“And you like what you do…?”
“Thrive on it. And though my parents aren’t the most demonstrative people in the world, in their hearts they wanted nothing but the best for me. My grandfather made his fortune, and his father before him made
his
fortune. And my father inherited it all, but he did say to me that I should go and do something on my own, not just follow in his footsteps. When I said I wanted to be a journalist, my mother acted like I’d said I wanted to join the French Foreign Legion.”
I laughed. “And your father?”
“In front of Mother, he mumbled something about being careful not to embarrass the family…. But in private? He took me into his study for a cigar and told me to go for it. He said his great-grandfather was a bootlegger who liked to fly planes and had an affair with a ballerina—scandalous way back then. My father applauded that I wanted to do
something on my own. Something different—and he said my great-grandfather would have approved.”
“Good for you!” I lifted my little sake cup and saluted him.
“Now, fair is fair. You seem very mysterious, Teddi. What about you?”
I tossed back my sake. “I was abandoned by my family and raised by wolves.”
“Must have made all the medical and scientific journals.”
“In fact, I did.”
He laughed and poured me another sake. And that’s when my mouth opened and huge contents of my brain began spewing out. I plead, as I said, the sake. And also, something about the way he talked about his great-grandfather warmed me more than the hot sake. I sensed he would understand the sort of grudging love you have for a family of eccentrics and law-breakers.
“Actually—” I lowered my voice “—I kind of am from the Marcello family.”
“Not
the
Marcellos?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, yes, you could say that. The. As in
the
Marcellos.”
“Holy shit!” Robert leaned back in his chair.
I envisioned the date being over. It wouldn’t have been the first time. But he surprised me.
“I never put two and two together. Your last name is Gallo. They’re sort of known in the same…uh…you know the same sort of context.”
“Yeah. When I said I have one of each…I guess you could say I have one Gallo parent and one Marcello parent. One of each.”
“How do you like
that
for a journalist? They’ll take away my master’s degree for that bit of ignorance…. I just didn’t
think you were one of
those
Gallos. So I take it the Marcellos are your mother’s side?”
I nodded.
“Here I am thinking a bootlegger is scandalous. So what was growing up like for you, Teddi? That had to have been hard at times.”
“No. It was more like interesting.”
“Come on…tell me.”
“Well…imagine instead of taking you to the zoo, your father took you to the track. Instead of reading Dr. Seuss to you, your dad taught you how to read a racing form. And that you spent family vacations in upstate New York, the better to visit the federal penitentiary when your uncles got put away.”
“I can’t imagine…. I mean, did you know your family was in the mob?”
“No. I thought it was normal. I didn’t know there was a word for it—the
mob.
The Mafia. I didn’t know until junior high, really, when a girl I considered my best friend told me her father wouldn’t let her come over anymore.”
“Junior high. God, my junior high years were a living hell. Come to think of it, I hated high school, too.”
“Exactly. I had braces, no friends and an older brother who tortured me by taking the heads off all my Barbies and reading my diary to his friends. When the one friend I
did
have dumped me, I was devastated. I went to the library and started researching my own family. I mean, the Internet was around, but not to the degree it is now. So I sat there with the old microfiche and found the headlines. Dozens and dozens of them. Men I loved, my adored and favorite uncles.” I shook my head. “I wondered if all the laughter and togetherness had all been a lie.”
“Had it been?”
“No. It was just that, at age twelve, I had the ultimate introduction into the world of gray.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The world isn’t black and white,” I pontificated over the sake. “It’s all shades of gray…. I don’t expect you to understand. I mean, you’re a journalist, so I’m sure your world is about rooting out the black from the white, digging until it’s all clear and clean. But I learned a different lesson, and I learned it young.” I took another sip of my drink. “And I guess until this moment, I didn’t appreciate it. But there was some value to the lesson, even though at the time it was like finding out all at once that the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny were all in league with Satan.”
“You mean they’re not?” He smirked.
Something about him made me feel at ease. His sense of humor, his listening skills. The fact that he hadn’t run screaming for the exit when I told him (later) the story about my uncle Vito sawing off the head of one of his enemies. It was all rumor, but I wondered, I told Robert. Uncle Vito seemed to seriously dig his hacksaw collection.
We talked until I looked at my watch and found, to my astonishment, that it was twelve-thirty in the morning. “I have got a hellish day tomorrow,” I said. “Friday is our busiest night. I really should be going.”
“Sorry, Teddi. I didn’t even think about it…I get to sleep in. I go to the studio late on Friday” He signaled our waiter, paid the bill, and we went outside and hailed a cab.
The cabbie was driving around on a pretty chilly October night with all the windows open and his heater going full blast. Maybe he liked fresh air. Robert and I huddled together in the back seat but didn’t tell the cabbie to roll
the windows up. Maybe we were both grateful for an excuse to cuddle.
“I’m not even going to invite you back to my place,” Robert whispered, his breath on my neck. “Much as I want to. I don’t want you to think I’m some typical guy. I want you to trust me. But I definitely want to see you again. Okay?”
“It’s a deal.” I looked at him. He leaned closer and kissed me on the lips. I shivered.
“When?”
“When do you want?”
“I’ll call you tomorrow. This was a great night, Teddi.”
I instructed the cab driver to let me off two blocks from my apartment. Before I slid across the vinyl seats toward the door, Robert leaned closer and kissed me softly, perfectly, again. I opened the door and waved goodbye, and I intended to slip into the building unannounced. The cab roared away when the light changed green. The wind was picking up, and I felt a few drops of icy cold rain. All I needed to do was slip past Tony and I was home free. I walked briskly, pulling up the collar of my coat. As I turned a corner, someone darted toward me with an umbrella.
“Keep outta the fuckin’ rain!” Tony snapped at me as he popped open a large black umbrella.
“You scared me.” Nearly jumped out of my skin was more like it.
“Imagine how I felt, my cousin goin’ missing on me.”
“I wasn’t missing,” I hissed at him.
He just walked beside me, his jaw tensing and untensing. Where was Lady Di when I needed her?
“Good night, Tony.” I smiled at him when we got to my building, trying to get him out of his foul mood.
He just grunted, closed the umbrella and darted across the street to my uncle’s Lincoln Town Car.
Tele-phone.
Tele-graph.
Tele-mobster.
I gave it until early morning before my entire clan was buzzing with the news.
And before I was called to a sit-down with my grandfather over ditching my cousin.
Office Memorandum: United States Government
TO: David Cameron
FROM: Mark Petrocelli, Special Agent in Charge, Federal Bureau of Investigation
SUBJECT: Wiretap report, Angelo Marcello, Marcello’s restaurant, Brooklyn, New York
DATE: Monday, October 10
7:10 p.m.
Angelo Marcello: Teddi! How are you, angel?
Theresa Gallo (Marcello’s granddaughter): Fine, Poppy.
Angelo Marcello: Look here, what do I have?
Theresa Gallo: Poppy, I’m getting a little too old for the silver-dollar-from-the-ear trick.
Angelo Marcello: I know. Indulge an old man.
Theresa Gallo: A hundred-dollar bill from behind the ear? Poppy…you’re crazy.
Angelo Marcello: Take it.
Theresa Gallo: Poppy…please…
Angelo Marcello: You want to deny me a little happiness? Buy yourself a little something. Or you and Diana go out for a nice dinner on me.
Si capisce!
Theresa Gallo: Fine, Poppy. I love you.
Angelo Marcello: I love you, too. So why you wanna gimme
agita?
Theresa Gallo: I give you
agita?
Angelo Marcello: Yes. Like you don’t know…
Theresa Gallo: Here we go…
Angelo Marcello: It’s true, Teddi. Why would you go out of your way to deceive your family when we only have your best interests at heart?
Theresa Gallo: Poppy, I don’t expect you to understand this, but I didn’t ask to be in the…in the
family,
if you get my drift.
Angelo Marcello: What do you mean? Everyone has a family.
Theresa Gallo: Oh…so this is going to be one of those days. You know what I mean, you wily old Italian. The…
family.
Angelo Marcello: Teddi Bear, I’m surprised at you. Family. I’m an honest businessman. I’m a restaurateur.
Theresa Gallo: I know, I know. So am I. But in your case…a meatball isn’t always a meat-
ball. Restaurateur… And I’m sure Uncle Sonny is an honest waste-management executive.
Angelo Marcello:
Agita,
Teddi. You’re so fresh.
Theresa Gallo: Yeah, well, it’s a family trait.
Angelo Marcello: What is?
Theresa Gallo: My feistiness. I got it from you. But look, Poppy, seriously, I didn’t mean anything by it. I just wanted to go out on one date without looking over my shoulder and seeing an entire contingency of overprotective Italians watching my back.
Angelo Marcello: (Sighs.) I never should have let you move to the city. And buy that restaurant. You’re changing, Theresa.
Theresa Gallo: Of course I’m changing. I’m growing up. I am grown-up. I’m twenty-six, Poppy. And don’t call me Theresa. I’m still your Teddi Bear. No matter how grown up I am.
Angelo Marcello: You got me wrapped around that little pinkie finger of yours. From the first time I laid eyes on you, a tiny bundle home from the hospital. All right. All is forgiven…on one condition…
Theresa Gallo: What, Poppy? Anything.
Angelo Marcello: You invite this young man to Sunday dinner. In two weeks.
Theresa Gallo: Poppy! No! It was just a date. Nothing.
Angelo Marcello: So you’re used to dating meaningless men? Like it’s nothing?
Theresa Gallo: That’s not what I meant, and you know it. God, you should have been an actor. Or a politician, the way you twist words around.
Angelo Marcello: Twisting words. I never heard of such a thing. Teddi Bear, do we have a deal? I’m waiting. I’m a very patient man as you know…Teddi Bear?
Theresa Gallo: Fine. A deal.
Angelo Marcello: Come give your old grandpa a kiss.
Theresa Gallo: Fine.
Angelo Marcello: Good. Now, how about
gabagool.
Rocco!
Rocco Marino (Chef): Yes, boss.
Angelo Marcello: A head for me and…what do you want, Teddi?
Theresa Gallo: No sheep’s head. I’ll just take manicotti, Roc.
Rocco Marino: Very good.
Angelo Marcello: What’s this? Another hundred dollars behind your ear.
Theresa Gallo: Poppy…you’re hopeless.
Angelo Marcello: Have been…ever since I laid eyes on you, kid, I told you. Ever since I laid eyes on you…
“D
o you think your cousin has ever killed anyone?” Lady Di and I sprawled across my bed drinking champagne and listening to her favorite CD, over…and over…and over…and over again. Which wouldn’t be so bad if her favorite singer wasn’t George Michael from his Wham! days. And for the record, Di was too young to have even
known
George Michael then, but it was still this oddball obsession of hers.
“Which one?” I asked.
“Which one what? How should I know who he’s killed?”
“Who who’s killed?”
“Speak English, Teddi!”
“I am! Which one?”
“Which dead body? I don’t bloody know.”
I sat up. “Di…I’ve told you George Michael is killing off valuable brain cells. What are you talking about?”
“Tony,” she sniffed, and then suddenly dissolved into tears.
“Di.” I rubbed her back. “Di? This is so unlike you. In
fact…you’re scaring me. I’m sorry I snapped. You just weren’t making any sense.”
“It’s not that.” She sat up. “Have a hankie?”
“Toilet paper.”
“That’ll do.”
I got up and fetched her a roll of Charmin. “Here you go. Now what’s going on, Di? I’ve never seen you cry like this.”
“Oh…” She waved her hand up and down as if willing herself to stop the tears. “Bloody hell!”
“What?”
She took some toilet paper and blew her nose. “Promise you won’t laugh. Won’t think I’m mad. As in the queen’s English, crazy, not mad…not angry, but plain insane.”
“Sure, Di.”
“The other night, with Tony…we walked around the block three or four times. And at the end, he held my hand. And…I’m bloody over the moon for him. I wanted to invite him up here and— Well…put it this way, I couldn’t sleep that night. Or since.”
“Why didn’t you invite him up? Did you think I’d mind? That he’s my cousin? Did I mention he’s my
favorite
cousin? Seventeen male cousins and he’s the pick of the litter. I’d be thrilled for you. Really, I would.”
She sniffled. “It’s not that. It’s…I don’t want to fall for him if he’s a murderer. Suddenly, as we stood under a street lamp, I was sure he was going to kiss me, and my heart was just pounding out of my chest. Me…Diana Kent, who was kissed by the second grade and lost her virginity the year they packed me off to boarding school—lost it to the school riding instructor. Me…heart pounding like a nervous school-girl. And I realized what it is you’ve been telling me all along.”
“What have I been telling you along? That you’re an impossible slob? That you can’t even boil water?” I tried to make her laugh. “That your views on George Michael—who is gay, dear—border on sickness. You can’t change him, Di.”
“Shut up, Teddi. No…about how complicated your family is. Suddenly he wasn’t just this beautiful, chiseled, rock-hard, funny, sweet Tony. He was someone who may—or may not—have killed someone. Did he? Don’t tell me! I don’t want to know! No… Tell me—”
“Di—”
“Don’t tell me! See? I’m conflicted.” With that, she blew her nose again.
“Di, he’s not a made man, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Made of what? What the hell does that mean? How could I ask that if I don’t even know what it means?”
“It means he’s not a murderer. Not yet at least, though I can’t make any promises about leg-breaking.”
“Leg-breaking is acceptable.”
“Glad you feel that way. Anyway, it means…well, I don’t know what Tony’s plans are. He more or less functions as my uncle Lou’s bodyguard. They collect book. But after my cousin Sal died—”
“That was very sad.”
I bit my lip. “I know. And after that, I think even Uncle Lou started to wonder if maybe he should encourage his two remaining sons to do something outside the family business. He set up Mikey with a video-store business. Mikey isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but what he loves, more than anything, are movies. He can tell you every single winner of the Oscars since the Oscars began. So he’s out of the family business, and Tony sits on the fence. He’s
going to have to decide sooner or later, but if he wants to open a restaurant or a shop or a small business of some sort, my uncle will set him up. And if he wants to enter the
family
business, that’s his other option. Everyone trusts him. He’s loyal beyond belief. And smart.”
Di blew her nose again. “I don’t know what to think. Could I really be falling for him? Could I? Is that preposterous? Me?”
“Stranger things have happened, Di.”
“Well…all along we’ve been flirting. Almost since the first time you introduced us. Remember when he visited us at college?”
I smirked, remembering we had all played quarters, a keg of beer in our bathtub. Di, never very good at holding her liquor, had thrown up in the toilet, and Tony held her hair back. And they say chivalry is dead. “Yes, I remember.”
“And all this time, it all was rather…well, it was all a moot point because it was flirting and it wasn’t
real,
if that makes any sense.”
“It does.”
“And now…I don’t know. We were under the street lamp and looking into each other’s eyes and I was a bloody goner. Completely in love. In lust. In like. I don’t know.”
“I think that’s wonderful, Diana.”
“He asked me out. For a week from this Sunday.”
I groaned. “Well…that Sunday will be interesting, then.”
“Why are you groaning? You just said you were happy for me.”
“I am. It’s just…” I proceeded to tell her about my “sit-down” with Poppy.
“So you’re going to bring Robert to dinner?”
“I’m not sure if the guy can handle it.”
“It does seem rather early, doesn’t it?”
I nodded. “On the other hand, he seems to find stories about my family amusing. Now he’d get to meet the clan in person.”
“There’s something to be said for getting such meetings over with. That way you don’t build them up into this enormous, nauseating, sweat-producing, sickening event.”
“Thanks for the visual, Di.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Di and I continued to lie on my bed, drinking champagne and talking about men. Or, more precisely, Tony and Robert. Then I found myself telling her about the sad, doomed love affair between Mariella and Uncle Mario. Di cried. It was then we pulled out a calendar and decided the vast majority of Di’s waterworks were caused by PMS. The rest of it could be explained by the fact that, after hearing about Mariella and Mario, Di was beginning to wonder if the moment under the street lamp with Tony was her thunderbolt.