Authors: Adam Pepper
The pillow came off her head and she looked up at me. “Sean?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“You love me, don’t you?”
“Of course I do, Mom.”
“I can always count on you, can’t I?”
“Of course you can. You can always count on me.”
She sat up on the couch. The gin must have settled in her stomach because she gulped and grabbed her belly. For a second, I thought she was going to throw up. But she recovered and smiled at me. Then she stroked my hair and said, “You’re a good boy, Sean. You always have been.”
“I do the best I can.”
“You do great. You’ll never be like your father or like Vinny. Will you, Sean?”
“No. Of course not. I’ll never be like them.”
She took a hold of my chin and forced me to look her in the eye, then said sternly, “Never, ever be like them. You be a decent man. You hear me?”
“Yes, Mom. I hear you.”
“Good. Good boy, Sean. Are you going out?”
“Yeah. Thought I’d get a slice of pizza for lunch.”
“Can you bring me home a carton of smokes and a liter of Beefeater, please honey?”
“Mom, you’re drinking too much and smoking too much. I don’t like it.”
“Sean, please. I’m your mother. Now be a good boy and bring it home for me.”
“Yes, Mom.”
I couldn’t say no to her. Even though I knew the shit was killing her. I could see it on her face, that leathery complexion she was getting; I could hear the onset of emphysema in her voice. She was just barely forty years old, twenty-one years my senior. I couldn’t stand watching it happen, but I couldn’t stop her either. I guess I just didn’t have the strength. I was finally making some money and contributing to the household after all those years of her working two and three jobs. Who was I to deprive her of her smokes and gin? I had the cash to buy it for her. I had to share it with her. I just didn’t know any other way to help her.
I should have tried harder.
I walked outside and up to Tremont Avenue, crossed over to the south side of the street then made my way down to Costa’s. The place smelled great. The coal brick oven was blasting and there were several fresh, steaming pizza pies laid out on display behind the glass counter.
I looked up and down the restaurant, then sat down on a stool at the counter and ordered a slice. It tasted every bit as good as it smelled. Just as Nicole promised.
There was no sign of her, though. After downing the slice, I got up and walked to the back area. No sign of her there, either. I used the men’s room and walked back to the front, then ordered another slice.
Finally, the pizza guy behind the counter asked, “You okay, man?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Fine. The pizza’s delicious.”
“Thanks.”
“No, thank you. It’s really good.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. Why?”
“You just seem a little fidgety, is all. Something up? You’re making me nervous, man.”
“Sorry. I’m fine. Really.”
The guy turned his attention to pounding dough into a circle for his next pie. I started looking left and right again. When I looked forward, he was looking at me again.
“Come on, man. Just tell me what it is. You’re freakin’ me out.”
“Do you know Nicole Torretta?”
He smiled instantly; the look felt malicious as his goatee curved with his chubby jaw line, but I didn’t find it condescending. Then he said, “Oh, now I get it. Of course I know Nicole. She’s in here just about every day.”
I nodded and grimaced a bit, then said, “Where is she? We were kind of, supposed to meet for lunch.”
“She isn’t exactly an early riser. She usually comes in around two, two-thirty.”
“Oh, I see.” And here, I thought I was the one who slept in. I stood up, reached in my pocket and took out a five. The slices cost a buck each, and I guess I was feeling like a big shot. I dropped the five on the counter and said, “Thanks, man. Keep the change. I’ll be back a little later.”
“I’m sure you will be.”
I walked outside and crossed the busy roadway, ignoring the green light and not bothering to walk down to the crosswalk. A livery cab honked at me while changing lanes; he didn’t slow down. I walked casually, as if I was bulletproof.
On the other side of the street was the liquor store. I bought a liter of gin and then walked next door to the bodega and picked up a carton of Virginia Slims.
When I got back home, I called out, “Mom. I’m home.”
She didn’t answer. I put the smokes and gin down on the table and was about to turn and leave again, when I heard a horrible noise coming from the bathroom. I walked over and gently knocked on the door.
“Mom? You in there?” She didn’t answer, but I heard gagging noises. “Mom, you alright?”
She coughed loudly then said, “Yeah. Yeah. I’m fine. You get my smokes?”
“Yes I did, but it sounds like you don’t need them.”
“Thanks. Just leave ‘em on the table.”
I shook my head, sighed, and walked out of the house.
A little after two o’clock I headed back up to Costa’s. A fire-engine red, two-door BMW was parked out front; matching red tassels hung from the rearview mirror. There was a parking meter on the sidewalk in front of the car showing expired.
I walked into the restaurant and saw Nicole sitting alone at a small, two-person table that ran along the far wall. She had a magazine opened in front of her and was chewing on a slice.
“Is this seat taken?” I asked, as I walked up and pointed to the open seat.
She didn’t look up as she said, “Do I know you?”
My heart dropped, and I turned about to leave.
“Sean, I’m kidding!” she said loudly. “Would you sit down, silly.”
I caught my breath and sat down.
“You want something?” she asked. “You should try a slice. They are really good.”
“No. It’s okay. I already ate.” I looked out the window at the red BMW. “Is that your car?”
“Yeah. Do you like it?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s nice. But the parking meter is expired.”
“Yeah, so?”
“I don’t know. Just thought you’d want to know.” I checked my pockets for change but didn’t find any. “You want me to get some change and feed the meter?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Oh. Okay.”
She took another bite and covered her mouth with her hand while asking, “Are you sure you don’t want a slice?” She pushed the half eaten slice at me and said, “Try a bite. It’s delicious.”
“I believe you. I believe you,” I said with a laugh.
“I don’t have the cooties. Just try a bite.”
“Okay. Fine. I’ll try.” I took a bite of her pizza. She looked at me with eager eyes as if my taking a bite of her pizza was the most important thing in her life.
“It’s good, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It’s good.”
“Told you.”
“You were right.”
“Of course I was right. I’m always right.”
“I’ll bet. I’ll bet you are.”
“So tell me a little about you, Sean.”
“Okay.” I paused, wanting to think of something cool to say, but I wasn’t that fast on my feet. “I live with my mother in a house over on Hollywood Avenue near the high school.”
“Oh, cool. It’s nice over there.”
“Yeah. I’ve lived there all my life. It’s pretty nice. Probably not as nice as your house.”
“I live in Pelham Manor with my dad.”
“Oh, wow. It’s real nice in Pelham Manor. So, it’s just you and your dad?”
“Yeah, my mother died when I was little. I hardly remember her. So, it’s always been just me and my dad. No brothers. No sisters. Just us.”
“And your cousins.”
“Yeah, plenty of cousins. Plenty of uncles. But just me and my dad in the house.”
“That must have been rough growing up without a mother.”
“Sometimes. Sometimes it was really rough. But my dad tried really hard. You probably think my father is mean, but he really isn’t.”
“I don’t think your father is mean at all.”
“You’re probably afraid of him. It’s okay. Most people are.”
“I’m not afraid of him.” We both knew I was lying. But she let me off the hook.
“So you and your mom live alone?”
“Yeah. My father ran out on us, and now it’s just us.”
“Oh, that sucks.”
“Whatever. We don’t miss him.”
Nicole looked at her watch, a cute, pink, plastic band with a small face. She stood up and said, “Sorry to run out on you, but I’ve got plans to meet Kim and go shopping.”
I stood up, too, and said, “No problem.”
“We can do this again tomorrow if you want.”
“Cool. Same time?”
“Yeah.”
She walked to the door and waved to the pizza man. “See you, Gino.”
“Bye, honey,” he said to her; then he nodded to me.
I nodded back.
Once out on the sidewalk, I stopped next to her car. She walked around the freshly-waxed hood. There was a ticket stuck in her windshield wiper. Nicole picked it up, crumpled it and tossed it behind her shoulder.
“Not gonna pay that, I guess.”
She smiled. “Nope. Never do.” She put her key in the door and asked, “So, where you headed?”
“Home, I guess. It’s just around the corner.”
“Where’s your car parked.”
Sheepishly, I said, “Uh, I don’t have a car.”
“Really? That must suck.”
“No. Not really.”
“You should get one.”
“We don’t all have a rich daddy to buy us one.” I laughed when I said it but really wanted to reach out and stuff those words back into my mouth.
She tossed her handbag into the car and crossed her arms, puckering her lips and squinting slightly. At first, I couldn’t tell if she was pissed off, offended, amused, or what.
“You think my daddy gives me whatever I want, don’t you?”
“I’m sorry, Nicole. I shouldn’t have said that. I was only kidding around. It was a bad joke.”
She got in her car and started the engine. Then, she opened the passenger side window.
“Truthfully Sean, he does give me anything I want.” She revved the engine, two quick pumps of the accelerator pedal. “See ya.”
Then she sped off, blowing right through the red light at Tremont and Randall Avenues. She tooted her horn as she passed a patrol car parked at the Shell station. The cop sitting in the car waved at her.
I shook my head in disbelief. She sure was something else, that girl. Something else entirely.
It was the last thing on my mind at the time, but looking back on it, I bet Scrubby Mike was watching us the entire time. Maybe Griff was right there with him. Maybe they were across the street sipping coffee at a corner booth in the Fountainhead Diner. They could have been inside the gas station with Benny, the grease monkey who worked there most day shifts. Or maybe they were parked in a car I didn’t recognize; I’m sure they could have had Vinny rustle something up for them to borrow. Especially seeing as though they were on official business and the assignment was given out from the highest authority.
Most likely it was the corner booth at the diner. Scrubby and Griff watching our every move. Scrubby muttering what a piece of shit I was and what a pair of balls on me and Griff agreeing, not because he agreed that I was a piece of shit but because he felt obligated to agree with Scrubby Mike.
But I had no idea at the time. None whatsoever. Not a care in the world. At that time, as I watched the BMW make a left turn and head off towards the thruway, I was whistling a sweet song, intoxicated by the purest drug known to man: infatuation.
* *
A horn honked. It wasn’t a thundering, powerful toot. It wasn’t a happy, peppy beep. The noise was more of a pitiful, tortured
waa,
the sound so pained you could tell the mere pressing of the center of the steering wheel was sucking life from the car’s battery.
I was sitting on my couch and I turned and looked out the window. I saw a rusty, brown Datsun Sentra. Jose’s car.
I hopped up, grabbed my keys and wallet, then walked out the door. I got inside the car.
“Hey, man. Thanks for the ride.”
“No problem,” Jose said. He put the Sentra in gear and the engine let out a high-pitched squeal, sounding more like a lawnmower than a car.
“How much you pay for this, Jose?” I asked.
He took his eyes off the road and looked at me. “You wanna buy it?”
“Hell no.” We both laughed. “I want to get my own.”
“Your own piece of shit Sentra?”
“Stop being a wiseass. I want my own car. I’m tired of bumming rides.”
“Talk to Vinny. He’ll hook you up.”
“Yeah. I’m sure he will.”
We got up to Hunts Point, and Jose parked the car out front of Vinny’s shop. Jose walked inside and I followed. There was a Pontiac parked in the middle bay that we went right to work on. Routine maintenance, nothing to speak of. I could hear Vinny yelling at someone on the phone in the back room. He didn’t even come out to tell us anything. We knew what needed to be done.
After we tightened the lug nuts on the Pontiac, I got up the courage to go ask Vinny about a car.
“Hey, Vinny,” I said, poking my head into his office.
Vinny had his feet up on his small, wooden desk and was looking into a hand mirror that he was holding with one hand while tweezing his thick black eyebrow with his other.
“What’s up, kid?”
“I need a car.”
He dropped the mirror and tweezers and sat up in the chair. “No problem.”
“One I can register and get legit plates on. A car I can drive in public without worrying about the cops.”
“I know. I know. I’ll take care of you. How much you got to spend?”
“Not much.”
He nodded. “I figured. Okay. Come around back with me.”
Vinny walked out the back door of the shop. We walked past rows of clunkers, Vinny heading deeper and deeper into the depths of the junkyard.
“You sure about this, Vinny?” I heard the dogs barking from somewhere behind us.
“Don’t worry, kid. I’ve got just the car for you.”
He stopped in front of a car. Vinny rubbed the hood of a small, green convertible and said, “Alfa Romeo Spider, clover green with a black ragtop. This is a nice vehicle, Shamrock.”