The moment I closed the door of my car, she grasped my hand and placed it inside her blouse. Her breast was hot and pulsating; her heart was beating a million miles an hour. Carla’s body seemed to undulate like an erotic serpent, drawing me ever closer. There were no subtleties, no niceties, what for? We were two hot blooded teens who lusted for each other. She reached down and opened my pants, and with so much excitement, I was ready to explode. My hand fumbled with the opening of her pants; her mouth scoured my body, she was panting. I plunged my hand down; this lioness was wet and molting hot. Love was not in the air at that moment. Instead, the car was filled with debauchery and brutish foreplay. Her tongue found its way to my ear, and as my fingers undulated, so did her tongue, it was incredibly erotic. She purred, “Ant, put it in.”
Her voice startled me, rousing me and violently yanking my conscious from between her two legs back to where it belonged. It was sobering, like being violently sucked through a vortex. I pulled my hands away, “Carla, I’m sorry, I can’t do this!” If the two of us made love at that moment, it would be doubtful if Gia would ever find out, but girls can be spiteful, and why chance it?
(Why? Hey, stupid, take a gander at her! Every momo in Brooklyn would kill to be you right now!)
As I sat back, she leaned forward and purred again, “Are you sure?” As those words rolled off her tongue, her head went down, and she grasped me between her sensual lips, I groaned in ecstasy. She went further, her hand and mouth stroking up and down, the pleasure was unimaginable.
But I couldn’t get Gia out of my mind; I needed to either get tougher or listen to my conscious! This middle ground guilt was no good to anyone. “Carla, stop. I can’t do this.” I pulled my pants up and leaped out of the backseat before my willpower caved.
Why had I put myself in this position in the first place? It wasn’t fair to Carla, not to mention the love of my life. I stumbled across the parking lot, Carla followed suit, grabbing me and bursting into tears, “Ant, I love you so much.”
“Carla, I love you too.”
“Then, why?”
“I love you, but I’m in love with Gia.” Sure, it sounded like lines from a sappy movie showing on the boob tube at 4 am, but I was sincere. I gently pushed Carla away and kissed her on the cheek, “Let me take you home.”
She rubbed her cheeks dry and became angered, “No, I’m staying out. If you don’t want me, I know someone will.” I wasn’t sure what she meant, and I cared for her too much to allow her to do something rash. “Carla, get in the car, I will not let you do anything stupid.”
“You can’t stop me.” She pushed me away and disappeared into the dark. Should I go after her? I had done enough damage. I got back into my car, and although I hadn’t made love to her, waves of enormous guilt came over me. I couldn’t rationalize what I did; it was wrong, and if Gia had done less, I would have gone wild. I thought long and hard, I would take the coward’s way out, I would not be upfront about it, but would I lie if she confronted me? Unfortunately, I already knew that answer.
Chapter 13
Temptations
“Anthony…Anthony!”
“What, Ma?”
“Pick up the line.” I was groggy, still tired from the night before, but I recognized Gia’s voice immediately. Fright and guilt are terrific wake-me-ups.
(My God, did someone see Carla and me together last night?)
(Did they tell Gia?)
(Act normal, take the preemptive first strike)
“Good morning sweetheart, are you enjoying the lake?” I could hear a gentle, almost inaudible, sobbing.
(She knows!)
“Ant, it’s about Carla.”
(My heart stopped, who told her?)
I needed to keep some semblance of plausible deniability. “Carla? Ah. Ah…What’s up with Carla?” Her words spilled out with a rainfall of tears, “She was raped last night!”
(What! Is she accusing me of rape?)
“Rape! What? What are you talking about?”
“Ant, it’s awful, apparently after the club, she was grabbed near the White Castle by a group of Puerto Ricans. They beat and raped her. She’s in the hospital!”
An undeniable sense of cowardice now dislodged overwhelming feelings of guilt and the panic of being caught red-handed. How could I think of myself first, then intense rage took over. I needed to come clean right then and there, “Gia, I was with her last night.”
“You were?”
“Yes, I was with her at that damn White Castle!” Gia wasn’t suspicious at all, instead her concerns were for Carla, “Did you see anything?”
“You mean, did I see any Hispanics? No.” Gia could hear the anger in my voice.
“Ant, don’t do anything stupid.”
*****
Deep wounds had been inflicted on our neighborhood once again. Everyone adored Carla, but before the order for retribution, we needed to embrace our friend, our sister, our daughter, and care for her. Albert Columbo was so enraged; he packed up the summer house and brought his family back to Brooklyn. The moment he returned, he summoned me to his house. “Anthony, were you with Carla last night?”
“Yes, sir. In fact, we were together at the White Castle.” At that precise moment I overheard Gia speaking to someone at their front door, she solemnly entered the room and whispered to her father, “It's Mr. Verona, he would like to speak to you.”
Ordinarily, I would leave the room, Vincent Verona was part of Albert’s crew, and their conversations would be secret. I stood up to leave; Columbo firmly pointed at me, “Anthony, stay where you are!” My heart skipped a beat.
Verona entered the room, different angles of his face expressed both searing rage and intense sadness. Albert rose from his chair, as though he was a mighty emperor, and they embraced. Verona never looked my way. Columbo’s deep voice took command of the room, “Vinny, I came back the moment I heard, how is your daughter?”
“She’s recovering; thank God there are no broken bones.” What Verona didn’t mention was the most damaging of all, the fact that someone publicly violated her. Bones would heal.
Verona began to lose his composure, yet made men were expected to suppress their grief. Columbo grumbled, “Vinny, please, get ahold of yourself.” His temperature began to soar, “I swear on my daughter's head; this will not stand!” Columbo then growled, “Vincent Verona, you know me for years, I will…”
Albert suddenly caught himself, stopping short of saying more. Such rampant words for these Men of Honor were more dangerous than a gun. Yet those very few, deliberate, yet unintelligible syllables were to tell Verona everything he needed to hear. “Carla is like a daughter to me, and I will not allow this to stand…frato mio.”
This was not Danny Gallo speaking; this was a boss and a mobster who was feared and respected by the entire city. Verona grasped Columbo by the hand and kissed him, “Grazie Alberto.”
I knew then that Columbo was accepting me. He allowed me a modest glimpse into his world. I had just witnessed a promise of revenge, and Verona knew that this revenge would be sweet.
*****
I felt such shame. My initial instinct was my well-being, and allowing Carla to wander off that night was grating at me. The guilt of abandoning her was festering. Remorse hit me like a sledgehammer.
Gia and I would go together to see Carla in the hospital; if she were to say something to Gia, I would have to find the courage and come clean, allowing the cards to fall where they may.
To me, a hospital always resembled a prison, and the patient's unwilling inmates. The corridors were stuffy, and the air had a perpetual undertone of bleach. The walls were mundane and scraped in p
laces from the hundreds of trolleys that patrolled the hallways. The pictures on the walls were cheap benign prints of uplifting scenes, similar to the ones at the Gateway Motel, and above the double doors leading to the patient quarters were large plastic signs warning of the class of infirmities that lie just ahead.
As we approached her room, I could see a mix of police and knock-around-guys from the neighborhood all standing side by side. On one side were hulking fellows hovering over the nurse’s station menacingly talking about vig payments, while on the other were Irish cops, milling about while keenly questioning locals.
Just outside her room, my friends congregated, blustering about driving to the Bronx and ‘setting things straight.’ Vincent Verona was off to the side, being polite, but entirely uncooperative with the detectives. The fate of the scum involved was already sealed. What did Verona, or all of us for that matter, need from the police?
Gia held my hand as we entered the room. There were flowers, balloons, and cards everywhere. So much love, so much angst. In between were the stands for intravenous drips and monitors. My eyes stayed fixated on the floral arrangements, and intermittently, glimpsed down at Carla’s face. Thank God, she’s sleeping!
Both of her eyes were severely bruised, and her lip had been split open. Carla’s brother, Gerard, crept up behind me. I felt a twang of apprehension from his presence, “Anthony, can you believe what they did to my sister?” I was there for Carla, and only for Carla, but how was I to know what she might have said to her brother. I needed to hear what he had to say.
“Ant, those fucking spics…they raped her, and then they pissed on her!”
What? They urinated on her? How could another human being do such a vile thing? That humiliating and animalistic act caused a wave of anger to boil up inside me, “I want those motherfuckers.” I had the urge to join the brewing mob and find them.
Gerard’s sudden inquiry brought me back to earth, “Ant, you were with her last night, weren’t you?” Hmm, did I detect a slight air of suspicion in his question? Gerard was a hoodlum who had a fearsome reputation; he was notorious for being a hothead. The tone of his question caused Gia to gaze upon me with curiosity.
“Yeah, I was with her. We spoke for a while, and then I told Carla I would take her home.” I took a deep breath, everything I just said, though vague and self-serving, was truthful.
Gerard pressed further, “People said that you were in the parking lot with her.” Gia’s expression changed.
“Yes, I was in the parking lot with her, but I didn’t see anything if that’s what you’re asking.” I needed to show a little aggression at that moment, “Gerard, if I had seen anything, you wouldn’t need to ask.” At that moment, Carla began to wake; through her puffy eyes, she struggled to focus. There were over fifteen people crowded into her room, but I was the one she focused on, “Is that you, Anthony?” She reached her hand out for mine, putting me in a precarious situation. I could see that Gia was getting suspicious. I sank my hands deep into my pockets, “Carla, how are you feeling?”
“Terrible…look what they did to me.” Her brother’s anger boiled over, “Cocksuckers, wait till I get my hands on them. I’ll make their mothers wish they never met their fathers.” His fierce rage was drawing attention away from me. (Go ahead, Gerard; pick something up, throw it! That’ll do the trick!) His distorted anger bounced off every person in the room, making all quite uncomfortable. That was my chance to flee, and without uttering another word, I tugged on Gia’s hand, and we both slipped from the room. At first, she was reluctant, but she turned, and as we left, she blew a kiss to Carla and followed me out of the hospital. She remained silent for a few minutes, and before she could gather her thoughts, I decided to come clean.
(With as little details as possible!)
“Last night, I stopped by White Castle to get something to eat, and Vito and the crew were hanging out there.” I didn’t bother to look at Gia as I recited this abbreviated soliloquy, this needed to be said seamlessly regardless of her reactions. “Carla wanted to talk to me in the parking lot, but nothing happened.”
“Really?” She became emotional, “So, nothing happened? Ant, the way she looked at you in the hospital, said something else.”
“I know how it looks, but Gia, nothing happened.” At that moment, I feared I made a mistake telling Gia (even though this was the edited script) what had happened. Women have intuitions, and Gia’s bullshit meter was on high.
“Ant, I want to believe you, but I can see how she looks at you.” Gia was baiting me to tell her just a little bit more, but if I did, all bets would be off.
When the guilty are cornered; they either become overly sweet and considerate, or arrogant and offended. Those were always dead giveaways. I needed to stay calm and collected.
“Gia, it’s no secret; she has feelings for me, and I love her as a friend, but nothing happened!” I pushed on, “I love you more than life, and I wouldn’t allow anyone or anything to get in between us, not now or forever.”
The emotions I then exhibited screamed louder than rehearsed words or Carla’s bedside doe-like eyes. I had genuine tears welling up; that sincerity, she witnessed quelled her fears and suspicions.
Deep down, Gia knew! She was no dummy. It was more than her allowing me to get away with something. Gia understood that although tested by Carla, I had fought off the temptations (though not with flying colors). That was enough for her. She pulled me in tight, we embraced, and the matter was forgotten.
I understood then that Gia was a stronger person than I. If roles reversed, I would have been accusatory and jealous beyond belief. Instead, she turned the page and allowed our relationship to continue.
*****
“Listen to me, kid; get fucking pussy out of your head! It's ruined more fighters than I can name.” Now it was time to hear it from Tiger too. His concerns, as were Izzy’s, were valid. He heard through the grapevine about the drama with Carla and Gia, “Those damn Italian girls, they’ll be the end of manhood.” He scratched his head, “Do you know who Jack Blackburn was?”
“Was he related to Ralphie?”
“Hmm, come to think of it, you might be on to something!” He suddenly became impatient, “Kid, don’t interrupt my story! I’m talking about something else!”
“Come on, Tiger, just spit it out already.”
“Well, Jack Blackburn trained none other than Joe Louis.”
“Are you telling me I remind you of Joe Louis?”
“Are you sick? Hell, no!”
“Thanks.”
‘Stop interrupting me; I’m losing my train of thought. Now, the Brown Bomber loved women, and one day Jack warned him, he said, Joe,’ that’s what he called him, ‘women are like teabags, you don’t realize how strong they are till you put them in hot water!’ Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I should stay away from tea?”
“Close enough wiseguy, stay away from women! Concentrate on this fight, win it, and then you can drown yourself in all the pussy you want!”
He knew from his own past experiences that it was easier said than done. He recognized that the moment at hand required some additional levity, “You know what Smokin Joe once said to me?”
“You knew, Frazier?”
“Hell yeah, another Philadelphia fighter!”
“Wow, I heard he had the best-left hook in boxing.”
“Left hook? Do you want to hear what he said or what?”
“Tiger, will you just spit it out.”
For effect, he leaned over and spat on the floor at my feet, “One day after a tough day of training, he gave me a laugh. He said Tiger, that’s what he called me, ‘fighting is the only damn sport you can
get your brain shook, your money took and your name in the undertakers’ book.’"
“Look, Tiger, I have another Philadelphia fighter I need to shake, so can you help to tape me up? Or what?”
“Hahaha…Sure, kid.”
*****
As the bell sounded, I began my back and forth shuffle; rapid-fire hop-switches as I skipped rope. My favorite meteorologist, Tex Antoine, told us all that it was ninety-seven degrees outside with a hundred percent humidity! Only the bonafide maniacs trained that afternoon.
It was unbearable; the air was stale, heavy, and hard to breathe. Just standing still, the sweat poured off my body. Heat licked at my face and coiled around my body like an enormous hot-blooded serpent.
I opted to skip rope alone in a far-off corner of the gym for fifteen rounds. The clicking of the leather rope as it hit the wood floor resonated throughout the near-empty gym. I needed help, “Damn it; someone put some music on!” I needed to concentrate on something other than the intense heat. Tiger went over to the 8-track, and seconds later the sounds that emanated tasted of the ’50s;
Oh Mary, Mac, Mac, Mac
It went off the track, track, track
Can't you see I'm dyin', dyin', dyin'
My rope stopped swinging, “Tiger, what the fuck is that?”
“Hahaha…It's none other than Chubby Checker. Son, you wouldn’t know about him!”
“Well, Mac, Mac, Mac…change the track, track, track.”
Tiger accommodated; he always struggled with the player. He grumbled, but seconds later, the roaring funky sounds of Wild Cherry filled the gym so loud that people down below in the street thought we had become a disco. With a broad smile, he hollered, “Hey kid, how about that!”
Say Goodbye and Goodnight Page 14
