* * *
“I DON’T BELIEVE it,” she said angrily. “They told me the boat is completely booked up. Not a stateroom or cabin available. Maybe next week they might be able to accommodate us.”
Joe glanced at his watch. It was just after eleven in the morning. “Who did you talk to?” he asked.
“There are only two people in their offices—the manager and his secretary. They were polite, but that’s all.”
“Money talks,” he said. “Did you offer them a gratuity?”
“I’m not stupid,” she said. “Of course I did. It didn’t help.”
“Okay,” Joe said. “We have friends. Let’s see what they can do. Let’s get the contessa on the telephone.”
Laura picked up the phone and gave the operator the contessa’s number. She spoke quickly in French then put the phone down. “The contessa is on her yacht on her way to Capri and cannot be reached.”
“I have one more chance,” Joe said, reaching for the phone and calling Gianpietro’s villa. The houseman called Gianpietro to the phone.
“Joe, my friend,” Gianpietro said. “I am happy to hear from you. Are you well?”
“Okay,” Joe said. “And you, Franco?”
“Much better,” the Italian said. “I have a new girl. She is Swedish and a model, and best of all she does not want to be a movie star.”
“What happened to Mara?” Joe asked.
“I have sent her back to Rome with your former secretary. Mara cried a lot but when I gave her money, her tears were dried.” Gianpietro laughed. “I was lucky—everything went well.”
“Congratulations,” Joe said. “I wonder if you have any connections at the Italian Lines? I’m trying to board the Wednesday voyage to New York, but they tell me they are all booked up.”
“What do you need, my friend?” Franco said.
“A good double cabin, large if possible, because I plan to write on the voyage.”
“Your editor is with you?”
“Yes,” Joe said. “We rented an apartment in Cannes.”
“Give me your telephone number,” Franco said. “I will call you back in less than a half-hour.”
“Thank you,” Joe said.
“Ciao,” Franco said.
Laura looked at Joe as he put down the phone. “Who is he?”
“Gianpietro,” he said. “I guess we could call him a banker. He has financed many Italian pictures, and he partnered with the contessa the one I did for Santini. As a matter of fact, he was the one who brought me the money from Santini.”
“Why would he do all of that for you?” she asked.
“He had an idea that I could write a script for his girlfriend. He offered me good money, but I didn’t have any ideas for them. Besides, I wanted to be with you.”
“He sounds like Mafia to me,” Laura said.
“He probably is.” Joe smiled. “But then, all Italians seem like Mafia to me.”
“What if we don’t get on the boat?”
“Then, plane,” he said. “I’ve had enough of these French apartments. I can get a good hotel apartment in New York and work there.”
She looked at him. “What would be wrong with my apartment?” she asked.
“What about your mother?”
“My mother passed away two years ago.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“I kept the apartment,” she said. “There’s plenty of room.”
“That’s what we’ll do then,” he said. The telephone rang and he picked it up. “Hello.”
“Joe,” Gianpietro said. “You have your stateroom, first class, very good. Can you go immediately to the office of the Italian Lines? It is all arranged.”
“That’s wonderful, Franco,” he said. “I’m sure that no one but you could do that. I don’t know how I can thank you.”
“You are my friend,” Gianpietro said. “That’s what friends are for. To help each other.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Joe said.
Franco spoke quietly. “You have nothing to say. Only good luck to you. And bon voyage.” The phone clicked off.
Joe put down the phone and looked up at Laura. “We have reservations and we have to get over to the Italian Lines office right away.”
She stared at him. “I can’t believe it.”
Joe laughed. “Let’s get our ass over there and grab our tickets before someone else gets them.”
* * *
SECOND DINNER SITTING was at nine o’clock. This was for the first-class passengers. Second-class passengers were served in the same dining room but they were seated at seven o’clock. The maitre d’ turned to Joe and Laura as they came to the dining-room entrance. He bowed. “Mr. and Mrs. Crown?”
Joe smiled. “That’s right,” he said. The ship’s personnel had everything organized. The maitre d’ knew that they were not married but he was schooled in old-fashioned diplomacy.
“We have several tables that you might choose,” the maitre d’ said. “A table for two, or other tables with guests seated for six.”
“A table for two,” Joe said, handing him a ten-dollar bill.
“A good choice.” The maitre d’ bowed. “We have a lovely table for you.” He gestured to a table captain. “Table sixty-nine.”
They followed the captain to a side of the dining room, under one of the large portholes. He pulled the table out for them as they seated themselves on the comfortable banquette. With a flourish he placed the napkins on their laps and gave them the menu. He bowed, “I recommend the caviar most highly,” he said. “Malossol gros grain and we serve it with vodka russe.”
Joe turned to Laura. “I love caviar,” she said.
Joe gestured approval to the captain, who bowed and walked away. Joe turned back to her. “I love this table too,” he said. “Sixty-nine is my favorite number.”
It was more than an hour and a half before they left the dinner table. He turned to her as they stood a moment in front of the dining-room entrance. “Back to the stateroom, or would you like a walk on the promenade deck?”
“A little walk, please,” she answered. “I’ve never eaten so much in my life.”
Apparently many of the passengers felt the same way because the promenade deck was crowded. They made their way to the aft-deck railing and leaned against it looking down at the water sparkling in the moonlight behind the ship.
Laura looked up at the sky. “It’s a full moon.”
Joe nodded. “They tell me that a full moon makes women horny.”
She laughed. “Who told you that?”
“I don’t remember,” he answered.
“You made it up,” she accused.
“Maybe,” he said. “But I’d better believe that all the food you ate does it. Caviar, pasta, fish, sorbet, lemon veal scalloppine, chocolate cake and ice cream.”
“Don’t remind me about it. This is only the first night on board and we have seven more in front of it. I’ll gain forty pounds,” she said.
“You’ll have to exercise,” he said. “There is a gym on board.”
“I never liked exercise even at school,” she said.
“Then let’s go to our stateroom. Maybe I can suggest another kind of exercise you might like.”
He held the door open for her as she entered the stateroom. “I don’t believe it!” she exclaimed as he closed the door.
“What?” he asked feigning innocence.
“Look at the bed,” she said. “The maid has placed a sheer black nightgown on my side. I’ve never owned a black nightgown.”
“I bought it for you yesterday and left it with the steward when we came aboard.”
Then she gestured to the small breakfast table. “Champagne and roses! No one can ever tell me that you are not romantic. Will you always be like this every time we go anywhere?”
He held up a small vial in front of her. “Cocaine.” He smiled. “You said you might like to try it.”
She stared at him. “Will it make me
crazy?”
“Happy crazy,” he laughed. He filled the champagne glasses. “Bon voyage, darling.”
“Bon voyage, darling.” She sipped, then put her glass down. “Let me undress quickly,” she said. “I can’t wait to put on my new nightgown.”
“First this,” he said, lifting up a tiny spoon. “It’s done like this.” Quickly he snorted a hit in each nostril, then held it out to her.
She looked at him apprehensively.
“It won’t hurt you,” he said. “Sniff hard.”
She did exactly as he told her. Then she sneezed. “It burns,” she said.
“Give it a moment,” he said. Then he saw her eyes begin to brighten and sparkle. “How does it feel now?”
“Wonderful. Suddenly I don’t feel full or tired anymore.”
“Then let’s get undressed,” he said. He took off his tie and jacket and shirt and turned to her.
Her dress was on the floor and she lay naked on the bed, not wearing the nightgown but holding it between her breasts and down her body between her legs.
“Jesus!” he exclaimed. “You look exactly like a French whore!”
She laughed. “That’s what I always wanted to be,” she said. “Now get your pants off and fuck me.”
38
“THE OUTLINE AND the five chapters of the new book are very interesting. I’m sure that we can develop a very strong deal for it. I personally know several publishers who will go all the way with it.” The attorney nodded very judicially. “I must congratulate you.”
Joe glanced at Laura. “It’s not me alone,” he said. “If it were not for Laura’s editing and advice, it would not be even half as good.”
Laura smiled. “Thank you, Joe. But don’t forget that it was you who did the writing. I am not a writer.”
“You make a good team,” the lawyer said, smiling. Then he turned to Joe and said seriously. “Meanwhile we do have a real problem. According to the records that I have gone through, you have not filed your Federal income taxes for the last two years.”
“I didn’t think I had to,” Joe said. “I’ve been working in Europe all that time.”
“You are still responsible for filing income taxes.”
“Have they called me on it yet?” Joe asked.
“Not yet,” the attorney answered. “But they will soon. I know how they operate.”
“Why don’t we wait until they come after it?”
“If they do that, it will be too late. They’ll come down on you like a vulture. They’ll strip you clean. Not filing a return is a criminal offense. Filing and not paying is simply a collection job for Internal Revenue.”
“Then what do I do?” Joe asked.
“I will prepare your returns and we will file them with the excuse that you were working outside the country and didn’t realize that you had to file. That way, all you will have to do is pay interest and a small penalty on the tax.”
Joe stared at the lawyer. “About how much will that cost me?”
“Thirty-five or forty thousand dollars,” the lawyer said.
“Shit!” Joe said disgustedly. “That will almost clean me out. It’s more than sixty percent of what I have in the bank.”
“It’s better this way than if they catch you. Then they’ll lien everything you have—not only the bank accounts but the monies your publishers have to pay you in royalties.” The attorney nodded emphatically. “Just pay the man the two dollars.”
Joe laughed. That was the first time he realized that the attorney had a sense of humor. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll leave it up to you. But we better make a quick deal on the new book.”
“The important thing is to get a good deal,” the lawyer said.
Joe turned to Laura. “How do you feel about it?”
“He’s right, Joe,” she said. “Let him do his job and you continue to do yours. Write the book.”
“Don’t worry, darling, I’ll write the book. I just hope we get the kind of deal we want.” He glanced at his watch. “Jesus, it’s after two o’clock already and I promised my parents I would meet them at the market before three. My father is selling his share of the market this afternoon and they want me to be there. They’ve already sold the house, and Saturday they move out. My brother has his practice in Fort Lauderdale and he found an apartment for them in North Miami.”
“They’re flying?” Laura asked.
He laughed. “You don’t know my mother. She won’t fly. She won’t even take the train. They’re going to drive down.”
“Is that good, with your father’s heart condition?”
“They’re going to take it slow. Only five hours a day on the road, and probably she’ll be driving most of it.” He rose from his chair. “I’ll be running now.”
“Are you having dinner with them?” Laura asked.
“No,” he said. “My mother said she’ll be too busy to do anything except pack. I should be at the apartment by about seven or eight o’clock.”
“I’ll have something for dinner for us,” she said.
“Don’t trouble yourself.” He kissed her cheek. “We’ll go out for dinner.”
The attorney waited until Joe had left, then looked at Laura. “I haven’t heard anything about your plans.”
Laura met his eyes. “I haven’t made any plans.”
“Is that wise?” the lawyer asked. “He can walk out on you any time. It’s not as if you were married.”
A secret smile lurked deep in her eyes. “I’m not worried about that. A piece of paper never kept anyone, man or woman, together if they wanted to go.”
“But you do want to marry him, don’t you?”
She laughed. “Even the wisest men are stupid when it comes to women. And I’m surprised at you, Paul. He may not know it yet, but he will marry me. Not because I want him to, but because he wants to.”
It was just a little after three-thirty as Joe hurried out of the subway. The streets and stores were crowded as Joe turned down the block to his father’s market.
His father’s car was in front of the door and the Italian had parked his truck in the alley. Joe opened the door and went inside. His mother and father were closing a brown envelope and were tying envelopes in batches.
His mother looked at him. “You’re late already, your father and me have been here since six o’clock in the morning.”
“But I’m here now,” Joe said. “What do you want me to do?”
“Take these batches of envelopes, we’re putting them into the trunk of the car,” she said.
“Okay,” he said. He saw his father sit down in his desk chair. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“A little tired,” his father said. “But I’m all right.”
“When is the Italian bringing over your money?” Joe asked.
“He’s out of it,” his father said. “The Mafia wanted him out too. They are going to change the place into an auto-mechanic yard and garage.”
“I thought he wanted it for himself.”
“He did but the others have the right connections. He’s loading his chickens and going down to his brother-in-law’s stall in the market on Atlantic Avenue. He’s going to be only in the wholesale business. He’ll get along.”
Joe was silent. He began to load the car. It took only a half an hour to get everything out. He looked at his father. “What about the furniture and fixtures?”
“It’s all old junk,” Phil said. “They can have it.” He took out his pocket watch. “They should be here any minute. They’re supposed to be here at four o’clock.”
“You have the papers?” Joe asked.
“I have them ready to sign,” Phil said. “They’re giving me the money right away. All in cash—no check.”
“That makes me feel a little more comfortable,” Joe said.
The buyers were exactly on time. Of the three men two seemed really tough; the other was introduced as their lawyer. Quickly they signed the papers and one of them handed an envelope to Phil. Phi
l opened it and checked the bills. He looked up at them. “I was supposed to get five thousand. This is only four five.”
“Five hundred for the lawyer’s fee,” one of the men said.
“But I was never told about that,” Phil protested. He began to get angry.
“That’s normal,” the man said. “The seller pays all the bills.”
Joe looked at him and then at his father. “That’s right, Papa,” he said. “Let it go. It’s done now. You already signed the papers.”
Phil was silent for a moment. “Okay.” Then without saying another word, he walked out of the store and got in the car.
Joe stood next to the window of the car and looked at his father. “Do you mind if I drive?”
“No,” Phil said.
Joe opened the rear door for his mother. She looked up at him. “Before we go home,” she said, “stop at the East New York Savings Bank on Pitkin Avenue. I want to put this money in the bank right away.”
“Okay,” Joe said. He slipped into the driver’s seat, started the car and moved out into the traffic.
When she returned from the bank, Joe asked, “What about your plan for Florida?”
“We took the offer of thirty-five thousand for the house, but you know your father, he says we should have gotten forty.”
Joe looked at his father. “Thirty-five is good.”
“Moving the furniture down there would cost five thousand, along with other things,” his father said.
“You’re planning to move into an eight-room house there?” Joe asked.
His mother spoke from the back seat. “No, Stevie has found for us a four-room apartment near the beach. My friend Rabinowitz who moved there six months ago told me everything is dirt cheap. You can buy enough furniture for a whole apartment for fifteen hundred dollars.”
“It doesn’t make sense to move your furniture,” Joe said. “You ship only your linen and kitchenware. You’ll probably get more than a thousand dollars from a secondhand furniture dealer.”
Joe stopped the car to allow the traffic on Pitkin Avenue to pass so that he could turn into the lane. He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the sign on the fence around his father’s market. They were already taking it down. He looked at his father. His father’s face was sad and it seemed as if there were tears in the corners of his eyes. Joe reached over and touched his father’s hand. It was trembling. “Don’t feel bad, Papa,” he said. “You did the right thing. Life will be a lot more comfortable from now on.”
The Storyteller Page 26
