The Family Corleone

  “Aren’t you having anything?” Luca asked.

  “I’m not hungry,” Kelly said. She prepared the coffee, turned the gas heat up under the pot, and stood beside it, waiting for it to perk.

  “You don’t eat enough,” Luca said. “You don’t eat more, you’re gonna get skinny.”

  “Luca,” Kelly said, “I was thinking.” She turned to face him and leaned back against the stove.

  Luca said, “Uh-oh,” and started in on his breakfast.

  “But just listen.” She fished a pack of Chesterfields out of the pocket of her robe and leaned over the gas burner to light a cigarette. “I’ve just been thinking,” she said, exhaling a stream of smoke into the window light. “Everybody knows there’s nobody tougher than you in the whole city. Not even Mariposa, though, sure, he’s too big. He runs the whole city practically.”

  Luca stopped eating. He seemed amused. “What do you know about this stuff?” he asked. “You been stickin’ your nose where it don’t belong?”

  “I know a lot,” Kelly said. “I’m always hearing things.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So all I’m sayin’ is, you should be runnin’ things, Luca. Who’s tougher than you?” The coffee boiled over and she took it off the burner, turned down the heat, and then put it back to perk a few more minutes.

  “I do run things,” Luca said. “I run things just the way I want them.”

  “Yeah,” Kelly said. She moved behind Luca and massaged his shoulders. “Sure. You do a robbery here and there, you run some numbers… You do a little bit of whatever you feel like doing for you and your boys.”

  “That’s exactly right,” Luca said.

  “See, what I’m sayin’, Luca, is you should organize. You got to be the only guinea in New York still workin’ solo. All the rest of your people, they work together. They make a fortune compared to what you make.”

  “That’s also true,” Luca said. He stopped eating and put one hand over Kelly’s, where she was kneading his shoulder. “But what you’re leaving out, doll, is that those guys all take orders.” He turned around in his chair, wrapped his arms around Kelly’s waist, and kissed her belly. “Those guys,” he said, “even somebody like that jerkoff Mariposa: He’s gotta take orders too. His friend Al Capone tells him to crap in his hat, he craps in his hat. And everybody else, they all have to do what they’re told. Now, me,” he said, and he held Kelly at arm’s length, “I do whatever the hell I want to do. And nobody—not Giuseppe Mariposa or Al Capone, or anybody else alive—nobody tells me what to do.”

  “Yeah,” Kelly said, and ran her fingers through Luca’s hair. “But you’re cut out of all the big money, baby. You’re cut out of all the big dough.”

  “What’s the matter?” Luca said. “Don’t I take care of you? Don’t I buy you nice clothes, fancy jewelry, pay your rent, give you spending money?” He went back to eating his breakfast without waiting for an answer.

  “Ah, you’re great,” Kelly said, and kissed him on the shoulder. “You know that,” she said. “You know I love you, baby.”

  Luca said, “I told you not to call me baby. I don’t like it.” He put his fork down and offered Kelly a smile. “My boys snicker behind my back they hear you call me baby, okay?”

  “Sure,” Kelly said. “I forgot is all, Luca.” She poured herself a cup of coffee, sat across from Luca at the table, and watched him eat. After a minute, she took a plastic ashtray down from the top of the icebox, stubbed out her cigarette, and carried it with her to the table, where she put it down beside her coffee cup. She got up again, turned on the gas burner to light another cigarette, and then sat down at the table again. “Luca,” she said, “remember we talked about getting some nice furniture for this place? Really, honey,” she said. “The bedroom’s practically the only room that’s furnished. Practically all you have in the whole house is a great big bed.”

  Luca finished off his breakfast. He looked at Kelly but didn’t say anything.

  “We could fix up this place nice,” she pressed, gently, but pressing nonetheless. “I saw a beautiful living room set in the Sears catalogue. It’d be perfect for us. And, you know,” she said, gesturing around her to the house, “we could put drapes on the windows—”

  “I like the place the way it is,” Luca said. “I already told you that.” He took one of Kelly’s cigarettes and lit it with a wooden match he struck against the kitchen wall. “Don’t start already,” he said. “Give a guy a break, Kelly. We’re not even out of bed and you’re starting.”

  “I’m not startin’,” Kelly said. When she heard the whimper in her voice, it made her angry. “I’m not startin’,” she said again, louder. “Things change is all I’m trying to tell you, Luca. Things can’t always stay the same.”

  “Yeah?” Luca said. He tapped the ash off his cigarette. “What are you talking about, doll?”

  Kelly got up and walked away from the table. She leaned against the stove. “You don’t fix this place up, Luca,” she said, “ ’cause you’re practically livin’ with your mother. You sleep there more than you sleep here. You eat there all the time. It’s like you’re still living with her.”

  “What’s that to you, Kelly?” Luca pinched the bridge of his nose. “What’s it to you where I sleep and eat?”

  “Well, it can’t keep going on like that.”

  “Why not?” Luca asked. “Why can’t it keep going on like that?”

  Kelly felt tears coming, so she turned her back to Luca and went to the window, where she looked out at the gravel driveway and the road beyond it and the woods that lined the road. “All you got in this place is a big bed,” she repeated, still gazing out the window. She sounded as if she were talking to herself. Behind her she heard Luca push his chair back from the table. When she turned, he was stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Sometimes I think all you’ve got this place for is a hideout and somewhere to sleep with your whores. Ain’t that right, Luca?”

  “You said it.” Luca slid the ashtray across the table. “I’m going back up to bed,” he said. “Maybe when I wake up you’ll be in a better mood.”

  “I ain’t in a bad mood,” Kelly said. She followed him and watched him walk away from her, up the stairs. From the bottom of the flight, she called up. “How many whores do you have anyway? I’m just curious, Luca. I’m just curious, is all.” When he didn’t answer, she waited. She heard the mattress creak and groan with Luca’s weight. In the basement, the furnace banged to life with a series of moans, and then the radiators started hissing and gurgling. She went up to the bedroom and stood in the doorway. Luca was on his back in bed, his hands under his head. On a night table beside him, a glass of water rested alongside a black telephone, the receiver dangling over the dial at its base. Luca was gazing outside, where wind whipped through the trees and whistled at the window.

  Luca said, “Don’t start, Kelly. I swear to God. It’s too early.”

  “I ain’t startin’,” she said. She watched him where he lay, his long, muscular arms white against the dark wood of the headboard; his feet under the covers all the way at the other end of the mattress, touching the footboard. “I just want to know is all, Luca. How many whores do you bring out here?”

  “Kelly…” Luca closed his eyes, as if he needed to disappear for a second. When he opened them, he said, “You know you’re the only one I bring out here, doll face. You know that.”

  “That’s so sweet,” Kelly said. She pinched the neck of her robe together with both hands. She clutched the terry-cloth lapels, as if holding on to steady herself. “So where do you shack up with the rest of your whores, then? One of those uptown cathouses?”

  Luca laughed and pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes. “I like Madam Crystal’s place on Riverside Drive,” he said. “You know it?”

  “How would I know it?” Kelly shouted. “What do you mean by that?”

  Luca patted the mattress beside him. “Come here,” he said.

  “Why?” br />
  “I said come here.”

  Kelly glanced behind her, down the stairs and out the window on the landing, where she could see the end of the driveway and the empty road and the trees beyond it.

  Luca said, “Don’t make me say it again.”

  Kelly sighed and said, “For Christ’s sake, Luca.” She climbed up on the mattress and sat beside him, still clutching the lapels of her robe.

  Luca said, “I’m gonna ask you one more time, and I want an answer. Who was the college boy you were talking about at Juke’s?”

  “Ah, not this again,” Kelly said. “I told you. He’s nobody. Just some kid.”

  Luca snatched Kelly by the hair with one hand, picked her up like a puppet, and swung her around in front of him. “I know you,” he said, “and I know there’s more—and now you’re gonna tell me.”

  “Luca,” Kelly said. She grabbed at his hand and pulled herself up. “You’re my guy, Luca. I swear. You’re the only one.” When Luca tightened his grip and reached back with his free hand as if to slap her, she yelled. “Don’t, Luca! Please! I’m knocked up, Luca. It’s yours, and I’m knocked up!”

  “You’re what?” Luca pulled Kelly close to him.

  “I’m pregnant,” Kelly said, letting loose the tears she’d been holding back. “It’s your baby, Luca.”

  Luca dropped Kelly and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. He sat still and stared at the wall. He bowed his head.

  “Luca,” Kelly said, softly. She touched his back and he jumped away from her. “Luca,” she said again.

  Luca went to the closet and came back flipping through the pages of a small black book. When he found what he was looking for, he sat on the edge of the bed, in front of Kelly. “Pick it up,” he said, nodding to the phone. “I want you to call this number.”

  “Why, Luca? What do you want me to call someone for?”

  “You’re getting rid of it,” he said, and he placed the black book on the mattress in front of her. He watched her, waiting to see what she would do.

  Kelly backed away from the book. “No,” she said. “I can’t do that, Luca. We’d both go to hell. I can’t.”

  “You stupid gash,” Luca said, “we’re both going to hell anyway.” He took the phone from the night table and dropped it on the mattress at Kelly’s knees. The mouthpiece fell off its hook and he put it back in place. He picked up the phone and held it in front of her. “Dial the number,” he said. When Kelly shook her head, he threw the phone at her.

  Kelly screamed more out of fear than pain. She backed away. “I’m not gonna do that!” she yelled, perched at the edge of the mattress.

  Luca put the phone back on the night table. “You’re getting rid of it,” he said to her, calmly, across the mattress.

  “I’m not!” Kelly screamed, kneeling, thrusting herself toward him.

  “You’re not?” Luca said. He leapt onto the bed and knocked Kelly off the mattress and onto the floor.

  Kelly scuttled into a corner and yelled, “I’m not, Luca! Fuck you! I’m not gonna do it!”

  Luca picked her up, one hand under her legs and the other under her shoulders. He ignored her as she beat at his chest and face. He carried her to the stairs and tossed her down.

  From the bottom of the landing Kelly screamed a litany of curses. She wasn’t hurt. She’d hit her head on a post and both her knees stung, but she knew she wasn’t really hurt. She yelled up the stairs, “You’re a miserable guinea bastard, Luca!”

  Luca nodded as he watched her on the landing with the window at her back. His face was so dark he looked like someone different altogether. Downstairs the furnace roared again and the whole house shook.

  “You want to know about that college boy?” Kelly said. Her robe had fallen open and she pulled herself to her feet, wrapped the robe around her tightly, and tied the belt in a neat bow. “He’s Tom Hagen,” Kelly said. “You know who that is?”

  Luca didn’t say anything. He watched her and waited.

  “That’s Vito Corleone’s son,” she said, “and I let him screw me even after I knew I was carrying your baby. What do you think of that, Luca?”

  Luca only nodded.

  “What are you gonna do now?” she asked, and she took a step toward him on the stairs. “You know who the Corleones are, don’t you, Luca? All you dago goons know each other, right? So what are you gonna do now?” she asked. “You gonna kill me while I’m carrying your baby? Then you gonna kill Vito Corleone’s kid? You gonna go to war with the whole family?”

  “He’s not Vito’s kid,” Luca said, calmly, “but, yeah, I’m gonna kill him.” He started down the stairs and stopped. “How do you even know about Vito Corleone and his family?” He sounded merely curious, as if all his anger had suddenly gone out of him.

  Kelly took a step up the stairs. Her hands were balled up into fists. “Hooks told me all about the Corleones,” she said, and she took another step up. “And I did a little looking into them on my own.” There was blood on her cheek and she wiped it away. She didn’t know where it came from.

  “Yeah, you did?” Luca said, and now suddenly he was amused. “You looked into them?”

  “That’s right,” Kelly said. “I found out all about them. And you know what I found out? They’re not so big you can’t take ’em on, Luca. Who’s tougher than you? You could take over their territories and be making millions.”

  Luca said, “Maybe that’s what will have to be, now you put me in the position of having to kill one of Vito’s kids.”

  “And what about me?” Kelly asked, her voice softening a little, a touch of fear in it now. “You gonna kill me too?”

  “Nah,” Luca said. “I’m not gonna kill you.” He started down the stairs, his movements slow and lumbering, as if the weight of his huge body was pulling him down. “But I am gonna give you a beatin’ you won’t forget.”

  “Go ahead,” Kelly said. “What do I care? What do I care about anything?” She thrust her chin out to Luca. She climbed another step and waited for him.

  Eileen lifted the bedsheet and looked under it. “My God, Sonny,” she said, “they ought to build a shrine to that thing.”

  Sonny played with Eileen’s hair where it fell to her bare shoulder. He liked the feel of her hair, the fineness of it between his fingers. They were in her bed late on a blustery autumn afternoon. Sunlight came in through the slatted blinds of a window over the headboard in a straight line and tinted the room red. Caitlin was with her grandmother, where she spent every Wednesday through to dinnertime. Eileen had closed the bakery an hour early.

  Sonny said, “Some of the kids in school used to call me the Whip.”

  “The Whip, did they?”

  “Yeah,” Sonny said. “You know, in the locker room after gym, they’d—”

  “Sure, I get the picture,” Eileen said. “You don’t need to explain.”

  Sonny put his arm around Eileen’s waist and pulled her to him. He nuzzled in her hair and kissed the top of her head.

  Eileen laid her head on his chest. She was quiet awhile, and then she picked up where she’d left off. “Really, Sonny,” she said, “we should take a picture of it. When I tell my girlfriends they’ll think I’m the dirtiest liar in all of New York City.”

  “Stop it,” Sonny said. “We both know you’re not telling nobody nothin’.”

  “That’s true,” Eileen said. She added, wistfully, “But I’d like to.”

  Sonny pulled her hair back off her face so that he could see her eyes. “No you wouldn’t,” he said. “You like secrets.”

  Eileen thought about that and said, “True again. I suppose I’m not about to tell anyone I’m shacking up with my kid brother’s best friend.”

  Sonny asked, “Are you worried about your reputation?”

  Eileen shifted her weight and turned her head so that her cheek pressed against Sonny’s chest and the line of curly hair that spread from breast to breast like wings. On her dresser a framed picture of Jimmy and Caitl
in lay facedown. She always turned the picture down when she was with Sonny—and it never helped. On the other side of the black cardboard Jimmy Gibson has just tossed his daughter in the air. His arms are outstretched as he looks up to Caitlin’s delighted face and waits eternally for her to return to his arms. “I suppose I am worried about my reputation,” she said. “Your being seventeen wouldn’t look good, but even worse than that, you’re a dago.”

  “You don’t seem to mind.”

  “I don’t,” Eileen said, “but the rest of my family is not so open-minded.”

  “How come some of you micks have it in for Italians so bad?”

  “You Italians don’t have any great love for the Irish, now, do you?”

  “It’s different,” Sonny said. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. “We knock heads with you,” he added, “but we don’t hate you like you’re scum. Some of you Irish, you act like Italians are dirt.”

  “Oh,” Eileen asked, “are we getting serious now?”

  “A little,” Sonny answered.

  Eileen gave the question a moment’s thought. The bedroom door was closed and locked and on the back of it Sonny’s jacket and cap hung from the top hook. Her work clothes hung from the bottom hook. She stared at the drab blouse and skirt, and through the closed door to the kitchen beyond, and beyond the kitchen to the red brick walls of the apartment house, where she could hear Mrs. Fallon out on the fire escape beating a rug or a mattress, the thap-thap of a blunt object striking something soft. “I suppose,” she said, “to lots of the Irish you’re not white, now, are you? They think of you like they think of the colored, like you’re not the same race as the rest of us.”

  “Do you think that?” Sonny asked. “Do you think we’re not the same race?”

  “What do I care about such things?” Eileen said. “I’m sleeping with you, aren’t I?” She lifted the sheet and looked under it again. “But you are a monster, Sonny!” she said. “My God!”

  Sonny pushed Eileen onto her back and hovered over her. He liked to look at the whiteness of her skin, how creamy and soft it was, with a small reddish birthmark by her hip, something no one else got to see.