by Alan Hruska
“Yes. You said. Small party. Family and you. Very nice. And”—he nods gently in his nephew’s direction—“she’s in love with you now?”
“It’s a bit early for that, Uncle.”
“Oh, yes? Young people like you? In my time, we fell in love—and out of it—in a flash. Like lightning.”
“This is different.”
“Ah,” Sal says. “So you’ve fallen for her.”
“I think we’re both at the same stage.”
“Oh? And where is that?
“We think we may have something remarkable.”
Sal laughs, which sounds like the rumble of a large animal’s stomach. “No offense, my dear nephew. But throughout the history of the world, every couple who thought themselves in love also thought, at the beginning, it was remarkable. Only later to learn it was not.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Uncle.”
“While all the time you’re thinking, no, no, we’re quite different.”
“I wouldn’t contradict you, Uncle, even in my thoughts.”
Sal laughs again, this time slapping the table. “Good boy. You really are. So tell me, have you been intimate with her? Sexually intimate?”
“No, Uncle.”
“She won’t know she’s in love with you, Tino, until she makes love with you.”
“It’s a bit early for that too.”
“No, really, my boy, it’s not. She’s of a marriageable age. She could have babies.”
A married couple—the man tall and gaunt, the woman squat and beefy—arrive to clear the table, which gives Tino time before answering. “Uncle, with the greatest respect,” he says, when the couple depart. “This could work very well—very naturally and very well—if not rushed.”
Sal looks displeased by this. “Do you understand what that means in this situation? For us? ‘Work well’?”
“I think so. That her money stays in the family.”
“Stays?” says Sal. “Not quite the right word here. The money she came by left the family. At present, it stays with her. To become the family’s money once again, it must be returned. And for that to happen most gracefully, she must be returned to the family.”
“Which would happen if eventually we were married,” Tino says.
Sal puckers his lips into a round, musing position. “You say ‘eventually.’ I had in mind a more abbreviated schedule. The longer the delay, the greater the risk. While we are being patient, the fortune might be spent, given away, invested unwisely… or appropriated by someone else.”
“It’s likely her adoptive father would look after her… and her money.”
“You say her money.”
“The family money,” Tino says, correcting himself quickly. “Yes. And this adoptive father. The one who killed my cousin. You’re prepared to trust him?”
“He wouldn’t steal from her.”
“You know this already?” Sal says. “You’ve met him once, and you’re sure?”
“Hasty judgment, Uncle. Sorry”
“I can’t afford to make such judgments.” Sal rises. He’s not a tall man, but somehow imposing at full height. “I’m sorry, my boy. Your head’s not in the right place on this. In some ways, you are my natural heir. And yes, I know, you want to become a member of this family. A real member. But you’re not thinking like one. You’re thinking this old man—me—already has so much money! Why does he need this girl’s money? But what you should be thinking is famiglia. Pride of famiglia! You’ve been raised as an Angiapello, now think like one! People not admitted to our family should not be allowed to keep what’s ours! Amount is not the point. The point is affront! Her possession of this amount is an affront! To the famiglia! You understand that?”
“Yes,” Tino says, having trouble articulating this simple word.
“Do you?” Sal’s voice sounds sad, not believing.
“I do, Uncle, yes. So tell me. What’s best?”
Sal waves off the couple about to arrive with dessert. “What’s best, Tino, I’ve already said. Not to wait. No need for waiting. Act now, my boy!”
“We’re too young to be married, Uncle. I think it may even be against the law.”
“Oh, yes? Whose law?”
“The law of this country!”
“Then go somewhere else.”
Tino looks mystified, then troubled.
Sal laughs. Adopts a total alteration of demeanor. Becomes an uncle who’s only been fooling with his young nephew. “Look, Tino, you’re doing fine. You should just continue. And of course keep me informed. We’ll work this out, you and I. One step at a time. Okay?”
Tino, while uttering the sounds and words of agreement, knows it’s very far from being okay—knows he’s been slapped in the face. The night, for him, has lost its good nature and promise.
Jesse, reading in bed, decides to call it a night, when she hears a knock on her door.
“Saw the light on. Can we talk?” The voice behind the door, a bit thick, is still recognizable as Karol Stash’s.
“I was just turning in,” she calls out.
“It won’t take long. Something important.”
“Can’t it wait ’til the morning?”
“This conversation through the door,” he says deprecatingly, “is getting….”
“All right, all right.” She looks for her bathrobe.
“I’ll come in,” he says, and does so, barging.
“Whoa!” she says, caught getting into her robe.
As she scampers back under the covers, Stash, still in his suit, still carrying his attaché case as if he might need it for this meeting, slumps down on the one chair in the room and lets out a sound of mixed mirth and exhaustion. “Never fear. I’m quite civilized.”
In a voice of undisguised scorn, Jesse says, “Were that true, Mr. Stash, you’d not be on this side of that door.”
“It’s been a long day, Jess. Can we drop the formality?”
“Just… say what you have to say that’s so urgent.”
“It’s not urgent,” he concedes. “But morning’s not a great time for this subject.”
“And this is not a great time—or place—for any subject.”
“Okay,” he says. “You’re tired and pissed off at me. Sorry. But you know I’m a good guy, so listen. And I do mean listen. You might have a negative reaction at first, but then sleep on it. I hope you will see that what I suggest makes sense. Makes sense for both of us, maybe even more for—”
“Can this preamble come to an end, please?”
“Yes,” he says. “Quite right. End of preamble. The thought I had was this: we’re both young people. You’re a bit younger than I, but probably equal on the curve, if you get my meaning.”
“You have a meaning?” she says, not hiding her scorn.
“Well, let me put it this way. We are both unattached, yet live here in a state of propinquity. The curve I made reference to was the curve of very natural, very healthy desires. Sexual desires. At our time of life. So I wanted to say, there need not be a door between us. I am available to you. I realize what I’m proposing is unconventional, but that’s me. An unconventional kind of guy. Obviously, I wouldn’t have said anything if I weren’t attracted to you. Or if I didn’t think the attraction might be reciprocated.” He gives her a contented smile and says, “I’m right, aren’t I?”
She says, “Are you finished talking?”
“I have said what I wanted to say.”
“Good,” she says, holding the covers to her neck. “I’m finished listening, and would like you to leave this room.”
“You’ve no reaction to what I said?”
“Apart from revulsion?”
“You don’t mean that.”
“You’re right,” she says. “I mean a great deal more.”
“So you will think about it?”
“Oh, yes.”
He rises unsteadily, his face showing the strain of a search for something clever to say. “In the morning,” he begin
s.
“Everything,” she interjects, “will be made clear to you in the morning.”
“So glad,” he says, apparently satisfied with that as his exit line.
At 2 a.m., Alec’s wrenched out of sleep by the blare of the intercom. The damn thing sounds rhythmic, as from jabbing fatigue. Alec yanks up the receiver. The doorman bleats his apology: “I would never have dreamed of disturbing you, sir—”
A loud scratch of static, as if someone has ripped the instrument from the man’s hand. “Alec, it’s me, Jesse. This kind man wouldn’t let me up—that’s understandable—but was prevailed upon to call. I would not be here, unless—”
“Jess, just put him back on, okay?”
Alec directs the doorman to send Jesse up, then proceeds to the bathroom where he splashes water on his face before opening the front door.
“You’re in your underwear,” Jesse says.
“You noticed.”
“Would you like to put on your bathrobe?”
“I don’t own one,” he says.
“Of course. Why would you.”
“Are you offended?”
“Not in the least,” she says. “Alec—”
“Why don’t you come in? Take the room down the hall, next to Sarah’s. Whatever it is that drove you here in the middle of the night, we can talk about in the morning. Or at least when I get back. I’m on an eight o’clock to Cleveland. In any event, you’re more than welcome to stay as long as you like.”
“Thank you, Alec.”
“You’re welcome, Jesse, and goodnight.”
FIFTEEN
Larry Rilesman, getting up from his desk, says, “The counterclaim’s great, Alec; shouldn’t have dragged you out here. There’s only one thing.”
Alec glances around Rilesman’s office. “Morning, Larry. Any chance for some coffee?”
“Coffee, of course, sorry.” Rilesman picks up his phone, puts in the order.
“So what’s the one thing?” Alec asks, pulling up a chair that looks comfortable.
“You’ve put only your firm’s name on it.”
“Yes, I did that,” Alec says, without a change in expression, “because it will be my firm that will be prosecuting the claim.”
“You say ‘prosecuting.’ ”
“It being a claim,” Alec says, “it requires prosecution.”
“Yes, but we talked about this. You could be listed as lead counsel, but let another firm do the work.”
“Meaning your old Akron firm, Stevens, McKay. And I’ve considered that, but—”
“Stevens, McKay & Rilesman.”
“Yes, of course. No doubt it’s a fine, reputable firm.”
“But not up to your level.”
“I’ve no idea of its level,” Alec says. “Nor is that relevant.”
“Really? Firm from Akron. You put that down. Big New York lawyer like you.”
“Jesus Christ, Larry,” Alec says, rising. “I’ve told you. I don’t know the firm; I’ve never worked with it. And that’s not what matters here.”
“You’ve worked with me,” Rilesman says, getting up too.
“Look,” Alec says, trying to make the man understand reason. “We’re in a lawsuit. It’s a battle. You can’t have two generals leading your army. You want Stevens, McKay… and Rilesman to take over the case, that’s your prerogative. I will bring them up to speed, and the case is theirs. No hard feelings. My firm is overworked. I’m overworked. If your Akron group is good, and they have the time for this, you may be improving your situation.”
“You’re threatening me?” Rilesman blusters. “I bring another firm in, and you quit?”
“I’m advising you. For the good of our mutual client. You need a couple of days to think it over, consult with your CEO, Bob Curtis, talk to your board—that’s fine, just let me know as soon as you can.”
“Bob wanted to join us for lunch.”
“All right. Let’s thrash this out with Bob, then. You tell him why you think having two firms in the case is a good idea, and I’ll tell him why it’s suicidal.”
Rilesman reflects for but a second. “I’ll let you know my decision in a couple of days.”
His secretary—a plain-looking middle-aged woman—arrives holding out a cup of coffee like the offering of a plant.
“I’ll take that,” Rilesman says.
Alec grins at the woman and leaves, but not before receiving a surprisingly wry look from her in return.
Outside her school, Sarah spots Tino. As do most of her class, who part around the couple with backward looks, mainly smirky. Sarah waits until the last girl has passed.
“You can’t keep doing this, Tino.” She stands, looking up to him, in her camel hair coat open to her white collared blouse and short plaid pleated skirt, which is her school uniform.
“Destroying your reputation?” he says with a laugh.
“You think you’re not?” She starts walking to Fifth Avenue, he following, she allowing him to do so.
“I wanted to see you.”
“You could call,” she says. “Make a date.”
“I don’t want your dad picking up.”
“You afraid of my dad?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, he’s never home. You’ve no need to worry.”
“We should have telephones we could carry around,” he says. “Like Dick Tracy.”
She stops walking and faces him. “You want to see me, Tino? Then call.”
“Okay.” He brings his face down to hers so that their fogged breaths mingle. “You want to see me?”
She looks away, then back at him. “Yes,” she says.
“Good.” He stands up tall, hands in pockets, and she can see he’s cold in his Trinity basketball team jacket.
“Okay,” she says, as they resume walking up Fifth Avenue. “Let’s get you someplace warm.”
“My place?” he suggests brightly.
“Your place? You mean your apartment?”
“Right.”
“I’m to meet your mother at last?”
“She’s out,” he says. “Working.”
“Oh, yeah. What’s she do?”
“She’s a bookkeeper.”
“You going to tell me for whom?”
“She works for Uncle Sal.”
“Ah,” she says.
“Yes, true, the family business. But Mom just keeps the books.”
After a couple more blocks, Sarah says, “You will be good, Tino; I can trust you?”
“Sarah,” he says, getting all serious, “your person is sacred to me.”
“Sacred?” she says. “Where’d you get that?”
“I go to church,” he says, a bit hurt.
“Well, calm down, choirboy. I’ll take regular gentlemanly behavior.”
They see a crosstown bus on Ninety-Seventh Street and make a run for it.
Tino lives in an apartment on West Ninety-First Street between Broadway and West End Avenue. It’s two bedrooms facing the courtyard, small living room on the side street, kitchen with a corner table for two. Sarah utters the first thought in her head. “Two places.”
“I told you. My dad’s not living.”
“I know. I’m sorry. You did say.”
“I don’t remember him. Either of them. They died when I was too young.”
“It’s just so awful.”
“I guess you’d know.”
“Yeah, great,” she says. “I do. We come from a really great family.”
They’re standing in the kitchen, an array of old-fashioned appliances and wooden furniture, which his mom has left spotless. “Want a soda?” he says.
“Whatcha got?
He opens the refrigerator. “One Coke, one Dr. Pepper.”
“You choose,” she says.
“No, absolutely not. You’re the guest.”
“I don’t really care, Tino.”
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll take the Coke.”
“That’s what I wanted,”
she says.
He looks at her, sees she’s kidding, and they laugh. She then yanks the Dr. Pepper from the fridge and starts walking to his room. He follows with the Coke and opener.
“Nice records,” she says, leafing through his collection. Then, “Omigod! You’ve got the new Beach Boys album! Can we play it?”
“It’s too fast,” he says.
“Too fast,” she says. “I see. Not the right mood for seduction.”
He bounces down on his bed, a narrow affair of quilt and maple, which he’s already outgrown. “Join me?”
“So what happened to sacred?”
“I want you with me in this bed,” he says. “You want to be with me in this bed. Why are we even talking about it?”
“You’re right, Tino. We shouldn’t have to talk about it. You already know.” She sits next to him. “Because if I lie down with you, our bodies will rub together, and we’ll get crazy, and then I’ll make us stop. And then you’ll be angry at me for good reason. Because I will have let us start.”
He sits up. “How can you know so much?”
“I read a lot.”
“You know you’ll get crazy?”
“Yes.”
“Even though you’ve had no experience—”
“I think about it, Tino. Just like you.”
“You think about our being naked together?”
“I’m not answering that question.”
“So that’s a yes.”
“It’s not going to happen, Tino, so talking about it just makes it worse.”
He laughs, jumps out of bed, and pulls her up with him. “I agree,” he says, takes her by the shoulders, and kisses her on the mouth.
She looks as if she might change her mind about the whole lying-down-together thing, when he says, “So let’s drink our sodas, listen to the Beach Boys, and watch each other being good.”
Alec arrives home late from Cleveland. He missed his scheduled return flight. As he was leaving the Allis-Benoit building, Rilesman caught up with him, reality having dawned. Whatever their differences, lunch with Curtis was not a date either of them could blow off. Hours later, bad weather over LaGuardia kept his plane in the air for an extra hour before forcing a landing in Philadelphia. Alec then spent almost two hours getting to and sitting in the railroad terminal, before boarding a train to New York. It’s close to midnight when he opens the door to his apartment. Nonetheless, Jesse is waiting up.
