Wiseguys In Love (20 page)

It had come to him in a dream, in the middle of the night. They were in the union office and out of the corner of his eye he had just seen her struggle with the gun and Giuseppe, and right there, in his dream, she did him. There was a big stain of blood on her dress, but suddenly the blood lifted off the dress and turned into roses; Tony was giving her great big bunches of red roses. And then her little dress turned into a beautiful wedding gown and they were walking up the aisle in the chapel of Our Lady of Precious Poverty.

He knew what that meant. Red roses are from the heart. She'd saved his life, for which he would always be grateful, and he'd always owe her, and here it was—God's answer to how to pay her back.

Marry her.

She'd make him a good wife.

She was a good shot.

She cared what he did but understood it.

His hand reached for the Old Spice, which he generously doused on his cheeks, then waited for the sting to subside.

“Anthony!” he heard his mother call from the kitchen.

“What, Ma?” he yelled back.

“It's your cousin Michael on the phone; he wants to talk wid you.”

He opened the bathroom door, taking a small bottle of talcum powder with him, and walked down the hall to the living room. His eyes scanned the sofa for his gun.

He picked up the holster, took the gun out, and lightly sprinkled some of the powder inside.

That kept the holster from getting sticky in all this heat. He put the holster on.

“Anthony! You gonna get the phone or what?” his mother screamed from the kitchen.

“I'm coming! Fahcrissakes, let me put my gun on!” His voice roared through the walls and seemed to bounce around the entire house.

He always felt undressed without his gun—vulnerable.

He picked up the phone.

“Mikey?”

“Yeah, listen, I'm at the Plaza. Pick us up there.”

He stood still for a moment, feeling his eyes begin to cross slightly.

“You got Michigan at the Plaza?” he asked slowly.

“Yeah,” Michael said, and heard Tony exhale on the other end. He waited for a moment.

“Tony?”

“Yeah,” he said more slowly. “Why you took Michigan to a hotel?”

Michael rolled over in bed and put his hand over his eyes to shade them from the light.

“She didn't want to stay at her place. It wasn't a good idea, anyway. What if the guy she lives with showed up?”

“The guy she lives with? She married?”

Oh Christ, Michael thought as he felt her move next to him, pulling the covers across him.

“No, she's not married. Just pick us up here. Then I want to stop at my mother's house for a change of clothes. Okay?” He waited. “Tony, you there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I'll be there at one.”

Tony stood holding the receiver and felt his hand tighten around it.

He didn't like this. He didn't like this one tiny bit.

*   *   *

Michael hung up and stared over at Lisa's shoulder. Tony would come and get them at one. Hopefully, by the time he showed, Michael would have some plan. That's all he needed to do—come up with some way to get them all off the hook.

A lock of blond hair fell across her cheek and he just lay there, watching her breathe. He'd forgotten how nice it was to wake up with someone next to him. He'd frozen himself out for two years.

His eyes shifted to the wall across from the bed. For a moment, he listened to the sound of the air conditioner and stared at a dusty slat of sunlight that had peeked through the blind of the window.

He rolled over and put his arm around her and kissed her shoulder. She made a slight noise and he kissed her ear.

“Lisa, we have to get up.”

“Ummm,” he heard as he lifted himself off the bed.

He walked over to the bathroom.

“I'm going to take a shower,” he announced, looking back at her.

He stood, staring at the bed for just a moment longer, and walked into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and watched, entertained by the silly sight of six shower heads going off behind the glass doors. She could get a couple more minutes sleep, he thought, stepping inside.

*   *   *

Lisa covered her head with the sheet and didn't move a muscle until she heard him in the shower. She lay there, cringing.

She should make a run for it. Lisa slowly sat up, and the room spun around. The taste in her mouth was awful—pasty champagne, mingled with whatever that other stuff was that she'd had.

Tasted like cough syrup now.

She felt slightly nauseous and her head felt fizzy. She sank back down.

After all, they had kidnapped her, she thought. Well, Tony had kidnapped her; Michael was trapped in the situation from what he told her last night.

No, she should just get on her clothes and run this second, right now.

She stared at the bathroom door and the thought suddenly occurred to her that if she did make a run for it, what would happen to Michael? Would they hurt him? That would be awful. He didn't deserve that. Last night, he'd been so nice and honest.… She cringed again.

At least she'd asked about condoms, she thought, pulling the cover up over her head, embarrassed that she felt it was a point in her favor.

What was she turning into? She still could not conceive that she had done this. She had never done this—met some guy and slept with him the same day.

She heard the shower go off in the bathroom.

Well, it was too late to make a run for it. She felt herself push down farther under the covers, as if disguising herself as an unmade bed would make him forget she was there entirely and he'd just go on his merry way with Tony.

Her body tensed and she stopped breathing as she heard the door open again.

“Lisa? We have to get going.”

She didn't answer.

“If you want to take a shower, you have to get up now,” his voice said, closer now.

In a second, the whiteness of the sheet was lifted, and she pasted a stiff smile on her face and looked up at him.

He stood over her and she could see him reading her thoughts. His smile dropped and an embarrassed expression moved across him like a large cloud in the middle of a clear sky. He looked away and dropped the sheet.

“I, uh … I'll get coffee,” he stammered. “Tony's going to be here at one.” His voice turned cold.

She listened as he left the room. She sat straight up and grabbed her head as the room did a small jig. She stumbled to the bathroom and turned on the water. When it was lukewarm, she stepped under it.

She spent a long time lying in the bottom of the tub, letting the water run over her.

She heard a knock at the bathroom door, straightened up, yelled that she would be out in a moment, and stood up. She let a blast of ice-cold water run on her, then got out.

By the time she walked into the living room, Michael was sitting there, watching TV and sipping on a cup of coffee. His eyes darted to her and then away. She walked over to the coffeepot and poured herself a cup. She sat next to him, and they both stared at the set in embarrassed silence.

“I got some rolls if you want them,” Michael muttered into his cup.

She choked back the nausea that came with the idea of a roll and nodded, then finally looked at him. He gave her a small smile, then looked back to the set.

“Michael—”

He stood up and put down his cup. “We have to get downstairs; it's five to one,” he said stiffly.

They left the room in the same uneasy silence. Michael felt himself brooding and tried to snap out of it. They rang for the elevator.

Lisa stood still in the hallway, looking at Michael's back. She felt silly at having pasted that smile on her face. His eyes had this hurt look to them, which had grown worse over coffee. It had been her idea, after all.… Well, that wasn't true. It had been both of their ideas. She wanted to say something that would ease the situation. Just as she opened her mouth, the doors to the elevator slid open.

There were several people in it, and they had to squeeze together slightly to get in. Michael stared up at the floor-indicator light as they stopped on every floor.

God, what had he done? She really hated him, he could tell. And she'd go to the cops and tell them that he'd forced himself on her. He'd been drunk and lonely, he began thinking.

Just as Michael felt he was going to burst if he didn't say something before Tony showed up, he felt her slip her hand into his and give it a squeeze. He felt himself smiling as she stretched up and kissed him quickly on the side of the neck.

“It's okay,” Lisa said quietly. She looked at the smile on his face and felt herself relax. There was something about him looking embarrassed and hurt that she couldn't stand. And, as odd as it was, it made her decide that it was okay. She also decided that if she did get an opportunity to run, she should take him with her.

They both relaxed and exhaled as the door slid open to the lobby.

*   *   *

Rosa Morelli was pacing in her bedroom, rolling her head from side to side, trying to get the achiness out of it. She'd fallen asleep on the windowsill and had awoken just as it was getting light out. Her arms felt heavy from the position they'd been in, folded under her chin when she'd come to.

She marched back into the kitchen, poured herself a cup of brown coffee, and sat on a folding chair. She couldn't believe Tony hadn't shown up. Hadn't Solly taken her seriously
this
time? She had half a mind to go out to his house and get his wife on him.

A shiver went down her spine. Then she'd have to talk to that pig Gina. Solly's mother had never liked her, and Rosa knew she was behind it whenever Solly didn't do as she said. Gina, wid her big Neapolitan garden, she thought, disgusted.

She hated Neapolitans. They thought they were the best in the world and the Sicilians were nothing. Look at the company she keeps. Rosa smirked. That snob Sophia Bonello. High Italian, Piedmontese, with all that fancy food she serves. Cream sauces, like the French. That's what killed her husband, she thought, all that rich food. That's why she lives in church now. That pig.

If Rosa had had a man like Vincent, she would have served him decent. Pasta 'ncaciata, properly draining the eggplants so they weren't bitter, using only the finest tomatoes and the best olive oil. He'd be alive today if he had been with her. Rosa's venom was full force now.

Maybe that was who had changed Solly's mind, that snob Sophia. After all, it was her son that Tony'd been with yesterday. Little Michael, the “smart one.” And of course this type of life was too demeaning for Sophia's precious son, the lawyer! That must be it. It was all Sophia's fault.

Maybe she was jumping to conclusions, she thought, in a tiny rational moment. Maybe she should just be patient. Maybe the boss was just hard to find.

She stormed back over to the window and looked around for her cigarettes. She didn't see them anywhere. She leaned out the window, thinking that they dropped during the night, and the sight of the car hit her.

The tires had been stripped off of it and all the windows had been smashed in. The hood had been jimmied, and Rosa knew from experience that there was probably no engine left in the thing. She shook her head, knowing also from experience that this ugly shell would be sitting out in front of her building for months now, littering up her block.

She walked into the bathroom to throw some water on her face. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was wide and old. Big circles were under her eyes and deep slashes of wrinkles separated her mouth from her cheeks. Several black hairs stuck out under her chin and the mustache on her upper lip was heavy, the way her own mother's had been. She used to pluck and dye it, years ago when she'd still entertained some notion of finding another man. But the years had slipped by with very few opportunities, leaving her old and alone now. The only thing she still did was her hair. That was the line over which she refused to cross. She had gained weight and stopped taking care of her face, but she would always have her hair done. She threw the water on her face.

She felt herself begin to get teary as the retirement condo she'd dreamed of came into her mind and then vanished.

Where the hell was Tony?

SIX

The cab ride to East Hampton cost Henry $368, and he'd had to endure the constant ranting of the cabbie, who he swore had told him the entire history of Poland.

It was sunrise when he watched the cab dustily bounce back down the highway. He turned and stared at the large electronic gate to his mother's house and cringed.

Of course she'd be there. Mater would not miss the Sonders' wedding. He looked around at the empty road and listened to the sound of the beach.

His limbs were stiff from trying to sleep on the cramped backseat. He had to pee.

He leaned on the buzzer box until the butler's voice finally came over the box.

“It's Henry, George. Let me in,” he said tiredly.

“I can't.” George's English accent came across the box crisp and clear.

“What do you mean, you can't? Let me in. This is Henry.”

“I know who it is, sir, and I can't. I've strict orders not to allow you in the house.”

“Orders? Orders from whom?”

“Your mother, sir.”

The box clicked dead, and Henry stood with his mouth open, staring at the box.

He leaned on the buzzer again.

“Yes?”

“You let me in the house this second, you dumb fuck! I've come a long way and—”

“I am turning the buzzer box off now, sir.”

“No! Wait! Don't you dare, don't—” He listened to it go dead, then leaned into it and kept leaning until his shoulder hurt.

He screamed, picked up a rock, and hit the box with it.

He stood still for a moment, thinking back, and finally he remembered.