The Winter of Her Discontent (20 page)

I'd never heard tell of Tony serving time. It made sense—most of his associates had records—but it still unsettled me. It was the first hard proof I had of his having done anything wrong in the past, and that meant the odds were good that he could do wrong in the present. “He told me to tell you to do the right thing. Any idea what that means?”

“Not a one,” he said.

“He treating you right?”

“He was here, wasn't he?”

But to do what? I wondered. Remind him to keep his mouth shut? Demand he seek vengeance on Vinnie to prove his loyalty?

“Why are you here, Rosie? I thought I told you not to visit no more.”

“That was at the 19th Precinct. I figured the rules changed when you got shipped out here.” I bit my lip and decided that as long as I was there, I might as well make the most of my visit. This would probably be the last time Al agreed to see me. “If you didn't want me to come, you could've told the gatekeeper I was persona non grata.”

“It does good for a man's reputation to have a dame visit him.”

“Then I guess you owe me one, and I'm here to make you pay up. I want to know why you confessed to Paulette's murder.”

“We're back there?”

“We never left. Seems to me someone like you could've gotten away scot-free with the crime, or could've called in enough favors to wipe away any trail you'd left. Paulette's roommates had no idea
who you were until the day the cops called and said they'd caught her killer. So why did you go to the police before they ever bothered to come to you?”

“You do something bad enough, it weighs on you.”

“You've done lots of bad things before, Al. You can't be in your line of work and be ruled by your conscience.”

“Maybe I've changed. Maybe I went too far this time.”

“Who could blame you, with Vinnie Garvaggio pulling the strings.”

Something changed in his face. He leaned toward me and lowered his voice. “What are you going on about now?”

“Garvaggio.” Al pushed at the air with his hand, begging me to lower my voice. I obeyed. “Everyone knows you were working for him.”

“I wouldn't throw the guy a glass of water if he was drowning.”

“That's not what I heard.”

“Then get the potatoes out of your ears.” His noodle swiveled right and left. “And don't go rattling that name in here.”

“All right already.” I decided to change my tactics. If appealing to his desire to exonerate himself didn't work, maybe guilt would. “How does your ma feel about all this? Can't be thrilled knowing you're in here again.”

He looked down at his hands; they were worn and red. Chemical burns. He was probably assigned to work in the prison laundry. “She don't know I'm in here, and I'd like to keep it that way.”

I thought about using that as my leverage, but even I wouldn't go so low as to threaten to tell a man's mother that he was in the bing.

“I don't know the woman, Al. I'm not going to blow your cover. Isn't she going to be curious when you stop showing up for holidays, though?”

“She thinks I'm out of town. If my visit is extended, so be it.”

Poking him wasn't working and neither was guilting him. I decided to play it straight.

“I think you're a liar, Al. Not about your ma, but about this whole messed-up business. I don't think you killed Paulette, but I do think you're willing to take the fall for someone else to save your head. You
don't have to answer me, I wouldn't in your shoes either, but I want you to know that I'm on to you. Maybe I'm an idiot—Jayne thinks so anyways—but the pieces don't add up. I don't think you're capable of this, and until someone shows me a picture of you with the body in one hand and a weapon in the other, I'm not going to buy it.”

“Is that why you came by yourself? Jayne don't agree with your theory?” It was the first hint of remorse I'd heard in his voice since this whole awful thing began. He didn't mind serving time or lying to his ma, but he couldn't stand the thought that Jayne had bought his story.

“She says you're a louse who belongs behind bars. Of course, Tony's been feeding her some of that. You haven't ruined her opinion all by yourself.”

He pushed back from the table and rose to her feet. “Yeah, well maybe you should listen to her. Sounds like Jayne's the only one with a lick of sense in her head. You're not welcome here. Get it? If you show up here again, I'm not coming out.”

Tears stung my eyes. I'd lost Jack and now I was losing Al too. “Don't you worry,” I said. “The only part of me you're going to see is my back.”

I
MADE IT OUT TO
the waiting area and crossed my name off the pad I'd signed in on. I was about to grab my coat and dust when a hand took hold of my elbow.

“How'd it go in there?” It was Tony. He was still there. Waiting for me.

“I think this is going to be my last visit for a while. Al wasn't too happy to see me.”

Tony released my elbow and slid on his gloves. “You got a way back to the city?”

“Just a ferry and a cab.”

“How's about I give you a ride? The parade starts at one and ain't no one getting nowhere after that.”

It was St. Patrick's Day, a day made for depending on the kindness of gangsters with private cars. I couldn't have Tony drop me off at the theater. If Jayne wasn't supposed to be performing in Garvaggio's show, I wouldn't win any favor by admitting I was either. “If you could get me to Times Square, that would be great. I'm supposed to meet a girlfriend for a late lunch.”

We met Tony's driver at the ferry landing, and I piled inside the heap with him. I sat by my door and Tony sat by his. A cloud of cigar smoke connected his side of the car to mine.

“Did he say anything?” he asked.

“Nothing useful. It wasn't so much a conversation as me trying to get him to talk, you know? I rattled on about what Jayne and I were up to, and he sat there and sulked until I couldn't take it anymore.”

Tony closed his right hand and popped his knuckles. “That sounds like Al all right.”

“So he's like that with you?”

Tony lowered his window enough to ash his cigar. “Absoyoootley.” He rolled the window back up and examined the tip of the Cuban. “So this is how he's going to play it.”

“Play what?”

Tony nodded, continuing a silent conversation I wasn't going to be asked to join.

“I can't believe he waived a trial,” I said. “Did anyone try to talk him out of it?”

Tony's eyes were naturally large and distended, almost comically so, yet he disguised his oversized peepers by keeping his lids at half-mast. It gave him a seductive, mysterious look and often made it hard for me to know exactly what he was looking at. “It's his choice. If he wants freedom, he knows what to do. When a man's made up his mind, only he can unmake it.”

I'm a sucker for a philosophic mobster.

Tony dropped me off near Times Square, and once he was safely out of sight, I started hoofing it to Forty-fifth Street. I could hear “The Wearing of the Green” in the distance, being played by a band of bagpipers for the holiday. I used to love the parade, but this year the sound of marching bands struck me as more militaristic than merry. The pipers might as well have been the Nazis' procession arriving in Paris.

I'd played it all wrong with Al and blown my last chance. If he was innocent, he clearly didn't want my help, probably because he recognized how futile it was. And if Tony was the reason Al was locked up, my mentioning that I'd just run into him didn't do anything but cement in Al's mind that I was in cahoots with his enemy. I'd failed us both. Again.

I sulked my way through the first half of rehearsal. If anyone noticed my sour mood, nobody said anything. Scowls and frowns were the order of the day. The dancers had joined us, but as Jayne had warned me, they weren't ready to dance with music, much less
perform alongside the rest of the cast. Walter Friday watched them with a bemused look on his face. Vinnie Garvaggio sat beside him, chomping his way through his cigar in time to the music. When the action paused, he called out to Gloria, complimenting her on her hoofing. This did nothing to help her performance.

When Garvaggio wasn't reinforcing Gloria's self-delusions, he was leering at Jayne. My best pal responded to the constant winks and suggestive nods by trying to avoid making eye contact with him, but the attention was unnerving her so much that she was forgetting steps, losing time, and wobbling on landings she used to nail. Even Maureen noticed her inability to focus and shouted out reprimands to her star pupil. “You can't perform vith two people in the audience? Vhat vill it be like vith more, eh? Und here I zought you vere my saving grace.”

As for the rest of us, Zelda, Izzie, Ruby, Minnie, and myself went effortlessly through our scenes, trying our best to blend into the dance sequences seamlessly enough that Friday would have no reason to stop the action. Despite my awful morning at Rikers, I managed to remember most of my lines and even figured out where they went. Having overcome that barrier, Ruby now took me to task for what she described as my “tone-deaf singing.”

“I know you don't have any solos, Rosie, but that's no excuse for making the audience cover their ears with their hands.”

At the break I looked for Jayne and found Garvaggio had pulled her aside for a private conversation. She kept her arms wrapped around her upper body and countered each attempt he made to move close to her by moving two steps backward. I thought about rescuing her, but I caught Gloria's eye from across the room. She was watching them as intently as I was.

“Tomorrow night's the night.” I spun around and found Zelda and Izzie standing behind me. As much as I liked them, they had a nasty habit of sneaking up on me. I considered asking them to wear bells around their necks just so I could keep from being startled.

“Tomorrow's the night for what?” I asked. “
Amos 'n' Andy
?”

“The Stage Door Canteen,” said Izzie. “Remember?”

I hadn't. With everything else going on, my promise to join them at the Canteen was the furthest thing from my mind. “Any chance we can make it next week?”

“Oh no,” said Zelda. “A promise is a promise. Don't be scared. It'll be loads of fun, I promise.”

“I'm not known for my kitchen skills.”

“None of us are,” said Izzie. “And the men couldn't care less. They're there for a cute skirt, not a good meal.”

This cute skirt wasn't in the mood to provide them with either.

Rehearsal didn't end until well after eight that night. By the time Jayne and I started home, we were both yawning so much as to make conversation practically impossible. I finally forced her to jaw on the subway, since I was afraid both of us would doze off and miss our stop.

“Al made it pretty clear to me that I'm not to visit him again,” I told her.

“Why are you surprised? He made it pretty clear the last time you saw him too.” The train stopped and a handful of St. Patrick's Day revelers climbed aboard. With them came the sickening stench of cigarette smoke and whiskey.

“Tony was there,” I said.

That perked Jayne up. “Really? You didn't say anything…”

“About the show? Of course not. As a matter of fact, you earned a gold medal from him for having the sense to stay off Rikers.”

Jayne rested her head against the window. “Did you learn anything from Al?”

“Not really, no. He still insists he's guilty, though he seemed more than a little bothered that you agreed with him. Part of me thinks we should've sent you instead of me. I'm starting to think he doesn't care what I think.”

“Rosie…”

“It's true. The way he was acting today, it was like I was public enemy number one.” An idea slipped loose from my exhausted brain. “This might be important, though: he hates Garvaggio.”

“I know the feeling.”

I scooted closer to her to keep the eavesdropping Irish at bay. “No, he really hates him. When I accused him of working for the guy, he acted like I'd slapped his mother. Used a mixed metaphor and everything.”

“Wouldn't you? I mean, Al may be in prison because of the guy.”

“But why tell me that he can't stand him. Why would I care?” Across the aisle was a poster depicting a Chinese man.
THIS MAN IS YOUR FRIEND,
the text declared.
H
E FIGHTS FOR FREEDOM
.
If only everyone on our side were so clearly defined.

Jayne struggled to swallow a yawn. “Maybe Al's afraid it'll get back to Tony that he was working for Garvaggio.”

“If Al's in jail and Tony's been to see him, don't you think it's likely he already knows the how and why?”

Jayne rubbed her eyes and mulled this over. “True…. He wants me to have a drink with him after rehearsal tomorrow.”

“Tony?”

She cocked her head to the left. “Not Tony, you dumdora. Vinnie.”

“I hope you did the right thing.”

She lifted her head proudly. “I was firm but polite.”

“You turned him down?”

“Of course I turned him down! Can you imagine what Tony would do if he found out? Vinnie Garvaggio is as kosher as a two-dollar ham.”

I beckoned her to lower her voice. “This isn't about your love life. Don't you think an evening alone with Vinnie would be the perfect opportunity to find out more about him?”

“Like what? How cold his hands are?” I gave her a look to let her know the dumb act was wearing thin. She surrendered with her palms to the sky. “He barely told Gloria anything—why would he tell me any more?”

“Because you're not Gloria. Because you've got something she doesn't.”

“Obviously you haven't seen her in a leotard.”

I gently rapped her arm. “I mean you're a good conversationalist.
You know how to play the game. I'll bet dollars to doughnuts Vinnie will be singing after ten minutes in your company.”

“What if Tony finds out?”

I thought back to my earlier theory, the one that said Al was where he was because he'd crossed Tony, not because he'd actually murdered somebody. Did Jayne run the same risk if she was found in Vinnie Garvaggio's company? I didn't want to think so, but if you're operating under the belief that someone is dangerous, it's best to assume that's the case under all circumstances.

Still…he was Tony. And even if their relationship was in flux, he cared about Jayne. Besides, it was terribly inconvenient to have to worry about him right now.

“Don't worry about Tony. If he doesn't know you're doing this show, he certainly isn't going to know if you dip the bill with Garvaggio.”

Jayne sighed and knocked her head against the back of the seat. “All right. I'll go out with him. For one drink. In a public place.”

“You'll get no disagreement from me.”

“Want to tag along?” Her exhausted eyes were widened to their full capacity.

“Jayne, I'm hardly batting a thousand when it comes to getting information out of people. The only thing Garvaggio would spill if I were there would be my drink. He wants to be alone. With you.”

She worked the hem of her coat around her finger, winding the thick, checked wool so tightly her nail turned blue.

“Besides, I've got plans. Tomorrow night I'm volunteering at the Canteen. I can't let the men in blue down.”

“Yeah, but you feel no such loyalty for a blonde in ballet slippers.”

I patted her hand. “It'll be fine. I'll meet up with you after. We'll set a time and I'll show up wherever you two are and break up the festivities. How's that sound?”

She exhaled, and her breath fogged up the window, erasing everything outside the subway car. “Like you're going to owe me a big favor after tomorrow night.”