We returned to our respective corners as the referee ordered, “Seconds out!” A moment later...
The bell rang!
...and I became the predator. I stood tall for a moment, again pounding my gloves. It was as though the hungry lion shook his mane and licked at his paws. The volume of the mob became muted; I heard not a single sound. Everything around me became awash in color; my focus was on the fighter standing before me; the rest of the world was unimportant; it all faded away as I attacked. I threw two jabs; he skittishly jumped back, avoiding them. His fear was palatable; I crouched like the great cat about to pounce on his prey. In a wave of frustration, this lion stood at the edge of the jungle and let out a thunderous roar. It was nothing like human speech or birdsong, but a raw power that began deep within my body and was cast into the night air with such force it would be felt for miles around. That initial blow signaled that the end was already near. I needed to cut the ring off; I wasn’t about to let him escape. I threw another jab; its quelling blow hit its mark. Its pain caused frightful doubt; it also turned him. I threw another, cornered, it overcame him with fear. Seconds were ticking off the clock; I was like a tightly wound spring. I threw another jab, followed by a vicious hook. It struck his liver and took all the air from him, causing him to bend in agony. He was positioned perfectly in the narrow confines of his own corner. I pounced, off-balanced, throwing my right with all my might, and as Izzy warned, it missed its mark. He leaped to safety at the last second, evading my blow. I lost my balance and fell to my knees. The volume of the arena was suddenly turned up; many thought he knocked me down. The referee waved his hand in the air, “No knockdown.” He cleaned my gloves against his shirt and signaled for the fight to continue. It enraged me. I charged, he ran, and before I could retaliate…
The bell rang!
Ralphie slid the stool under my ass as I sat. Sal was screaming; Ralphie was hollering, Izzy hopped in front of me and got into my face, “Tell me, what da fuck was dat? Didn’t I tell you to keep your balance? Now you listen to me.”
(Did I have a choice?)
Ralphie had an ice bag pressed on the back of my neck. To garner my attention, Izzy yanked it away and with little regard, pulled my trunks away from my body and shoved it against my male-parts! Wow! That ice bag dripping frigid water hit my testicles like a slew of icy thunderbolts!
(Boy oh, boy did I listen!)
“Now, kid, stop making me kvetch. Dat jab and dat hook, those are tings of beauty. Do ya understand me? You had him all set up for da kill. This guy’s a bum, take your time and finish tis!” He then looked up to the sky and muttered, “Oy vey!”
The bell rang!
Izzy leaped back onto the ring skirt while Ralphie yanked the stool from under me. As Ralphie was about to shove my mouthpiece back in, I stopped him for a split-second and turned to my brother, “Sal, what were you going to tell me?”
“Ah…well…you know that I love you.” I knew that wasn’t what he was going to say, but I needed to finish this. I charged across the ring like a fierce bull; forget the jabs, hooks or uppercuts, this was going to end now!
He threw two feeble jabs, which I ducked. (Is that all you got?) Then, as we squared off in front of each other, I threw an overhand right that hit him squarely on the chin.
Time became excruciatingly slow as I felt the bones in his face crumble. The strength drained from his body as his legs failed him.
Time suddenly ratcheted-up again as a combination of sweat mixed with blood sprayed the entire front row of onlookers. My opponent collapsed at my feet; the referee didn’t bother counting. He leaned to remove the mouthpiece as the fallen fighters’ corner rushed to his aid, carefully laying his limp body out on the canvas. He didn’t move for a few agonizing moments, but when he did, it relieved me.
They sat him on a stool. There was no pleasure in hurting a fellow fighter. I hugged him and kissed him on the forehead. I had a profound respect and appreciation for any man who dared to enter the ring; they were a rarefied breed. I never wanted to see anyone injured.
*****
“What da fuck do you call dat!?”
“Izzy, aren’t you happy for me?”
“Listen to me, buddy boy! Quit wit the Bowery Boy antics! You’re here to learn. Where was da jabs, da hooks?” As he cut the gloves off, he continued to rant and rave, “You will face guys who will see dat right of yours coming from a mile away!”
The ref interrupted him in a vain attempt to raise my hand in victory as the announcer shouted to the cheering mob, “At forty-two seconds of the second…” Just then, I saw Angela in my corner, tears of love, happiness, and sadness streaming down her cheeks all at the same time. The emotions of the past week were overflowing. As the mob roared, I became choked up, but then I saw who was at her side! My God, could it be? Yes! It was Gia!
I yanked my hand away from the startled referee and leaped out of the ring. The rattled ref yelled, “Kid, wait, they have to take pictures.”
“I’ll take’em later.”
The onlookers crowded around me, trying to join in the bliss of my victory. But, at that moment, no one else existed in the world. I pushed my way through, standing before her in all my sweaty glory, all the crude realism the world could handle.
“My God, you were just unbelievable in there.” Her smile made the world stop from turning, “Anthony, it was just so exciting!”
Even in all the post-fight chaos, I was drawn to her eyes. A million hues colored them and held a passion her face could not hide. Not contemplating the next syllables, I blurted out, “Gia, I could not stop thinking of you.”
Without a moment of hesitation, “Anthony, you’ve been all I have been thinking of too.”
Sal interrupted, “Ant, that was what I was trying to tell you.” I turned and kissed my brother; I loved him so. Nothing mattered, she witnessed me in my naked and most vulnerable form and loved it. Ralphie threw a towel around me, “Ant, don’t mean to interrupt you and your fan club, but we’ve got to our asses back to the locker-room.” With sweat dripping off my brow, she grasped the corner of the towel and lovingly wiped my face dry. She then stepped closer and gently kissed me on the cheek. That kiss was more potent than any punch I ever encountered. I wanted to scream from the rooftops; I’m in love with Gia Columbo!
Chapter 6
Mushrooms?
I spent the day after a fight, soaking hands in ice, dealing with aching shoulders, and a headache worse than any hangover you could imagine. If the fight went well, you'd be lucky not to be urinating blood, but through it all, there is the outright mental exhaustion. It is a long-lasting withdrawal where you have exhausted your significances, and a simple conversation becomes an annoyance. It takes time to return to humanity after such an adrenaline rush and intense focus all needed for a fight.
We got back from Atlantic City at four in the morning. Instead of sleeping in the back of the car, I peered out the window as we drove through Jersey and relived that moment of her kissing me over and over again.
My mother never had the stomach to watch me fight, but her anxieties and fears kept her up all night until I would return home. When I opened the front door, she was ecstatic, not because I won, but because I wasn’t hurt. She blithely went about cooking for Izzy, Ralphie, Sal, and I. She was a great cook, but in those wee hours of the morning, there was something extra special about her food. We all savored every morsel. Izzy and Ralphie, who lived their lives out of cans and hot plates, were in ecstasy. Ralphie wondered aloud, “Kid, how is it you have no problem making weight with all this luscious food, your beautiful mother cooks?” My mother flashed a little smile and bowed her ladle in recognition. As soon as we finished our last bite, she shooed them all away, “My Anthony needs his rest now.”
> I couldn’t sleep a wink, the images from the night before were whirling around my head like a helicopter out of control. The fight? Not really, those were being drowned out by the images of Gia. She consumed me. In the craziness of the post-fight, I had not thought to ask for her number. Angela whisked her back to Brooklyn before I could get another kiss. Nonetheless, it would be Saturday. I was to appear triumphantly at the club that night and receive my accolades from the neighborhood. For sure, Gia would be there, and tonight would begin our romance.
*****
It shocked my mother to see me up so early. “Anthony, aren’t you tired?” I leaned and kissed her on the cheek. Kisses such as those were kept in reserve for such “high crimes” as dirty fight-clothes left on my bedroom floor, or perhaps when I didn’t want to go to school, but mostly when I just wanted to express how much I loved her. The last category always got a warm, gentle smile from her.
I stepped out in the backyard and stretched my sore muscles. The air was crisp, but the heat of the coming summer was invading. I meandered amongst my father’s newly planted tomatoes and eggplants along with the saintly stone figures and the one lone statue of a dog, a grave marker of our family’s only pet, Gino. When Sal and I were young, we begged Saverio for a dog. One day with no warning, he came home with a two-year-old darling that a paesane of his couldn’t keep any longer. My father loved that German Shepard so much when he had to put him down, he received a permanent place of honor in my father’s beloved garden.
In the back was a hammock; this was my hiding place, my escape, I was the only one of the family who ever used it. With the glorious scents from the garden, it was the perfect space for any of my needs and many of my wants.
The sun was bright that morning, but a gentle breeze cooled the garden. My mother brought out her day-after remedy for my headaches, ice coffee brimming with vanilla ice cream; how could that be bad? As the hammock rocked my thoughts to faraway places, my mind flashed images of the past turbulent week. I endured an immense array of emotions in such a short span. It appeared Tony died such a long time ago, yet it was only a handful of days since we were all seated at our kitchen table enjoying life. Twangs of stinging pain and sorrow overcame me, yet the thought of the animals who murdered him caused a brewing rage to bubble up inside of me. Then came the image of Danny Gallo and his fitting offer of revenge. His act of reprisal would be ever so simple, so effortless, us just giving a nod to Mephistopheles. It would be an act of retaliation that could be truly sweet, savored by a wounded community, a reeling family, a grieving wife, and a devastated daughter, but I knew better. In this life, nothing came free of charge.
*****
Sal joined me in the garden. With everything that went on the night before, I didn’t have the chance to ask my brother how the first days of the police academy went. As he described to me in detail, I could see a radical difference in his demeanor. Tedious classes concerning procedure, communications, and basic criminal psychology were enthralling to him. His image became bright; his eyes widened; he was like a bird set free. Sal always seemed to be brooding over everything, yet now, he was animated and happy for the first time in his life!
Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw the old man. He stepped out in the garden to see how the fight went, but upon observing his firstborn, he lowered his head in dismay and returned to the sanctuary of the kitchen table. I felt regret for him; in my father’s mind, he not only buried Tony but also Sal. The sorrow aged him.
Saverio was a stubborn, proud man. Yet this was not a vain man; his motives were genuinely good; he lived for his family. He was a father who felt ultimately responsible for every aspect of our lives. From the moment we were born, he had already written the story of our lives in minute detail. Marriage? Of course, Saint Dominic’s! Wedding reception? Yes! The Elegante. (He had done all their stonework) We were to purchase our own homes in the same neighborhood. Our children would, you guessed it, go to Saint Dominic’s, and so on, and so on. Sunday dinners with the family were mandatory, no excuses! He even had a cemetery plot the size of Hoboken ready for us, our spouses, our children and theirs.
In his mind, he was building Mount Marino, and each of us was an integral building block. Now Sal threw a monkey wrench, causing the mountain to weaken. But I knew my father; he was a rugged man. If he could immigrate from the hills of Sicily as a youth, build a successful business, and a family of his own, it left little doubt he could remove & Sons from his truck and fix that brick that came loose from the mountain.
*****
Brooklyn became a different place on the weekends. The streets became alive. Beginning early in the morning, lines formed outside of bread stores, pastry shops, and pork stores. The avenue was awash in the Italian colors of green, white, and red. Seated as always in the back of the café on 18th Avenue was Calò Vizzini, his imperceptible influence comforted us. Across the street was Impellizzeri Imports, which sold Italian knickknacks, souvenirs, and music, blasting the sweet sounds of Renzo Arbore down the avenue. If you closed your eyes and breathed in the aromas that emanated from the storefronts and homes, and listened to the rolling, romantic language spoken, you would swear you were in Palermo. It was glorious.
I passed by Reno’s Candy shop. Inside, he had a soda fountain where you could always get a decent egg cream. In the back, along with the Yoo-hoo’s and Italian ices, Louis Randazzo held court. Better known as Cockeyed Louie, Randazzo, a former fighter, took “book” for Danny Gallo from one of the booths. That was a sad fate I would avoid.
Outside, Reno had a parade of wire racks that held dozens of different newspapers. I am ashamed to say; I was not the type of person who ever read the papers. For me, the only news I cared about was happening right here in my neighborhood. Yet that day’s headlines caught my attention. It forewarned of a peril that was getting closer. The dramatic caption said it all;
(c)
This sick manic, now known as the .44 Caliber Killer, struck again. He slaughtered a defenseless girl who was walking home from school in a quiet section of Forest Hills. He snuffed out her tender life for some unfathomable demented joy he found in it. Could anyone that deranged, be frightened enough not to prey on Brooklyn?
*****
After my first few pro-fights, I had enough money socked away to buy my dream car. I eyed her for a long time; she was a snow-white Monte Carlo, sporting crushed red velvet interior and swivel seats. This beauty was complete with a Blaupunkt stereo and cassette system. When I brought her home, it was as though I bore a swaddling infant. Sal hung a vibrant red Italian horn from the rear-view mirror, while friends and family tossed money on the floor of the back seat for good luck. Even Father Pete came over and blessed her for good measure.
Religion for us was on the tip of everyone’s tongue. It became entangled in everything we did. We were taught from an early age to trust without reservation. Yet faith was not religion. As I peered through the door that hope unlocked, I had doubts. Did that promise imprison us or set us free? Often it felt like God was far off in the distance, though there was always that affirmation of an unseen helping hand. Still, behind every twist and turn, a demon was hiding, waiting for that moment when we became bewildered by our hope and faith. Through it all, I’d realized that stumbling was not falling. (d)
*****
Vito and Sonny invited me to have a slice over at Spumoni Gardens. Pizza was one-third of the Holy Trinity. The trio comprised pizza, pasta, and meatballs, and not in that particular order, but a day without pizza was like a day without hair gel.
Spumoni Gardens made the best Sicilian this side of Palermo. People in the area recognized my new car by her license plate, Champ1. The kids in the neighborhood turned glamming parking spaces in front of the pizzeria into a lucrative business. They reserved free spaces for their fellow cugines while fo
rcing outsiders to tip them so they could park. As soon as they saw it was me, these resourceful valets moved an array of cars, parking my ride in front of the pizzeria. Being a fighter had its perks!
Vito already had a bench reserved outside. His usual harem of hot looking girls surrounded him. Our group always garnered attention from everyone, “Pete, the cop,” was no different. Sonny exclaimed, “Oh! If it’s none other than the Sheriff of Nottingham!” Pete came right over to congratulate me. We were brought up always to be suspicious of the police!
Peter Boyle was the oldest in a family of nine and hailed from the Rockaways section of Queens. Even though Pete went to school with my brother Sal and knew most of the people in my neighborhood, he felt it was his God-given right as a cop to put his hands in our pockets. Chee-Chee grabbed a slice, leaned away and spit in it, and then folded it, “Here you go, for my dear friend from Killarney, I put extra cheese in this just the way you Irish hoodlums like it.”
“You fucking guineas’ better watch your ps and qs.”
Chee-Chee smiled as Pete took a big bite, “Sure, officer, we’ll be good boys!” He flashed an evil grin, “Say, how about another slice to go?”
Pete instead gave Chee-Chee the “Bronx Cheer” by flashing his middle finger. As he sauntered away, Chee-Chee mumbled under his breath, “Cocksucker,” causing the entire table to erupt in laughter.
Mr. Barbati, the owner, brought out another bubbling hot pie straight from the oven. Seated next to me was Carla Verona, an alluring girl who I dated occasionally. Her father was a bookmaker who ran policy and was also a close confidant of Gia’s father, Albert Columbo.
Carla wasted no time, snuggling as close to me as she could, “Congratulations, handsome! I wish I could have been there.” Carla was not the type of girl any guy could ignore (including me). This sultry brunette didn’t play second fiddle to anyone. She hung a rack of double ds for all to see like a battleship prepared for combat. She sported a forceful personality that, at times, was in your face, requiring a confident beau. Yet underneath it all, she was insecure and vulnerable. Her vibrant smile was hard to resist, but inside it hid all her pain and hurt. She pouted, “Aren’t you going to get me a slice?” As I placed it in front of her, she grabbed me ever so close and gently kissed me on the cheek. The table became silent.
Say Goodbye and Goodnight Page 6
