Chances

  “Is that so?”

  She nodded, looked straight at him, raised her hand boldly to his scar, and said, “But I’m glad I did.”

  It seemed only natural that he should take her hand from his cheek and press it to his lips. “You’re beautiful,” he muttered. It wasn’t an empty compliment. He meant it.

  “Thank you.” Her voice was no more than a whisper.

  Silence enveloped them. He kept hold of her hand. Her big blue eyes were fixed upon him expectantly.

  Very slowly he reached over and began to undo the buttons on her thin cotton dress. She said nothing. Briefly he remembered the first time he kissed Leonora, swimming in San Francisco Bay, the cold oily water and her shivering young body pressed against him.

  This was not Leonora.

  This was Maria.

  He undid the buttons down to her waist and reached his hand inside the flimsy material. Her breasts were warmly damp. She wore no brassiere, which excited him.

  “Aren’t you going to kiss me first?” she asked in a tiny voice.

  He withdrew his hand from her dress and held her face with both hands. Then he began to kiss her very slowly. He pushed his tongue into her mouth, and tentatively, she responded, copying everything he did. When he probed she returned the pressure. When he paused she did so too. Her mouth and lips were so sweet—like succulent fruit.

  “I want to kiss your scar,” she murmured, hardly realizing what she was saying. And then she was tracing the outline of it with her fingers and following this up with her soft entrancing lips.

  The sun, burning down on them, was very hot indeed.

  Gino struggled to remove his clothes, taking everything off except his shorts. He was glad that he had stayed in such good physical shape. Not an ounce of fat on his entire body.

  Carefully he peeled her dress from her shoulders, exposing perfect breasts. He bent to kiss them.

  She was very quiet, not saying a word but allowing him to do what he wanted.

  He began to unbutton the lower half of her dress. Then he peeled down her panties and buried his head in the blond fluffy triangle. She reared away. “No, no, please don’t do that.”

  He stroked her carefully and laid her down on the grass.

  She looked like Leonora. But she was Maria. He had no trouble realizing that.

  “You’re very beautiful,” he muttered. As he spoke he divested himself of his shorts and started to roll on top of her. “Beautiful….”

  Her long legs were open, and he was as rigid as he’d ever been, but he was having difficulty entering her. “Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed suddenly, rolling off. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered. “I want to do it.”

  “Oh, Christ!” He lay on his back and stared up at the cloudless sky. The fact that she was a virgin had brought him down to earth with a bang. She was Leonora’s kid, for crissake. What the fuck did he think he was doing, getting his own back, perhaps?

  He reached for his shorts and pulled them on.

  “What’s the matter?” She sat up, instinctively covering her breasts.

  The gesture was sweet, reminding him of the fact that she was a decent innocent girl and what the hell was he doing with her? “I made a mistake,” he muttered. “I’m sorry. Get dressed, kid.”

  Two bright spots of color stung her cheeks, “I’m not a kid. I’m a woman. And what we were doing here today is perfectly all right with me.”

  “Yeh? Well, it’s not all right with me, so be a good girl and put on your clothes and I’ll drive you back.”

  Her eyes filled with angry tears. “You are insulting—Mr. Santangelo.”

  “Hey, what are you talkin’ about?”

  “If you knew anything at all about women, you would know that you can’t treat me like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like calling me kid and good girl. I know what I am doing, and I want to do it.” She reached out her arms to him. “Please,” she murmured softly.

  “Look ki—er, Maria. This is somethin’ that shouldn’t be happenin’.”

  Her eyes were huge. “Why?”

  “Because I’m much older than you.” He felt ridiculous in just his shorts. He wanted to get dressed and be on his way. All of a sudden he wanted Maria out of his life.

  “Are you asking me to believe that you have never made love with a younger woman?” she demanded incredulously.

  “I’m not sayin’ that.”

  “Well, what?” She stared at him, genuinely puzzled.

  He stared back. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

  She sensed the hunger in his eyes and lay back on the grass. “I don’t know what love is,” she said softly, “but I do know that I want you to be the first man in my life. I want that very very much.”

  He remembered San Francisco. He remembered Leonora saying, “We don’t have to wait, Gino….” But he had insisted, hadn’t he? He had mumbled some garbage about how they should save making love until they were married. He had played schmuck all down the line. And now he was about to do it again….

  “Maria,” he said roughly, “if it’s what you really want—”

  She reached out for him. “Oh, yes, Gino! Oh, yes….”

  Jennifer and Costa both heard the car roar up in front of the house at the same time.

  Jennifer’s mouth was set in a thin angry line. She glanced at her watch just to make sure that it really was twelve o’clock at night.

  “Now stay calm,” Costa urged. “She’s back now, and it won’t happen again. I’ll talk to Gino, don’t worry.”

  “How can I stay calm?” Jennifer snapped. “I’m furious. Not even a phone call to tell us she’d be out half the night.”

  Costa put a finger to his lips. “Sssh.”

  They heard the front door slam, and then in walked Maria and Gino. All of Costa’s worst fears were confirmed. The two of them were glowing like Christmas trees. A stupid grin split Gino’s face in two, and Maria was flushed and bright-eyed.

  “Hey-hey-hey!” Gino exclaimed. “And how’s my favorite old married couple?” Jennifer turned a frosty cheek as he bent to kiss her.

  Costa said coldly, “Why didn’t you phone? We were worried.”

  Maria looked guilty. “I left a note, uncle.”

  “Yes,” agreed Costa, “a note that indicated you would be gone an hour or two. Do you realize what the time is?”

  “I took her to a seafood restaurant,” Gino said breezily. “Best lobster I ever tasted.”

  “Oh, yes!” agreed Maria. “It was wonderful!” She looked at him and smiled.

  He smiled back and winked.

  Costa sighed. “Why don’t you run along to bed, Maria. Mr. Santangelo and I have some business to discuss.”

  “It’s all right,” she said cheekily. “I’m allowed to call him Gino.”

  Jennifer stood up. “Come along, dear, say good night. I want to talk to you.”

  Maria smiled very softly at Gino. “Good night. And… thank you.”

  He grinned. “We had a good day, huh?”

  She glowed. “A very good day.”

  Costa waited until the women left the room, and then he asked sharply, “Drink?”

  Gino settled himself into a comfortable chair, “Yeh. A brandy would be O.K.”

  Costa went to the bar and silently poured the amber liquid into a balloon glass. Then he handed it to Gino and said, “What’s the game, my friend?”

  “Huh?” Gino looked vague.

  Costa was very angry. “Don’t shadow-box with me. I know you too long and too well. What the fuck are you playing at?” It took a lot to make Costa swear. When he was angry his face broke out in red blotches and his eyes narrowed until they were mere slits.

  “I took the kid out to see a house I’m thinkin’ of buyin’. Then I took her to dinner. What’s the big deal?” Gino said unconcernedly.

  “Why Maria?” Costa snapped.

>   “Why Maria what?”

  “Why are you picking on her?”

  Gino swirled the cognac around in his glass, “Aw, c’mon, I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about—”

  “I’m talking about what my eyes see. She’s my niece, Leonora’s daughter, for God’s sake.”

  “Yeh?” Gino was beginning to get aggravated. “The one she had in September or December?”

  Costa had the good grace to look embarrassed. “It wouldn’t have done any good telling you then.”

  “Very true.” Gino yawned and changed the subject, “You got a spare bed here? I don’t feel like drivin’ back to the city.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you did.”

  Costa was taking the shine off his day. “Why?”

  “Because I have very specific instructions from Leonora that Maria is not to meet you on this trip. We can’t help today, but—”

  “Fuck Leonora,” Gino blazed.

  “Look. Be reasonable.” Costa paced around the room, wondering how he had ever got himself in this position. “What difference does it make in your life if you never see the girl again?”

  Gino tipped his brandy glass, draining the last drops of the rich liquid. He shrugged. “You’re right. What difference?”

  Costa looked immensely relieved.

  Gino placed the glass firmly on the table and gave Costa a long hard look. “I’ll be seein’ you, pal.”

  “Tomorrow. You’ll be in the office, won’t you?”

  “I may take a trip to the coast, check out how The Boy’s doin’.”

  Costa tapped his fingers on the table nervously. He had made his point; now he wanted them to part friends. “Unexpected, isn’t it?”

  “Yeh. But I figure maybe I should get outa the way. What with the big party Jen’s planning, it’s better I ain’t around.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just that Leonora feels—”

  “What does the bitch feel?” Gino raised his voice. “That her precious daughter will get corrupted in my company? That I’m a bad boy? Well, you can tell her from me that I think she stinks—y’get it? Stinks.”

  Costa nodded silently.

  Gino slammed his way out of the house.

  This time he didn’t stay at The Boy’s house in Los Angeles. He rented a place of his own, a huge mansion in Bel Air that had once belonged to a silent movie star.

  He moved in with bodyguards and entertained a procession of prime female flesh. They were beautiful, all right, but they were boring. Each and every leggy one of them wanted to get into movies. While waiting for the big break they got into bed with anyone they thought could help them.

  He visited Vegas and checked out the construction of the Mirage. Progress was fast. It was looking good.

  Pippa Sanchez came to his house in Bel Air and prowled around like a particularly lethal cat. She had kept her word and told him tales of Jake’s doings. It all seemed very on the up and up. The Boy wasn’t stealing—yet.

  She stripped off her white dress in Gino’s bedroom and went through the acrobatic motions of making love.

  He wondered if The Boy knew what she was up to. He hoped that he did.

  “You should finance a movie,” Pippa remarked casually. “You can afford it. Why don’t you?”

  It wasn’t a bad idea. “Find me a script. If I like it, I’ll do it.”

  It was the first time he had ever seen her smile. Why was she smiling? He hadn’t offered her a part.

  On September fifteenth he phoned one of his secretaries in New York, dispatched her to Tiffany’s, and told her to buy the biggest and best aquamarine set in diamonds she could find. He dictated a note to go with it and had it sent to Maria. The note said, Happy Birthday. This’ll never outshine your eyes.

  When Maria opened it and read the note she cried. It was nothing new, she had been crying on and off since Gino’s departure.

  He sat by his pool in Bel Air and thought about the girl who would be twenty-one that day. He thought about her face and her skin and her eyes and her body and her smell.

  At six o’clock in the evening he got a plane back to New York.

  He did not care what was right or wrong. He did not care if Leonora had hysterics or if Costa never spoke to him again.

  He knew what he wanted, and he was going to get it.

  Carrie

  1943

  For days Carrie had been crying until there were no tears left. Then a hot burning fury swept over her, and she stormed into the restaurant where she knew Enzio Bonnatti lunched every day. She swept over to his table, ignoring his bodyguards, who leaped to their feet, and began to harangue him. “I want my baby. You hear me? I want my baby! You told me when he was taken you would get him back. Well, WHERE IS HE? I told you who took him. Your boys talked to the girl who looked after him. So where is he? Why haven’t I got him back? It’s six days! I pay you protection…. I WANT ACTION!”

  The bodyguards had hold of her now, vicelike grips on each side. “Move it, nigger,” one of them snarled.

  “Where’s my little boy?” she screamed at Enzio, who studiously broke bread and attempted to ignore her. “I WANT MY BABY! AND IF YOU CAN’T GET HIM BACK I’M GOING TO THE COPS. YOU HEAR ME? THE COPS. I’LL TELL THEM EVERYTHING….”

  She was frogmarched from the restaurant.

  Enzio glanced at his luncheon companion, a statuesque showgirl. He shrugged. “Never saw the girl before in my life. I get that all the time.”

  Outside the restaurant Carrie was dumped unceremoniously in the back of Enzio’s car, while one of his bodyguards went back inside to find out what should be done with her.

  “Take her to her place, lock her in a room, I’ll be by after lunch,” Enzio muttered from the corner of his mouth. There was nothing worse than a hysterical whore. Maybe it was time to ship her out of the city down to one of his South American connections. He had other things on his mind. He didn’t need aggravation about her stupid kid.

  Leroy sat on the floor and tossed peanuts into his mouth. Like miniature bullets he fired them off, one by one. His aim was great—they all landed right on the center of his large pink tongue.

  Four-year-old Steven watched fascinated. Sixteen-year-old Lil squatted on the bed, painting her toenails. A fly buzzed around the musty little room and settled on a chunk of ham left uncovered on a shelf.

  “Today’s the day,” announced Leroy, suddenly leaping up. “I guessin’ the bitch will give me anythin’ I want now. She must be sweatin’ shit!”

  “We gonna get rid of the kid today?” Lil asked excitedly.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” he replied, giving nothing away as usual.

  “It’s bin nearly a week.”

  “Tough shit,” he snapped.

  “I wanna get back to work,” she whined. “We need the dough.”

  “We’ll have dough comin’ out our assholes!” smirked Leroy.

  Steven looked from one to the other of them with serious green eyes. He didn’t understand why he was with these funny people, but he had learned that it was best to keep quiet. They hit him when he didn’t.

  Leroy danced around the room, getting himself dressed. “Today’s the day,” he sang.

  Lil concentrated on her toenails.

  Steven remained in the corner, quietly watching them.

  Enzio’s slap stung the side of Carrie’s face. “No whore talks to me like that. Who do you think you are, puttana?”

  She was defeated. Her hands picked at the material of her dress. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bonnatti.”

  “Sorry!” He laughed mirthlessly. “I’ve had people killed for less than you did today.”

  She was silent.

  “I don’t like being threatened. I don’t like no talk of telling the cops. Not that you could. You know nothin’.”

  Her voice was a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sure you are. You’ve had time to think things over.”

  “I want my son back, Mr. Bonnatti. You promised—”

 
“I promised nothin’. I said I’d have a couple of the boys look into it.”

  “If you could—”

  He was impatient. “I will, I will. But in the meantime maybe you should take a little rest.”

  “No!” She was startled.

  “What d’y’mean, no?”

  “I’m not going anywhere without Steven.”

  He sighed. “You run a good house. I ain’t shittin’ when I say y’could be worth a lot to me. I don’t wanna hafta throw you out on the street, but if you cause me trouble—believe me—I will.”

  She was desperate. “Mr. Bonnatti. Please. I just want my son back. I’ll do anything you ask. Work for nothing, anything….”

  “I’ll get the kid back, but no more scenes. Y’get it?”

  She grabbed his hand and kissed it. “Thank you, Mr. Bonnatti. I know you can find him…. You’ll do it….”

  He unzipped his pants. “Give me a blow job while I’m here,” he requested casually.

  She didn’t understand for a moment, and then, when the realization set in, she knelt unhappily to her task.

  Enzio Bonnatti was a pig.

  But he was the pig who would find her baby.

  Leroy bopped happily down the street. He checked out his reflection in a shop window and liked what he saw. He would like it a whole lot better when Carrie came up with plenty of dough. And she would. He had no doubt about that.

  He went into a diner and ordered a cup of coffee. Then he went in back to a pay phone and dialed the private number of her whorehouse.

  A chick answered with a real heavy accent. “Get me Carrie,” he demanded.

  “She ees busy right now, mister.”

  “I’m callin’ ’bout Stevie, baby. Unbusy her.”

  The chick snapped to attention. “Steven? Her Steven?”

  “Put her on this phone, bitch, ’fore I hang up.”

  He hummed a tune and read the graffiti on the wall while he waited, MARLENE FUCKS, WHO DOESN’T? He wondered who Marlene was. Probably wrote it on the wall herself.

  Carrie got on the line real frantic-sounding, just like he had expected. “You got my baby?” she cried frenziedly. “Is he all right? You haven’t hurt him? Where is he?”