Wiseguys In Love (23 page)

She nodded and continued down the steps. She knew what he meant: something away from the church. She climbed into the car next to Gina and they began to drive to the same place they always had pastries and espresso. Yes, she was going to do something good today. She was not going back to the church.

Her mind returned to the current moment. She was home. What was the good thing she could do today?

She could wait for Michael to come home and tell her that he'd gotten it all straightened out and was going back to school. She walked slowly down the stairs.

Yes, that would be very nice. Her heart sank. And very unlikely. Solly wasn't going to let him off the hook, she knew that. In all the years she'd known of Solly's doings, he'd never let anyone off the hook. And Sophia knew her son was going to be no exception.

Panic began to overcome her as she realized that she'd made a terrible mistake. If Michael asked to be let out of it, she knew what Solly's reaction would be. He'd have him killed. God knows what Michael had seen over the last two years—that was one of the things that had kept Vincent tangled up in the mess—he knew too much and now she'd insisted on him asking to be let out.

Would Michael be that naïve?

She stopped, shaking on the last step.

Of course he would. She'd raised him that way.

What was she going to do?

*   *   *

Henry staggered out of the coffee shop. He'd had five cups of coffee and some eggs, which were making him sick. Most solid food made him sick. There was a rusty squeal and he stared across the street at a clothing store as a woman opened up the gates.

Well, at least he could get something clean.

He was just about to cross when a car caught his eye coming around the corner. He froze for a second, then quickly ducked back inside the coffee shop.

The shiny black Jaguar with the vanity plates
MORRIS
1 roared down the street and past the coffee shop. He stood there for a moment, until it screeched around the corner. He cowered and waited to see whether it was going to come back. After a moment, he walked stiffly toward the phone booth in the back of the coffee shop.

“Mother, let me in the house!” he screamed over the phone.

“Now really, lower your voice. I told you last year, you miss grandfather Foster's funeral and you're out—”

“I was working,” Henry whined, thinking fast.

“Oh please, you haven't done an honest day's work in your whole life, Henry. This is your mother you are talking to.”

“I was … covering an event for my magazine—”

“You were parading around New York. I know, I bought you that magazine. God knows, at least it keeps you out of the house. I know exactly how much work you do and when you do it.”

“I was covering an event—”

“You were in bed with some tart who can't keep her clothes on in front of a camera. Don't lie to me, Henry. Why do you want to get into this house so badly, anyway? You haven't called me in three years.”

“I just … I miss you.”

“Henry, this is Mother. You haven't said ‘I miss you' since you were ten and wanted your own charge cards.”

“All right, look, there's someone … here, in town. I just don't want to see right now.”

“Why, what have you done to them?”

“I haven't done anything to them! Maybe they've done something to me.”

“I doubt that.”

“Anyway, so all I need is someplace to stay until the wedding. So what do you say?”

“I say you should have been at your grandfather's funeral.”

“He's going to kill me.”

“Well, then, I'll be at your funeral.”

Click.

*   *   *

“So what time did youse get to the hotel?” Tony said, staring out as they drove.

“Around two,” Michael said quietly.

“And why you go there?”

Michael glanced up to the rearview mirror at Lisa and she leaned forward.

“Because I wanted to leave. So I changed my clothes and we left.” She said with a hint of annoyance. “Is that all right? I mean you've dragged me around for a day now, my car—” She sat back. “Oh my God, Michael, the car. It's still sitting up there.”

“I'm sure it will be okay.”

“But it's not even mine. What if they tow it?”

“I don't think—”

“What do you mean, it's not yours?” Tony interrupted.

“It's … a friend's.”

“Where's your car?”

“I can't afford a car, Tony.”

This was his chance, the in he'd been looking for. He cleared his throat.

“You can't afford a car! That's the worse thing in the world! Not having a way to get around.”

“Well, it's not so bad—” she began.

“Oh yes it is.” He looked over at her and took a deep breath. “You want a car? I'll give you a car,” he said, presenting it to her proudly.

“What?”

“Tony—” Michael began.

“Any kind you want. You want a Lincoln?”

“No, I really—”

“Tony, you can't just give people cars.”

“Why not?” he said, sneering at him.

“I—”

Lisa looked back at Michael and motioned him to be quiet. She would take care of this. She turned around toward Tony and began slowly.

“No, Tony, but thank you, anyway. I don't want a car.”

“You don't want
my
car,” he said, and his eyes narrowed.

“No, no, it's not that.” She thought fast. “Where would I keep it?”

“The street.”

“They'd tow it, then what would happen? I'd owe money on it.”

“So … keep it in one of them places, whatta they—garages. You throw 'em fifty a month and—”

“Not in my neighborhood. Garages cost up to four hundred dollars—”

“A
month?
You gotta be kidding! You could rent it an apartment in East Harlem for that.”

“I know.”

He was quiet for a moment.

“So, you could park it on the street next to one of them meters. Then they couldn't tow it. You just throw in change now and then and no problem. They never check them things.”

“They do in her neighborhood.”

Tony turned around and stared at Michael.

“Was anybody talkin' to you?”

“No, he's right, they check them a lot,” she interjected. “And besides, I'd be out there every thirty minutes.”

“Thirty minutes? How much you gotta give them?”

“Fifty cents.”

“For thirty minutes? That's robbery. I don't know who your assemblyman is, but someone's on the take down there. Jeez, fifty cents for thirty minutes! Whatta racket they got going.”

“I know. So you see, I couldn't have a car because I have no place to put it. It would cost me hundreds, just in meter quarters alone,” she said, and Michael smiled at her.

“Jeez, I didn't think it was this much trouble, givin' somebody a car … fifty cents…”

“Yup,” she said, sitting back.

They sat in silence for awhile, staring out at the drive along Long Island. Even though the air conditioner was blowing directly on her, the sun through the windshield was strong on her arms. She leaned back on her seat. The fuzzy maroon upholstery was soft on the skin on the backs of her arms.

She looked out. The L.I.E. was full of cars with surfboards strapped to their hoods and station wagons filled with kids and dogs and Styrofoam picnic baskets. They slowed as the traffic began to cram up around the first big beach, and the highway looked shimmering and liquidy in the heat. Lisa stared at all the cars, listening to the whir of the air conditioner, and thought about how nice it would be to be in one of those other cars with Michael on their way for a lovely day at the beach.

“Madonna!” Tony said, hitting the top of the steering wheel. “I know, I'll steal youse a parking meter!”

“What?” she said, then glanced in the mirror at Michael.

“A parking meter. I'll buy you the car and then steal youse a meter to go with it.”

“What are you talking about?” Michael asked, leaning on the seat back.

“Jeez, don't you see nothin'? Look, when she puts out the meter next to the car, she can just keep the same quarters in it.… And here's the beauty of the plan, when she's using the car, she keeps the meter out so she can collect on all the dumb bastards puttin' in quarters every thirty minutes,
capisce?
She could make enough for gas. She might even make the insurance, who knows?”

“Tony, you're talking about stealing something that's
cemented
into a New York City sidewalk.”

“Yeah,” he said, not following what the problem would be.

She turned to Michael, who gave her a shrug. She was on her own with this one. She faced forward again as the vision of Tony tearing a parking meter out of the sidewalk filled her head. She glanced over at the girth of his upper arms.

He probably could do it that way, too, she thought. Then she got an idea.

“Well, don't you think the meter maids would notice an extra meter, kind of … chained next to a car?”

“Well…” Tony began, and gave a loud exhale.

This was beginning to get on his nerves. Why was this so complicated for Michigan? Angela'd have snapped this deal up. Didn't this one have no brains? Here he offers her a beautiful new car and she's gotta get all wrapped up in the details of the thing.

“You could take it in when they come around,” he offered finally.

She sat in silence.

“Well, they're a little bulky to carry around … parking meters,” she squeaked.

“Look, you just think about it and get back to me, eh?” he said tiredly.

They all fell silent again.

He'd have to think of something else with this one. Jeez, maybe Angela wasn't so bad.

She stared out the windshield at a station wagon. A little boy in the back had caught her eyes. He was busy playing with a little girl. She could see that they were laughing. After a few moments, the little boy noticed her and he smiled and waved at her. Lisa smiled and waved back, and they began to play peekaboo, with the little boy ducking under the window and then after a few seconds shooting up to the window and giggling. Lisa would give an exaggerated, startled expression and he would burst into laughter.

She kept this up as they inched along behind the car, and Lisa made her expression grow and grow as a kind of sadness swept over her. She leaned her back against the car door and she darted a glance at Michael.

Michael was gazing happily at her playing with the child, and the sadness seemed to lift as she let her eyes rest there for as long as she dared with Tony in the car. It had been an unspoken agreement that Tony should not be told what had gone on. Michael's lips moved with words she couldn't understand and she looked puzzled. He shook his head, mouthing that he would tell her later.

She looked back to the little boy, to find that he had busied himself with another game.

*   *   *

The road alongside the Sonders' home was mobbed with reporters. Like a large cancerous growth, vans, trucks, and cars clogged the highway running alongside the beach. Out, over the water, helicopters dipped and darted and hovered as bathers on the public stretches of beach looked overhead, pointing and trying to read the logos on the sides.

Security had been hired by the Sonders, who had stated in interviews and press releases that this was a sacred, private affair. The caterer had been sworn to privacy; the dress designer and even the groom's barber were forbidden to talk to the press.

Delivery vans had been pulling up to the Sonders' house for several days, unloading boxes and bags covered in a peculiar lilac shade of paper to provide even more privacy—and also to whet the appetites of photographers who had been camped out on the roadside for several days.

The large house looked as if it was under siege. Security checkpoints had been set up along the outside gates, and anyone not showing an invitation was cordially, or physically, escorted down the road and away from the house.

This being a public road, and the only one with beach access, all traffic had been successfully snarled in either direction for miles. Anyone unfortunate enough to own a beach house on that stretch of road was also totally inconvenienced. Several of the Sonders' unamused neighbors got caught up in the overzealous security measures, along with an entire tour bus of Japanese car manufacturers who wound up stuck on the dead-end road. After an hour, they had gotten out and were busy taking pictures of the whole mess, and laughing at it all.

*   *   *

Morris sat behind the wheel of his Jaguar, listening to the music blast. He'd bought a system with four speakers, capable of blowing the windows out if it was cranked up full.

He adjusted his sunglasses, trying to ignore the brightness of the sun and the pounding sound of the surf alongside the car. He couldn't figure out why people had houses on the beach. It was so fucking loud and bright.

He glanced down at the clock, coughed, and began leaning on the horn.

He'd been sitting out here on the highway forever. He had to get to that dimwit's wedding.

What was the fucking holdup?

He stood to make excellent money on this. He figured he could clear forty grams minimum in an hour.

The guest list read like his client list.…

He continued leaning on the horn, and began cursing out loud in that tight, clenched-teeth voice he'd developed over the last three years. Morris always sounded like a kid, ready to explode.

That prick, Henry.

He'd show up, sooner or later. Morris rubbed his stubbled chin with his free hand.

He'd cut his fuckin' balls off.

*   *   *

“That botherin' you, Michigan?” Tony asked, staring at the black Jag next to their car.