what way…do you mean you, and men…you don’t like…?”
He had always thought of himself as open-minded to the idea of a lesbian friend, but in all honesty, if it were true, it would have shattered a few of his fantasies he’d already had about Susan.
“Are you asking me if I like women? Well, what would be wrong with that? You like women, don’t you?”
He blushed for even bringing up the subject. Pushing his chair back, he sat up straight and tried to wipe the look of a predator off his face.
“Ya, I’ve always wondered how women do it.”
Susan burst out laughing, and Ben realized that he was way off the mark.
“You fell…hook, line and sinker!” Even if she couldn’t stop laughing, she did her best to control herself.
“You mean to tell me that you were pulling my leg?” Although relieved that she wasn’t into women, he was pretty shocked at the idea of being made fun of by someone he barely knew.
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Plus I wanted to break up some of the tension. Are you ok now?”
She tilted her head and nibbling at a piece of bread, kept looking mischievously at him. That gesture, apparently insignificant, was extremely seductive to Ben. It went straight to his heart and tied him to her forever.
“Ya, thanks. It’s usually me who has to contrive ways to make other people laugh.”
The waiter brought their steamy first courses. For Ben, bucatini ‘all’amatriciana’ and for Susan, homemade fettuccine with pancetta and asparagus. While Ben rubbed his hands together in front of his plate, Susan’s stared, open-mouthed at hers.
“Wow! Except for pizza and spaghetti, can you believe that this is the first time I’ve ever tasted real Italian food?”
“Really? I have a hard time not eating it; in the traditional Italian family, cuisine is very important. So, ‘buon appetito’. I hope you enjoy it.”
At first, Susan found it a little difficult to twist the fettuccine around her fork, but then got the hang of it and started emanating sounds of rapture with every bite. The people dining at the nearby tables thought it was rather funny, while the owner of the restaurant was delighted.
When Susan had cleaned her plate, Ben offered her a taste of his bucatini and she didn’t hesitate.
“This food is amazing! Now I understand your parents!”
A cloud of nostalgia passed through Ben’s thoughts. “Actually, my Uncle Carmine raised me, along with my other uncles. My mother died giving birth to me. And my father, well, I only have a few memories of him. He was out for a walk and found himself in the middle of a shootout and was hit by a random bullet when I was just two-years-old. The greatest thing that I inherited from him was my vocation. He was a comedian, a great comedian. I think he would have made it big, if only he’d had the time.”
“So, in a way, you’re trying to break into the business to honor him?”
“Well, in part, yes. But mostly it’s for me. I truly love this work and I know he would have understood and supported me. Unlike my uncles…”
Ben wanted to talk about himself, but was worried about boring Susan, so he tried prompting her with incomplete sentences to see if she was really interested.
“Your relatives aren’t happy with what you do? So, do they want you to do something else?” asked Susan.
“They’d like me to do something a little more traditional. Like Uncle Johnny, who’s the manager of a company that deals with insurance.”
Ward’s Island Bridge
Two hulking men on the bridge had their sleeves rolled up to their elbows. One of the men’s biceps were so flexed, that the material of his shirt was on the verge of ripping.
“Damn you! I told you I should have got one size bigger!”
“What are you talking about? You tried it on a month ago at the shop and it fit perfectly. It isn’t my fault if you work out so much at the gym.”
The two of them, having what would have been a normal conversation in different circumstances, were actually swinging a passed out man upside down by the ankles over the side of the bridge.
“If this creep ruins my shirt, I swear I’ll let him drop like a rock!”
Johnny Greco, sick and tired of listening to the two men argue, threw down his cigarette butt. “You guys wanna shut up? And you don’t drop anybody without my permission, otherwise you get a nice little hole in your forehead, understood? This fuckin’ Chinese is worth his weight in gold, and I’d rather have the crisp banknotes than a useless cadaver!”
The man, intimidated, apologized immediately for his arrogant comment. “Sorry, Boss. I was just sayin’. Ten minutes now we been holding this fish who’s fainted and won’t wake up.”
Johnny looked over the bridge to see for himself and realized they were right. “All right, I’ll take care of this chickenshit.”
He unzipped his pants and started pissing over the bridge right into the poor man’s face, who instantly came to his senses, spluttering and gurgling.
“Well, well! Good morning! So what’s your decision? You want our insurance policy, or not?”
The poor wretch realized where he was and terrorized, started screaming. “Yes! Yes! I want it! I want it!”
Johnny smiled pleasantly for a job well done, lighting another cigarette to celebrate and seal the deal.
“Did you hear that guys? We have a new client. Pull him up before he shits in his own face.
The Italian Affair Restaurant
Ben listed all of the respectable occupations of his uncles as he had been told by them.
“…and my Uncle Frank works in finance, in banking.”
Somewhere in Manhattan: in a basement
Frank Colombo was silently and calmly examining the banknotes delivered by Bart Wilson, who was fauning for approval. “So, Boss? How does it look?”
Bart was more than satisfied with his work, but had to wait for the final word that only his boss could give. He had been working day and night for months; it was a question of principle more than anything.
“The paper is good quality, pleasing to the touch. The edges aren’t too soft, either and the color is pretty clear…”
The dark circles under Bart’s eyes lit up with pride while he tried to point out further details. “We also improved the loss of color on the seal.”
Frank picked up a piece of paper and held it under the banknote, then with his fingernail, he started scratching the seal. He then examined the paper and didn’t see any loss of color. He repeated the operation with a dull pencil and still didn’t see any loss of color. In one more attempt, he rubbed it harder to get a faint result. It looked like a job well-done…except for one tiny detail.
With
