went back the night after and brought his tape recorder. He recorded you. It was pretty bad...the recording,” he began to laugh. “It was full of background noise. Anyway, he played it for me and I liked it. I liked it a lot. I found out where you were playing, and then I called Frank because I value his good sense and here we are. Angelo, I am very interested in picking you guys up. I’d like to try you out on a year contract and see where it goes. It doesn’t hurt that you also happen to be Drake’s son.”

  Angelo pursed his lips. What was wrong with him? This was what he wanted, didn’t he, and yet there were complications. First of all, Richard was not here to negotiate anything and secondly, he didn’t want to sign anything before he found a replacement for Sam.

  He looked around. Mike was nowhere to be seen, but Sam stood over at the bar, eyeing the scene curiously.

  “Mr. Concord, I am pleased with your offer, but I have a few details to...” he leaned forward. “It’s not working out with one member of the band, and we are trying to replace him.”

  “Which one?” he asked.

  “The guitarist.”

  Concord looked concerned. “He’s a good musician. I recommend keeping him. Can’t these problems be ironed out?”

  Frank looked over at Angelo.