“He had to see someone there, is all,” I offered. “Something about work.”
Father Rinaldi glanced at my jeans. I was happy then that I didn’t have on any new heels. “And what might that work be?” he asked.
“Construction.”
“Nothing wrong with good, hard work, Samantha. Makes us better people. Christ Himself was a carpenter.”
“I know, Father.”
“And you sure labor over your typewriter, don’t you?” Father Rinaldi asked.
He did know everything. I smiled to myself. “That’s for sure,” I said.
“But are you sure Tony isn’t mixed up in easy money?” My honesty was being tested, I thought.
“I don’t really know,” I said. Which was the truth; I had seen and heard some things, but none of it had amounted to very much. Regardless, it didn’t have anything to do with me.
We sat back in silence for a few moments. The stuff about radios might have been all bluster and boasting for all I really knew. Not an uncommon trait for many men in Bensonhurst. Even if Tony had his hands on hot merchandise now and then, that was just reality, I thought. It was what was and what had been for generations. Not my reality, not Manhattan reality, and certainly not Father Rinaldi’s reality, but reality just the same. For a lot of Brooklyn Boys, that would be their reality until their dying days, and it would be passed on to their off-spring. Such boys didn’t have God in close support as a priest did, nor the towers and cables that, at that moment, I thanked the Lord I had. Father Rinaldi would reach out to save as many as he could, I knew. That was his hard work. Mine was getting across a bridge and taking Tony with me.
Father Rinaldi turned toward me again. “I don’t like a lot about what I hear,” he said. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Sam.”
My eyes met his. “I won’t, Father,” I said. I was too smart for that, I knew.
“I have faith in you, child,” Father Rinaldi said, and I followed his glance toward the statue of Mary far off in the front of the church. “And I have faith that our Blessed Mother will watch over you.”
I knew, as well, that She would.
“You’re percolating, Sam!” Janice said as we sat with legs tucked under us atop her bedspread.
“I guess it’s been obvious to everyone,” I replied.
“Nothing wrong with that. Enjoy.”
“Well, I don’t enjoy everything about Tony,” I said.
“Yeah, I heard about the rink. Richie said that guy had it comin’ to ’im.”
“Not at all,” I said, remembering Nick’s bruised ego and body. “Christ, we were jus’ talkin’.”
“Then be careful who ya talk to,” Janice said with a chuckle.
“I’m serious, Jan. There was nuthin’ goin’ on other than friendly conversation. Can’t a girl have that?”
“Not with boys. If you’re serious about Tony, that is.”
“I found out about that. Big-time.”
“Better get used to how you have to behave. It’s not hard once you get the hang of it,” Janice said, and then rubbed my jeans. “Just like it ain’t hard to get used to having nice things.”
We both chuckled. “Wait ’til you see the shoes!” I said, forgetting for a moment that Janice had a closet full of Sugar styles. “My God!”
“It’s just the start, believe me. It seems like every time I see Richie he’s got somethin’ for me or gives me serious cash to shop.”
I decided not to hurt my best friend’s feelings by asking if her boyfriend was still trying to make up for the beating he gave her. I glanced around Janice’s bedroom, which was half the size of my apartment. “I don’t know where I’ll keep the stuff,” I said. “I share a closet with Grandma and we’re out of space as it is.”
“You’ll figure something out,” Janice said, and then twirled her new, diamond-chip-studded gold necklace. “Besides, jewelry fits anywhere.”
“That kind of stuff is a long way off for me, I’m sure.”
“I’m not,” Janice said, and then shifted onto an elbow. “So how’d your mom react when she saw your swag?”
“With the usual skepticism,” I said as I reclined on my side as well. “Gram was more neutral, but her frown made her feelings an open book.” I decided I’d keep Father Rinaldi’s comments to myself.
“Speaking of books, how’s yours comin’ along?”
“The new chapters are practically writing themselves,” I said, and we laughed aloud together.
“I want to see them as much as your shoes,” Janice said. “Ya really know what you’re doin’, Sam.”
I perked up. “My school stuff’s clicking, too.”
“What are you working on?”
“A series on dating.”
“Seems to me that’ll write itself, too, huh?” Janice asked, and we giggled together once more as we had done for two years.
Janice was right, I thought, as I rode the subway home. There weren’t any writing blocks for me over the previous couple of weeks. My hand had raced across my journal with all sorts of new material about Brooklyn Boys, about relationships, about the excitement of discovery … and about the thrills of melting in a man’s arms. I couldn’t wait for the next installment.
“Any calls?” I asked Mom and Grandma when I came through the door.
“What, no kiss?” Grandma asked, sitting on the couch with her feet in a tub of hot water.
“Sorry, Gram,” I said, and leaned over to give her a quick buss on the cheek.
Mom sat on the other end of the couch and ran the fingers of both hands through her hair. She actually looked good for a change, wearing a short-sleeved white cotton blouse and three-quarter yellow slacks. And there was some life in her eyes, too. Grandma must have kept close tabs on her today, I thought.
Mom looked at my face and saw the want of an answer to my question. “That boyfriend of yours called,” she droned, “but said there was no message.”
I did my best to hide my disappointment. And then I was struck by the thought of how much Mom had talked to Tony. Did she try to pry? I wondered. Did she make any cracks? I decided I wouldn’t go down that road. It wasn’t worth it. “What’s for dinner?” I asked, but what I really wanted to know was what Tony wanted.
“Blintzes and latkes,” Grandma said.
I looked at her varicose veins and gnarled feet. “You didn’t have to go through all that trouble,” I said. “I would’ve cooked.”
“Who knew when you’d be here,” Mom cracked as she rose and headed for the kitchen.
Grandma gave me a wink. “She’s always where she’s supposed to be, isn’t that right, my Samelah?”
“That’s right, Gram,” I said, and knelt in front of her. “And right now, I’m supposed to give your legs and feet a nice massage.”
“Oh, no. I’m fine,” Grandma said with no conviction in her voice.
“I know you are,” I said as I grabbed a towel and started to dry her feet. “But we’ll kill some time while Mom gets dinner on the table.”
Grandma stroked my hair as I ministered to her. “You’re so beautiful,” she said. “It’s no wonder every boy wants my granddaughter.”
“I only want one, Gram.”
“I know, I know. Don’t worry, he’ll call back.”
“I know he will,” I said.
Grandma leaned forward and whispered, “Remind me later to give you the money I won at bingo.”
“You don’t have to do that, Grandma.”
“Hush, child. If you’re gonna be out socializing, I want for you to have a few spare dollars in your pocketbook.”
I hugged Grandma’s legs and rested my cheek on her knees. “You’re the best, Gram,” I said.
Later, halfway through dinner at the kitchen table, the ringing phone jarred me. I resisted the urge to spring to the receiver. I let Mom pick it up. “Hello,” she said, standing in the doorway, and listened while she lit a cigarette. “No,” Mom started, taking a drag. “We can’t do anything at this ti
me,” she finished, and then hung up.
“Who was it?” Grandma asked as Mom returned to her seat, beating me to the punch.
“The church,” Mom said.
“What did they want?” Grandma asked. Who cares? I thought. If it wasn’t Tony, it didn’t matter to me.
“A donation,” Mom said as she stubbed her cigarette.
“Typical,” Grandma muttered.
“And the Jews are any different?” Mom asked.
I tuned them out for the next few minutes. That story was already written, I thought. The one with Tony was just beginning and my family had no idea that I passed the time as they bickered pondering my boyfriend. When their argument escalated, I was jolted from my reveries. “Can’t we just have a peaceful meal?” I sighed as I put my fork down and looked from one to the other.
“We’re just talking, Sammy,” Grandma said. Sure, I said to myself. And I know what just talking can lead to. “Now finish your food before it gets cold.”
“I will, so long as you two don’t give me any agita,” I said.
“We can’t upset our baby’s tummy now, can we, Joanie?” Grandma asked playfully with a nod toward her daughter. She always had a way to lighten the mood, and I was grateful to pass the rest of the meal with idle chatter. Then I rushed to do the dishes. I wanted to be finished before Tony called back and avoid the grief I’d be given because of an unfinished chore. Mom went into the living room with a box of hair dye while Grandma took her time standing up. “You’ll watch some TV with us?” she asked.
“I’ve got some work to catch up on, Gram,” I said as I started the hot water. “I’m on deadline.”
“Then go,” Grandma said as she shuffled toward the sink with stooped shoulders. “I’ll clean up.”
“You sit down,” I said over my shoulder. “This won’t take me long.”
“God bless you, Sammy,” Grandma said as she detoured to the living room.
I made quick work of the dishes and then went to my desk, which had been calling to me the whole time. Each key of the typewriter that I struck at my small desk moved both the piece I was writing and time along. When I took a break and checked the clock at eleven thirty, I couldn’t believe how fast the evening had gone. Mom and Grandma must have fallen asleep on the couch, I supposed, which was why I hadn’t been interrupted. Tony must have been tied up and couldn’t phone back. As I put my papers away and straightened my desk, I regretted having missed his call earlier. I wanted to take his voice to bed with me.
I wasn’t happy the next morning about not hearing from Tony, but I was more than satisfied with the dating article I turned in first thing at school. Satisfaction turned to thrill when Mr. Wainright came up to me during lunch and said it was good enough to show to a couple of his friends in magazine and book publishing. And I knew where those people would be—in the real world of Manhattan!
“Don’t get overly excited, Samantha,” he said after breaking the news. “You’ve got potential, but you’ll have to produce a lot more, and get better every day.”
“I’m willing to do whatever it takes,” I replied.
“I trust you will.”
“You can count on me, Mr. Wainright,” I told him as he walked away. I was so excited and distracted with consideration of the possibilities that I couldn’t take another bite of my usual salad. I positively floated through the rest of the school day.
By the time I burst out of the school doors I was bursting inside. I just couldn’t wait to spread the news to Grandma and Janice. Even Tony would be proud of me, I thought as I skipped along the sidewalk to the curb. I couldn’t help perking up my ears and scanning a wide area in search of him while I located my school bus. When my hopes went unfulfilled, I headed toward the open yellow doors.
Two short honks in rapid succession attracted my attention. I stopped and checked the area once more, but couldn’t identify the source of the horn among the usual array of sports cars and luxury sedans that awaited some of my more fortunate classmates. I started toward my bus once more.
When the honks repeated, something told me they were for me and I stopped again but with more determination. Wedged between two buses that were behind mine was a champagne-colored Eldorado convertible with its top up and I peered through the windshield. My heart skipped a beat when I saw Tony behind the wheel and my excitement doubled. I smiled and went to the passenger side, my lips widening with each step. I stooped to peer through the open window.
“Get in,” Tony said through pursed lips as he stared straight ahead.
I decided to postpone telling him the news that all but sprang from my mouth. I wondered what was up as I kept my words in check, but that couldn’t quell my bubbling inside. “This is a real treat, Tone,” I said as I sank into the leather bucket seat. “Is this yours?”
Tony didn’t answer right away. Instead, he poked his head out his window and jerked a U-turn onto Eighteenth Avenue just in front of oncoming cars that didn’t honk or take any evasive action. And no curses or vulgarities emanated from any of them, either. U-turns and double-parking were common in Bensonhurst, as I and everyone else there knew, and no one thought twice about such violations. They were even invisible to cops, who looked the other way or would have felt ashamed if they ticketed anyone for such insignificant offenses. Cops in Bensonhurst were either on the mob payroll or in search of bigger prey.
“It’s Vin’s,” Tony said in a monotone after the rocking Cadillac settled on its course. I was dying to ask why he had the car, but those words were stillborn as well. Instead, I focused on the familiar buildings that were whizzing by.
“You in a hurry to get someplace?” I asked.
Tony’s massive hands choked the padded, tan leather–wrapped steering wheel. “I’ve got to pick up my pain-in-the-ass sister from school and drop her at a friend’s,” Tony said without taking his eyes off the road. Which was a good thing, I thought as I angled my eyes and stole a glance at the speedometer.
I didn’t know what I could do to calm Tony down. There was no stopping a Brooklyn Boy when he got his macho up. I wished the radio were on so some songs could dispel some of the thick air around me. I resigned myself to savoring Mr. Wainright’s news by myself until whatever it was blew over, and I attempted some casual conversation instead. “What’s her name?” I asked. Tony hadn’t talked much about his family other than repeating that they were mine, too.
“Brat,” Tony scoffed.
“C’mon,” I said.
Tony wheeled into a narrow side street without applying the brakes. “You’ll see,” he said, oblivious to the startled, reproving faces of the old women on the sidewalks and stoops who were a blur as we sped by. “A typical spoiled twelve-year-old who does nuttin’ but pout and complain,” Tony continued. “Everyone just ignores the fat bitch.”
I looked at my agitated boyfriend. “What’s the matter, Tone? You all right?”
Tony tightened his grip on the wheel again. “The fact ya don’ know makes it worse.”
“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” I asked as Tony screeched to a halt in front of a middle school, drawing more reproving snarls from mothers and crossing guards gathering in front. He slammed the gearshift into park and leaned toward me as he rested an elbow on the armrest. I recoiled against the door as I looked at his contorted face.
“I told ya I wanna know where you are, and the next fuckin’ day ya disappear!”
My upbeat mood was deflated and my fanciful thoughts about writing that I had longed to share with Tony were dashed and in danger of drifting out of the open window behind me. How could he make me feel so good just a couple of days before, I wondered, and then torment me the next time I saw him? I lowered my head. “Christ, Tone,” I said. “I didn’t disappear. All I did was stop at Janice’s.” The small lie didn’t bother me. Mentioning Father Rinaldi wasn’t going to help matters. I searched his face for the softness I knew was buried somewhere in him. “I was home by dinner.”
Tony sat bac
k in his seat and looked over my shoulder, eying the stream of students exiting the school. “Ya jes’ don’ get it, do ya?” he asked as his gaze returned to me. “What it means to be my girl.”
I did but I didn’t want to. I do know what it means, I told myself. Something special that stirred me in my body and my mind. Being with Tony had become part of a future I had envisioned for myself. I had always struggled to keep my hopes and dreams alive; how much of a struggle was it going to be to keep a new dream alive that included him? I wondered. How long would it be until Tony would be ready to begin another life with me? “She’s my best friend, Tony,” I said, and thought about that for a second. “My only friend.”
“Ya got me.”
“She’s a girl friend, Tone.”
“All ya need is me.”
“Look,” I said as I squirmed in my seat. “You’ve got the guys, right?”
“That’s diff’rent. You’ll see Janice when everybody gets together.”
I knew I’d do an awful lot for my relationship with Tony, but sacrificing Janice wasn’t going to be part of it. “I like hangin’ out with her, just the two of us. What’s the harm us bein’ close?”
“The harm is ya not where’s ya supposeta be,” Tony said, and then he pointed to a short girl with black, matted hair whose midsection rolls strained against her tight red polyester T-shirt. “There’s Katrina. We’ll finish this later.”
Tony’s sister ambled toward the Cadillac and bent over outside my window. “Jailbait” was written in glittered script across the front of her shirt. “Who’s this?” Katrina scoffed.
“Jus’ get in back,” Tony ordered. Katrina opened the door and I leaned forward while she squeezed behind my seat. Tony eased the car away from the curb.
“Why do I haveta ride in the back?” Katrina moaned as she slumped into the leather, shoulders hunched.
“Shut the fuck up, willya?” Tony said. Katrina pouted and looked out her window.
Regardless of her attitude, I wanted to smooth the way. Hell, I thought, she was the first member of his family I had met and I was determined to get off on the right foot. I turned around to face her. “I’m Samantha,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Brooklyn Story Page 11
