No morals meant less restraint. Dr. Cohen had a long, well-trimmed grey beard. He grabbed it with his hand, squeezing and tugging at it. It was a subconscious give-away to us he was zoning in on one of his female students. His perverse mind was wandering off to the Gateway Motel, and I swear, at times, you could see him salivate. When he realized he was noticed, his left eye would tic erratically. The girls who knew how to play the game invariably got higher marks.
Cohen’s lessons poured out from him in the same dull pattern it had for the past fifteen years, he even breathed in the same places. Like a reprieve from the governor, the bell screamed aloud. It was lunchtime, and that meant pizza, the cornerstone of any balanced diet! Jessica D’Angelo sauntered close to Cohen’s desk as we all left; she hesitated for a moment, looked back at him while biting the tip of her tongue, and flashed a devilish smile that offered pleasure beyond density, diffusion, and dilution. She then drove the stake through his heart, lifting her shorts slightly, giving him a brief view of her tan ass and winked at him. His head fell back, and he groaned aloud. I thought he would pass out. Fuck hydrogen and carbon! This here was the pure, salacious, breakfast of champions!
We had forty-five minutes before the bell for the fourth period would summon us back. We all crowded into a booth in Lenny’s Pizzeria, they dropped two bubbling hot pizzas into the center of our table, and in seconds, only crumbs remained. Jessica was sitting across from me. I gestured towards her, “I thought Cohen would blow a gasket.” She flashed a different type of smile, “Ant, do you want to see my secret weapon?” She slipped her shoe off and raised her leg, stroking my crotch with her wiggling toes, “Come-on Ant, let’s cut class and be bad…you know I always had a thing for you.” The rest of my friends at the table got a good laugh from her overt overtures. “Jessica, in another time, another life, I couldn’t say no to you.”
I always felt that it was favorable to compliment a girl as often as possible. As rugged as many of them professed to be; when you looked under the hood, they were all delicate creatures who craved attention. I slid myself out of the booth, and gingerly touched her cheek; our eyes connected, “You’re so beautiful, you only deserve the best.” So much more could be communicated through the eyes than ever through the spoken word. She knew well that my compliments were always heartfelt and were not meant to take advantage. Her eyes seemed to well-up, her steely guard dropped, revealing her soft, emotional underbelly. “Ant, that’s why I love you so much.”
*****
I waited in the stairwell before going to my last class. I hated geometry; what could a fighter do with an Isosceles triangle? Vito and Sonny knew precisely where to find me. “Ant, did you hear?”
“Hear what?”
“Danny Gallo didn’t waste any time. The head of the Savage Skulls was found shot to death this morning on Sheridan Avenue in the Bronx. They blew his head off while he sat in his car. They then doused the car with gasoline and set it and most of the block on fire. Firemen are still battling the blaze.”
I tried not to be hateful, but this hit too close to home. All I could think of was my cousin Angela; “Serves them fucking right.”
Sonny jumped in, “Yeah, retribution Italian style!” He seemed giddy, “Nobody dares to fuck with Danny Gallo.
Yeah, I thought; nobody dares to fuck with Danny Gallo…then why was Uncle Tony dead?
A more critical question, with Saturday night only two days away, who would stop this crew from Red Hook from coming down to our neighborhood and causing trouble? This time, it wasn’t only going to be Louie Baldassari; it would be the entire Cassaro crew!
It was my problem and seeking help from the likes of Gallo wouldn’t be prudent. I was alone, and it would be only a matter of time before this crew from Red Hook would seek retribution for last Saturday’s melee. I looked inwardly; it didn’t matter; I had too much going for me…no one could stop me now! As Martin Luther King said (I admired him, although, in my neighborhood, I couldn’t admit that to anyone), “If you can’t fly, then run. If you can’t run, then walk. But whatever you do, you have to keep moving forward.”
Chapter 9
Snorkeling
Gia deserved better than the backseat of my Monte Carlo, but where else could I be alone with her. Certainly not at her house, if things heated up, her father would murder me, literally.
The days were getting longer and longer. I picked up Gia from Fontbonne Hall; it was a private, all-girl high school her father insisted she attend. This was the last day of school, and it was time to celebrate. I liked school but hated homework (there goes that hate word again!). Summer vacation felt like a reprieve from prison. We made a beeline to Manhattan Beach, where most of the other liberated kids were running to. Unlike Coney Island, which was right next door, Manhattan Beach was Italian.
Before we left the car, Gia removed her top and slid her shorts off, revealing a string bikini. My heart stopped; Sophia Loren had nothing on her! I wanted to ask her to put her clothes back on; I didn’t want to share her with the rest of the world.
Gia wanted to be close to the water, as we threaded our way through the flocks of bronze-hued bodies, most of the beach sat up and took notice. At sixteen, she was already the kind of girl that women loved to hate. Sure, there were plenty of beautiful girls laid out and baking, but there was something different about my girl. She wasn't just flawless in her structure; her skin was like silk over glass, and she radiated an intelligent beauty from within that rendered her irresistible to both genders. Men desired her, and women courted her friendship. When people got to know her, they discovered her greatest attribute; she was all about modesty, making things simple, helping those around her to unknot and be content with what they had. Perhaps that is why she glowed, so; it was her inner beauty that lit her eyes and softened her image. When she smiled and laughed, you couldn't help but smile along with her. To be in her company was to feel you had been warmed in summer rays regardless of the season.
I spread my enormous Bronx Bomber’s beach blanket out and switched on the boombox as the two of us snuggled together. My touch was tender and careful; her lips were soft and inviting. Everything was perfect; the sweet falsetto melody of Nights on Broadway was drowning out the sounds of the ocean while creating a dramatic backdrop for our seaside love affair. Sure, I had experienced teenage crushes before, but I now realized what passion meant. As we kissed, her arms wrapped around me, and she rolled on top. She raised her head momentarily and laughed, “Ant, you make me so happy.”
“Gia, you do not understand how happy you make me.” She then became eerily quiet; she stripped me down to the core with her gaze, “Anthony, is it too early for me to tell you I love you?”
I was speechless, my heart was racing, and my stomach was jittery; she waited anxiously for my reply, “Gia, in love?” I tried to regain some semblance of composure, “Yes, wait, I mean no…it’s not too early. The truth is, I’m deeply in love with you.” Her dazzling smile returned, she playfully rolled me over again as we embraced. The rest of my world became a slight blur, banished into the far recesses of our minds.
The only thing that mattered was touching, kissing, and caressing her. I would cherish and guard these moments till the day I died. I knew she was special the moment I laid eyes on her, but this was beyond my wildest dreams. I was intoxicated by her.
Off in the distance, as the sun began to set over Staten Island, we both raised our heads from our lengthy embrace; to find most of the beach abandoned us. “Ant, guess what, we’re all alone.”
“Except for those seagulls staring at us over there!”
As I lay, she rested her head on my chest, “Ant, I love to watch you fight, but I fear for you. I’m so afraid someone will hurt you, baby.”
“Don’t worry; I’m going to be the cham
pion of the world!”
I then witnessed her expression or lack of it; she would not feed my ego by cheering me on. Gia wasn’t in love with chest-pounding and self-admiration. “Ant, I know you will, but I don’t want anyone hurting you.”
When she uttered the word hurt, my mind ridiculously shifted to Louie. I couldn’t stop myself, “Gia, can I ask you something?” She nodded, “How serious was your relationship with Louie?”
She must have expected this question at some point, but not minutes after professing her love to a person, she was only dating for a few moments. “No, it was not serious. I liked him in the beginning, but then he showed his true self, and that’s when I ended it.”
In a blatant display of adolescent insecurity, I took an errant step and slipped off the cliff, “Did you sleep with him?”
Her face soured, “How could you ask me that question?” She jumped up; her mood became severe, “Anthony, can you please take me home.”
How damn immature! She just professed her love, and my childish twangs of jealousy spoiled everything. “Gia, please come back, let’s not end this afternoon like this.” She continued to look away, “Please, I’m so sorry, it was stupid for me to ask you such a question…Gia, you’re my everything.” She began to soften, “Gia, I’m deeply in love with you; it was just my idiotic jealousy.” She knelt on the edge of the towel, “Ant, you have nothing to be jealous of. You are all I think of day and night…I’m in love with you!”
*****
I swore to myself that I would never doubt her again. It was later in the evening as we drove towards her house. We parked around the corner from her home; the street was dark; only the streetlights offered any illumination. “Do I make you happy, Gia?” With no sign of my previous lapse, “So, so happy.” Her face was bright; she had forgiven me for my brutish question.
Words were unnecessary; her mere presence made me tranquil. I couldn’t get enough of her; every kiss was like the first. We momentarily came up for oxygen, she checked herself in the rearview mirror, while I glanced out the driver’s side mirror. My eyes caught sight of something out of place; I desperately tried to focus.
That something was a man skulking along the long line of cars, too close; inching towards us. What caught my attention was that he was wearing sunglasses at night and sported a goofy straw wig. I didn’t want to frighten Gia, so I calmly reached for the ignition key. Before I could start the car, a German Shepard, on his nightly stroll across the street from us, began to bark. The hairs along the massive canine’s spine stood on end as he lurched forward towards the intruder. As I sat up and turned, the man became spooked, and jogged off.
“Ant, what’s the matter?”
I caught my breath, “Ah, it’s nothing, sweetheart.”
I wouldn’t let her know how close I felt we came. I kissed her and suggested we call it a night, although we would spend another hour on the phone together.
When I got home, I found it eerily quiet. Everyone was still at the hospital; my father would come back at the end of the week. I sat at the kitchen table and analyzed the nights' events; this was not a mere figment of my imagination. Evilness was lurking; we were all so vulnerable. If not for a pause in our passion, we could have both been tomorrow’s headlines. I bore a foreboding sense; I attempted to convince myself that it was just a silly premonition. I gave it far too much significance. But did I? I knew one thing, from that night on, Brooklyn had a reason to fear.
*****
I needed to know more. I began buying the newspaper daily. I scoured the pages for anything related to the .44 caliber killer. He was a brazen manic. He toyed with the police, challenging them to stop him. He had left behind a letter on his last victims that anointed him with his new moniker; the Son of Sam.
“I say goodbye and goodnight” appeared so ominous. His rage was palatable, a sweet sort of fear fed the monster. He was the hunter, and he viewed us all as simple prey. I was now sure of it. That figure I encountered the night before must have been the killer. If it wasn’t for that dog, we could have been just another couple slaughtered.
As it has been said many times before, “Fear is wisdom in the face of danger.” In boxing, we are taught to face fear, accept it, and then bury it deep in the recesses of our guarded psyche. In this frightful situation, simply suppressing my concern would not do it! I was not faster than a speeding bullet, and sure, I might be more powerful than a locomotive, but this Superman now feared there was more than one Lex Luthor, and Gia had become my kryptonite!
*****
I wanted to get a quick trim before going to the gym. As always, Jimmy Shoes Barber Shop was bustling. As I entered, Shoes gave me a big hello, “Hey hayadooin kid, come and park your ass right over here.”
The shop was a chattering hen house of nonsensical neighborhood gossip. Frankie “Bats,” an eighty-something-year-old gangster, was a fixture in the corner, preoccupied by the scandals whirling around the room while chewing a glob of Bazooka gum and scratching a lottery ticket.
The entrance to the barbershop was welcoming to all. It was one of the few places I felt comfortable enough to bring up the happens from the night before. Jimmy was as smooth a character as any in the neighborhood. He had slicked-back hair, a sizable diamond pinky ring along with a tangle of gold around his wrist. He doused his body with so much cologne, Pierre Cardin was getting a restraining order. He bedded so many middle-aged women in the neighborhood when he opted to go directly home after work, Pippi Passero called it “a crying shame.”
As Jimmy began snipping away, I tested the waters; “Shoes, what do you hear about that .44 caliber killer?” Just then, Georgie Robusto burst from the bathroom without shutting the lights behind him, “Oh Georgie, how many times do I gotta tell ya? I’m not married to the electric company!”
Georgie was not the sharpest tack in the box, a clownish twenty-two-year-old who collected the numbers for Willie Potatoes Inzirillo. He spent so much time in the barbershop; Jimmy should have given him a pair of scissors.
Attempting to aggravate Shoes further, he flashed a ridiculous grin from ear to ear, his head nodding up and down like an absurd bobblehead doll.
Needing a cigarette, Shoes stopped cutting. His attention turned back to me, “The .44 caliber killer…in our neighborhood? Fuhgeddaboudit!”
Frankie jumped in, “I got news for ya, if he had the balls to show his face around here, we’d stick that fucking gun right up his ass!” With such blatant arrogance, I figured it was time to rain on their parade, “Look, fellas, I was sitting in a car last night over by 85th Street…”
Before I could finish my sentence, Georgie Robusto chimed in, “and with that beautiful…
Shoes flipped his wig, “Oh! Who the fuck asked you? You know something; your sisters got a fucking head." Robusto attempted to retaliate, “Your mother's ass!” he then turned back towards me, “Ant, like I was saying…”
Shoes, not letting him get another word in edgewise hollered, “Listen to me, you fucken skinny molink, move that goddamn scash-a-bang from in front of my shop!”
Georgie's feelings were visibly hurt, “Shoes, don’t call my car that!”
Shoes was still ranting, “Georgie goddamn it! Stop busting my balls!”
Insanity was the norm at the barbershop, yelling and berating one another from morning till night. Their authentic colloquialisms had become a language all their own.
Shoes regained his composure, “Anthony, we know all about her. She was hanging around that pistol from Red Hook, the one you busted-up in the club the other night. Good for him, I heard he had it coming…”
Bats interrupted, “I know the girl, ain’t she Columbo’s daughter?”
I took a deep breath, “Yeah-yeah-ye
ah, but not for nothing, can I finish?”
The barbershop at once quieted, I was about to serve some juicy stuff, “So, we were parked last night on 85th Street, and a guy tried to sneak up on us. I’m sure it was the .44 caliber killer!”
They all knew I wasn’t a bean-shooter like Robusto; my words were taken seriously. Bats seemed agitated, “Something has to be done about that.” Even though he was elderly, he was not to be taken lightly. Bats was a guy who was rumored for generations to have done some of the heavy lifting for none other than Lucky. In our parts, Lucky was a sacred name, and when mentioned, men lowered their voices in deep reverence. Bats growled, “This fuckin mutt has to be stopped!” He softened his voice and gestured with his hand, “I’ll talk to a few people.” His message had a lethal aura about it, “Not in our neighborhood!”
*****
Izzy kept an arduous schedule of training for each of us. It was always posted right outside the locker room. Today was what I called “grinding-it-out-day.” Once a week, I did an array of exercises to strengthen the muscles around my head and neck. Not that they were any more difficult than others; it was that I looked foolish doing them. I began by lifting weights using a leather neck-harness that went over my head. Seated on a stool, with forty pounds dangling from the strap, I had to lift my head up and down ad nauseam. If that wasn’t bad enough, Izzy also had me doing jaw chews. He had a piece of stiff rubber (God knows where he found it) (I was afraid to ask). While I stood where he could watch, I had to chew on it for an hour, as though I was Elsie the cow chewing her cud. According to Izzy, these humiliating acts would prevent me from getting knocked out.
Say Goodbye and Goodnight Page 9
