'74 & Sunny (18 page)

“And that's that,” he said, shrugging his shoulders as he turned from the front door and joined Gino and me at the table. “I didn't like seeing a man trying to change your mind, Gino. Trying to make you feel something you didn't want to feel. That's why I did what I did. And that goes for the both of you. Don't ever straddle a line. It's a dangerous place to be.”

“Uncle Al,” Gino began to sniffle. “But I lied. I
did
like
The Cowboys
better. Nolan was right. And now I feel bad he's gone because of me.”

My father picked up Gino and sat him on the table.

“Okay, okay. Don't cry,” he said, kissing his head and wiping his cheeks. “It's okay. There's no right or wrong answer. I just want you to have your own reason, not someone else's reason. Do you understand? Uncle Al is not mad at you, Gino. I just want you to stand up for yourself and be comfortable in your own skin. Life's gonna hurt you if you're not.”

Gino could only get a few words out at a time in short
bursts because of his emotions. “I . . . liked both . . . movies . . .”

“Okay,” my father said, holding him.

“But it's just easier for me to understand what the young boys felt for John Wayne than it is for me to think of the end of the world. The boys loved John Wayne in the movie. I
loved
John Wayne in the movie. Didn't you, Uncle Al?”

“Yes, yes, yes. Anyone who doesn't love the Duke in a movie can go to hell,” my father said, cupping Gino's cheeks. “And I love that you love him too. And what's most important is you had the balls to say that yourself. Nobody made you say or do something you didn't want to. You were yourself. Do you see the difference?”

“Uh-huh.” Gino sobbed. “But Nolan is your friend. And now he's gone because of me.”

“No. Don't worry about Nolan. There are a million Nolans. He knows why he's gone.”

“But why
is
he gone?” Gino said.

My father hugged Gino to his chest and looked at me over my cousin's shoulder.

“Nobody needs to make up your mind for you,” he said. “You understand?”

“Okay,” Gino said, a bit muddled inside my father's arms. “All right.”

“You know who you are?”

Gino's red eyes darted toward me and then locked straight onto my father's. “Yes, I do,” he said.

“Okay,” my father said. “Are you gonna tell me who you are, or should I ask somebody else?”

“No.” Gino began to smile.

“Well . . . who are you?”

“I'm Gino Benza,” he said, laughing his throat clear.

“Oh, hello, Gino Benza. And what kind of movies do you enjoy?”

“I like
The Cowboys
,” he said.

“Really? Why would you like that crap?”

“Because . . .”

“Yeah, yeah,” my father said, straightening him out by the shoulders. “Because why?”

Gino looked over at me for some type of go-ahead or approval.

“Tell him,” I said. “Tell him exactly what you think.”

“I liked
The Cowboys
because the boys made John Wayne . . . nicer,” he said, searching for the right adjective. “The boys made him a better man. And he died happy.”

“That works for me,” my father said. “Now, gimme a hug. And tell my son Chuck Heston kissed the colored girl only because she was the last woman on earth.”

14

BAND ON THE RUN

W
hen my mother recovered from her hysterectomy, a year earlier, it took her two weeks before she was up and at 'em and back to work at her household chores without so much as even a grimace. But for some reason, Gino's mom, Aunt Geneva, needed two months to do the same. That's why it took her so long to finally muster up the strength to decide to hop in her car and make the drive from Jersey to check in on her boy. When she placed a call to my mother and told her she was finally feeling well enough to come by for a surprise visit, my mom welcomed her with open arms and was thrilled she was feeling up to it.

My mother, who was absolutely terrible at keeping secrets, couldn't help herself and rounded up the family to make the announcement of Aunt Geneva's upcoming arrival.

“Okay, okay, everyone listen,” she said, as she hung up the phone. “That was Aunt Geneva on the line. She says she's feeling better and she's coming on Sunday to see all of us. She misses Gino very much and wants to come for the day. Isn't that great, Gino?”

Gino looked a bit dazed at the news. “She was just on the phone?”

“Yes. And she can't wait to see you.”

“Did . . . she want to talk to me?” he said.

“No. She wants to surprise you,” my mother said. “But I'm telling you ahead of time.”

“Mom . . . why are you telling us the surprise?” I said. “You just ruined it for Gino.”

Whenever my mother was flustered, she immediately acted indignant. “Well, what the hell do you want me to do? I don't know what time she's coming. I don't know what to cook. I gotta make sure this house is clean. We gotta be prepared.”

“Okay,” I said. “Now we all know Aunt Geneva is coming. Are we supposed to act surprised?”

“Of course,” she said. “She told me don't tell anyone!”

Gino and I laughed together. “All right, Ma. We don't know nothin'. Great plan. So when is she supposedly
not coming
?”

“Sometime Sunday morning,” she said.

“Great,” I said. “I'll make sure we act
shocked
when she drives up.”

“Thank you.
Jesus Christ
, is that so hard?”

On the day Aunt Geneva was set to show up, Gino and I were on the driveway, shooting baskets as we got ready for her big “secret” arrival.

“How am I supposed to act?” he asked me while rebounding my free throws. “I haven't seen her for weeks. Should I scream and jump up and down? Should I cry or something?”

“Definitely don't cry,” I said. “She'll think you're having a rotten time out here.”

“Yeah, that's true,” he said. “But how do I act
fake
surprised?”

I stopped shooting hoops and sat down on the basketball on the driveway and gave it some thought. “Okay, let's see,” I started. “What kind of car does she drive?”

“A blue one.”

“No, but what kind? Is it a Cadillac? A Buick? A station wagon with wood panels on the sides?”

“I just know that it's blue,” he said.

“Oh, Christ. So whenever we see a blue car headed down the street, we'll just act all regular like we have no idea what's going on. And if it slows down at the curb, and we see your mom hop out, then we gotta act surprised as hell.”

“I can do that,” he said.

“Yeah, but the problem is there are gonna be a
million
blue cars passing the house, cuz.”

He promised me he'd recognize it when it got near.

“So, let's see how you're gonna act surprised,” I said.

“Um . . . I guess I could jump up and down and be like,
‘Oh my God, Mom. What are you doing here?
' ”

“Eh . . .”

“And, you know,
‘Oh my God . . . I missed you so much
.' All that stuff.”

“Yeah, okay.” I exhaled. “You
do
miss her, right? I mean, just a few weeks ago you were locked in the bathroom, on the toilet bowl, crying to her.”

Gino thought about what I said for a few seconds. For the first time in a long time, I didn't see his eyes welling up whenever the topic turned to his family.

“It's just weird to me,” he said above the neighborhood noise of ice-cream trucks, lawn mowers, and boys working under the hoods of cars. “I guess I'm homesick, but I wish I could figure out why my sisters and father couldn't take care of me at home while my mom got better.”

“Well, you told me how busy your dad is and all,” I said, trying to smooth things out. “And, well, you know how much my family loves having people over.”

“Yeah . . . I guess.”

“Just don't think about it so much,” I said. “In an hour or so, a blue car with your mom will drive up and you'll see how much she loves you.”

“
God
 . . . these allergies,” Gino said, wiping his wet eyes.

“They're not allergies,” I said, punching his shoulder. “You cry when you're sad. So what? Big deal.”

“No . . .”

“Yes, ass!”

Gino laughed a little. “I'll be fine. I'm fine.”

It wasn't ringing true to me, so I called in some reinforcements. I had the Rossitto girls come over from next door and make the driveway look a lot more crowded and fun. I figured a bunch of pretty girls would put Gino more at ease and make the eventual mother-and-child reunion go smoothly. Plus, I was always up for having Debbie around me.

“Here's the thing,” I said to the Rossitto girls—Debbie, Yvonne, Eileen, Julie, and Diane. “Gino's mom is coming from Jersey to make a surprise visit. But my mother ruined the surprise, so now we have to act shocked when she drives up.”

“Okay . . .” Debbie said. “What do you want us to do?”

“I don't know. I'm thinking we can all play basketball together so Aunt Geneva sees Gino has been having a good time and all.”

“Why hasn't your mom come by sooner, Gino?” Julie said. She was nine.

“She had an operation and she had to get better first,” Gino replied, taking the ball away from me, dribbling to the basket, and shooting a layup with decent form.

“What kind of operation?” Julie asked. “My mom's a nurse, so I know a lot about diseases and cancer and stuff.”

Gino gave me a look, begging me to take over.

“She had, uh, you know,
lady
surgery,” I said. “Same as my mom did last year.”

“Was it cancer?” Yvonne asked.

Gino stayed tuned out, throwing up shots at the hoop.

“I don't know. Probably. Maybe,” I said.

Then the youngest Rossitto, Diane, piped up. “Is she gonna die?”

When Gino heard that question, he didn't even bother catching his rebound. He stomped back to the fray. “No,” he said. “She's already home and getting better. She's not going to die.”

“She ain't gonna croak,” I told the girls, loud enough for Gino to hear. “My mother made it. So will Aunt Geneva. It's no big whoop.”

“I know,” Julie said slowly. “But I always hear my mom talking about cancer. And that's pretty serious.”

I gave Debbie a look that begged of a boy needing help, and she quickly rounded up her sisters and calmed them down.

“All right, enough of this crap,” I said. “Nobody's dying. Matter of fact, she's driving right now and will be here any minute. Can we all just play basketball and have fun? What else do you have to do?”

It was as desperate a plea as I had ever made. But I had to, seeing how every turn in the conversation, every mention of surgery or death, was wreaking havoc with Gino's fragile emotions. This was supposed to be a happy time. Deep in the folds of my heart, where my father's words played like a calliope, I knew I had to keep him stable and strong.

We had been playing hoops for a few minutes and, sure enough, a slow-moving blue Impala pulled up to our curb. And Aunt Geneva stepped out wearing a loose-fitting, floral print muumuu.

“Ma!” I yelled through the screen door. “Aunt Geneva's here.”

It turned out all the plans Gino and I had discussed went to waste because the moment Aunt Geneva walked up the driveway, Gino ran to her and hugged her hard around her waist.

Her first words were: “Oh, honey, don't squeeze Mommy too tight. Gently, gently.”

I stayed back by the basket and watched.

“How are you?” she said to him. “Let me look at you. I swear you look taller! And we'll see about getting you a haircut.”

“Hi, Aunt Geneva,” I hollered.

“Hello, hello, A.J.,” she said. “Look at you. So tan. So lean. My God, you really are your father's son.”

“I missed you, Mom,” Gino said, trailing her up the lawn.

“Well, I miss you too. And who are all these pretty young ladies?”

The ever-polite Rossitto clan ran up and introduced themselves.

“Well, I have to say, you are all such beautiful girls. Are any of you Gino's age?”

Julie put up her hand. “I'll be ten in ninteen days.”

“Wow. That's wonderful. Gino, did you know that?”

“Yeah. That's my friend Julie.”

I finally walked over and gave my Aunt Geneva a proper kiss and hug. “It's great to see you,” I said. “We've been having a lotta fun.”

“I bet you have,” she said, wiping Gino's forehead. “Why are you all so sweaty?”

“We've been playing basketball, Mom,” Gino said. “Wanna see me shoot a basket?”

“Well, let me get situated. I've been driving in traffic for over two hours. Let me bring Aunt Lilly these pastries first.”

“Later on, I'll show you how I can dive now,” Gino said.

“That's news to me,” I said flatly.

My mom finally popped out of the front door. “Geneva!”

“Hiya, Lil.”

“I hope you're hungry and you brought a bathing suit in this heat,” my mother said.

They embraced on the front porch while we all watched from the driveway.

“It might be too soon for me to swim,” she said, “but maybe I'll get my feet wet.”

And with that, the women walked into the house filled with sounds of barking dogs and the smell of a meat sauce slow-cooking on the stove.

Gino was hanging his head, so I suggested we all take a dip in the pool. While the girls all went to change, Gino and I went into the backyard and set up the rafts and the
water guns we were going to use for what we had come to call the Godfather Game. It went like this: You jumped off the deck of the pool onto a giant raft and tried to recite lines of dialogue from the movie. All the while, you were getting shot at with high-powered water guns. And when you didn't make it across the thirty-two-foot pool, you had to stick the death scene just right and drop in the water as if you had just been whacked. And what made it easier was that my father had a thick book lying around the house called
The Mafia at War
, which had all the gory snapshots of the best rubouts of all time. We used it as a reference book.

My father was out back picking grapes from the arbor, with yellow jackets all over his arms.

“Daddy!” I said. “That's too many. You're gonna get stung!”

“Nah.” He laughed. “How many years have you seen me do this? They're more afraid of us than we are of them.”

“Jesus . . .” I said.

“Gino, did you hug and kiss your mother?” he asked.

“Yes,” he said, and paused. “Uncle Al . . . ?”

“Yes?”

“You're not going to tell her about all those pills we buried, are you?”

My father stopped plucking grapes for a moment and shook the bees off his arms. “Hell no. A deal's a deal. I don't go back on my word. Go have fun in the pool.”

With Gino and me playing in the pool with all the Rossitto girls, it wasn't long before Pete and his sister Tracy came by too. No one had fences back then. Everyone could see whatever their neighbors were up to.

Aunt Geneva sat in the kitchen with my mother and Aunt Mary, but her eyes seemed glued to the activities in the pool. I had slipped out for a few minutes and was sitting on a lawn chair outside the kitchen window.

“Lilly, what sort of game are they playing?” I heard Aunt Geneva say. “I see them shooting guns and the little girls act like they've been shot or something. Is that what I'm seeing?”

My mother and Aunt Mary laughed. “They play it every day. It's about
The Godfather
. They shoot each other with water guns like they're gangsters.” My mother laughed.

“Has Gino seen
The Godfather
since he's been here?” she asked.

“Sure,” my mother said nonchalantly. “Al took them a couple weeks ago.”

“Oh God, no.”

“What?” my mother said, clueless to my aunt's anxiety. “Was I supposed to call and ask you?”

“Lilly, a ten-year-old boy is not ready for that kind of violence.”