Brooklyn Story (19 page)

“I'm fine, Gram,” I said. “Really.”

“
Gut,
” Grandma said as she sat back once more. “Now get Grandma some matzoh for dunking while we wait for your mother. And then you can cook for us like you said.”

Janice called back during breakfast to tell me she didn't have any news. Richie hadn't answered the phone in his room, and none of his and Tony's associates whom she had spoken to knew anything. She promised to call again when she had any updates.

The pit in my stomach still hadn't been removed, but there wasn't much I could do about it. I channeled my nervous energy into writing at my desk until late afternoon, and then took a walk alone to church.

Later that evening, I tore myself away from my desk and went to the kitchen for something to drink. When the phone rang, I leapt to grab it. “Richie's brother called back,” Janice said. “The cops picked Richie and a coupla others up at the warehouse the same time they took you in.” Mom and Grandma were watching TV in the living room as I cradled the phone in both hands. “What's gonna happen to them?” I whispered.

“Nick said it's all taken care of. A suit will be there first thing tomorrow to get them out.”

“They're gonna get off so soon?”

“Nah, just bail. The case will come up later.”

It appeared my worries had only just begun. “How's that gonna come out?”

“Who knows? I seen guys who done worse get off with just a slap on the wrist.” That was hard for me to imagine. But Janice knew more about such things. I just couldn't understand how she was blowing this off as an “okay” event. It wasn't, it just wasn't. My mind kept telling me, my heart kept denying. “Just keep your shirt on,” she continued. “At least until you see Tony.” We hung up.

I walked into the living room and headed for my bedroom. “Won't you sit with us awhile?” Grandma asked. I didn't want to expose myself to Mom's prying and Grandma's sixth sense. Besides, my typewriter had been sizzling all evening. “I want to finish what I'm working on,” I said as I neared the rear hall.

Mom grunted. “She doesn't have time for us anymore, Mom,” she said without looking away from the television.

“She's a good girl, my Samelah,” I heard Grandma reply as I left the living room. “Leave her be.”

“Your piece on loyalty was outstanding,” Mr. Wainright said to me as I closed my locker just before leaving school on Monday. I had forgotten about the article I turned in that morning and hadn't thought about anything except Tony all day. “I like how you balanced commitment to a boyfriend with the need to be true to yourself.”

“I bled enough for you?” I chuckled as I secured the lock and turned to face him.

“It was all over my hands,” he said, and his ear-to-ear smile made me forget everything except my quest to cross the Brooklyn Bridge. Grandma's words a couple of months before flashed into my mind and I smiled. I was writing myself out of one story and into another, I said to myself. And I'd be writing Tony out of his, I thought. I looked up into Mr. Wainright's face and beamed. “Geez, thanks, Mr. Wainright,” I said. He placed a hand on my shoulder. “I'm serious, Sam. This one goes in the clip file.”

I clutched my book bag against my chest as I watched him disappear among the students milling in the hall. Good people who support me come and go, I thought, and it would be my responsibility to secure their cables within me so I could make it across that East River span to the real world and my future.

I felt good about myself as I floated out the doors. I was ecstatic when I saw Tony leaning against a silver Porsche with his arms crossed, a broad grin plastering his face. I hurried over to him and dropped my bag. “Tony!” I exclaimed. I fell into his open arms and rested my cheek against his broad chest as I hugged him. We were alone in our own world as sights and sounds of the scores of people who were coming and going or milling about faded away. Tony lifted me off my feet and we kissed. I'm going to tie down this cable for sure, I said to myself as we parted.

“Youse wuzn't worried, wuz ya?” Tony asked.

“Nah,” I lied. “Jus' some stuff you hafta deal with.”

He put an arm across my shoulders. “That's my girl,” he said, and then he waved the arm over the Porsche. “Now lemme take ya for a spin.”

My eyes widened. “Is this yours?” I asked.

“I told ya I had sumthin' to celebrate.” Tony grabbed the passenger-side handle and opened the door. “Get in,” he said with a wave of an arm.

“Jesus, Tone, this is unbelievable,” I said as we pulled away from the curb and the staring eyes in the front schoolyard. In the midst and surprise of seeing this new car, I neglected to focus on what had happened and continued in the moment. My moment. Unfortunately I knew it would be the beginning of more lies.

“Well, believe it,” he said. I melted into the leather bucket seat as Tony glanced my way. “I toldya ya gotta get useta things.”

I rested my head and closed my eyes. “It's not hard,” I breathed.

“Yeah, well, everythin's not easy,” Tony said as he worked the gearshift. I opened my eyes and turned toward him.

“You in a lot of trouble?”

“Nah. I don' have no serious priors. The lawyer said I might not hafta do any real time.” I contemplated any time apart from him. It wouldn't be easy, but nothing in my life was, I knew. It would just make everything taste sweeter down the road. “Anyways,” Tony continued, “nothin's gonna happen for a while. Postponements are all parta da game.” I wished Tony didn't have to be in such a high-risk one but figured he wouldn't be playing it forever if I had anything to say about it. Andy Gibb warbled on the radio,

Darling, for so long
You and me been finding each other for so long

and I marveled how others' writing could speak to me, how it could encapsulate my life. I wanted to have people feel that way about my writing.

Tony spun the wheel as he negotiated the streets until we stopped at a traffic light. He turned toward me as we waited. “Ya handled yourself pretty good,” he started. “That means sumthin' ta me.”

My entire body felt a rush and I looked into his eyes. “It wasn't anything,” I said.

“Ya didn't start bawlin' all over the place and ya kept ya mouth shut when it went down.”

“I gotta admit, Tone, I was shakin' a bit.”

“Don' matter. Ya did the right thing.” The light turned green and Tony coaxed the Porsche into gear. “Ya didn't say anythin' later, didya?” he asked.

“'Course not,” I said. “What could I tell them, anyway?”

“Nuthin'. No matter what.”

“You got it,” I said as Andy Gibb sang on:

I want you laying in the love I have to bring
I'd do anything to be your everything

Tony turned into a side street and pulled up to a two-family brick house. “Where are we?” I asked.

“My grandmother's,” Tony said as he switched off the ignition. “My mom is inside. I wanna show my mother da ride.”

I looked at my jeans and the tight shirt I wore under the leather jacket. “I woulda put on something nice the first time if I knew,” I said.

Tony grabbed my neck and pulled me to him. “Ya look great no matter whatcha wearin', Sam,” he said, and then he kissed me full on the lips. “It's time ol' Pamela met my girl.”

Tony's mother opened the house door as we reached the top of the stoop. A massive hair clip held her bleached-blond hair in a high pile atop her head, and she wore a tight-fitting buttoned blouse and stretch pants that hugged her legs all the way to her ankles. She looked me up and down before pushing on the screen door and waving us in. Red toenails that matched the long ones on her hands were squeezed together in the front of her slip-on high heels. “So that's the big surprise, huh?” Pamela said to Tony, snapping her chewing gum as she looked at the gleaming car at the curb.

“Yeah, she's a real beaut', huh?” Tony said as we stood in the vestibule.

“You'll take me out in it later,” Pamela said, then looked me up and down again.

“This is Samantha Bonti, who I told ya about, Mom,” Tony said. “She's a real beaut', too, doncha think?”

Pamela didn't answer her son and offered her hand to me slowly, palm down. “Nice ta meetya,” she said.

I reached for her outstretched fingers. “Likewise, Mrs. Kroon,” I said.

“You jus' call me Pamela like we wuz old friends, sweetie.”

“Sure thing, Mrs. … Pamela,” I said.

She turned toward her son. “You settle that nonsense okay?”

“It's all under control,” he replied. “Where's Grandma?”

Pamela replied with attitude, “She's sleeping. Your father and I are staying here tonight.” Pamela ushered us down a short hallway. “The cops don' have much,” she said as we reached the living room. “They didn't find anythin' here yesterday 'cept your father, sittin' jus' like he is now.” Philip Kroon, in a wrinkled dress shirt and stained slacks, was sprawled in a large armchair. “Honey,” Pamela said, “this is Tony's new girlfriend, Samantha.” Mr. Kroon looked at me with heavy lids over his eyes and nodded.

“Glad to meet you,” I said. As I studied his blank face, I saw that it was obvious where Tony got his electric blue eyes and rugged, handsome Dutch face. I also saw Philip's expression of sadness and disappointment. I don't know why it was there, but it just was. Maybe it had something to do with his tour in Vietnam. Tony had hinted to me that Philip had had more than his share of revolting experiences there.

Tony once told me he loved his father but knew he was weak, not the man he had been before he left for Southeast Asia. When Philip Kroon returned home, he was unable to hold down a steady job, Janice had told me. He relied on burglaries to provide for his wife, his son, and his ungrateful daughter, Katrina. He got caught and did a six-year stint in prison and by the time he'd gotten released he was pretty much good for nothing. By then, his son was making the kind of money that Philip had dreamed about making. Tony had told me that his father sat down on that leather chair one day, and except for eating, drinking, and running an errand or two
when he needed cigarettes or a bad novel to read, he seldom got up from it.

Janice told me that she thought Philip was resigned to being the father of a wannabe and husband to the woman popularly known, she had said, as a “witch on wheels” who stashed money and contraband for her son until he could use it without getting caught. Philip stayed close to home except when he joined the neighborhood beat cops for the weekly poker game under the church. He was a compulsive gambler, but because his wife doled out his weekly money from what she collected from her son, Philip did not have the potential to ruin the family with his debts.

Pamela put an arm around Tony's waist and looked at me. “Let's all sit down soze we can get ta know ya,” she said.

“That'd be nice,” I said. Tony took my hand and led me to the couch. Pamela sat across from her husband in another armchair. “So,” she said to me, “Tony tells me you're graduatin' soon, huh?”

My eyes widened. “Well, it's a year and a half away. But I can't wait.”

Pamela eyed me up and down. “Tony's had them younger,” she said. “And they all couldn't wait for him to come around.” I flinched but kept a sunny disposition. Maybe a sour mother was something else Tony and I had in common, I thought. He looked at his mother and crossed his eyes. “Samantha's special, Mom,” he said.

“Sure, sure,” she said. “I'm just makin' small talk.”

“She's makin' sumthin' of herself,” Tony said. I beamed the instant he said that.

Pamela looked at me. “Of course she is. Isn't she nice, Philip?” Her husband grunted and didn't respond.

I looked toward Mr. Kroon. “Tony tells me you were in Vietnam,” I said.

“Lotta good that did me,” he deadpanned.

“You just do what ya hafta do ta get better, honey,” Pamela said. “We've got Tony to take care of things now.” She reached out an arm and put her hand on her son's knee. “You jus' lay low for a while until this all blows over, and then things will get back ta like they was.”

“Nuthin's gonna change, Ma,” Tony said. I begged to differ but didn't share my opinion at that moment. He reached across my shoulders and pulled me close. “It's me an' Sam, just like this no matter what.” I slumped into Tony's side and looked up at him. That was something I totally agreed with. As long as we were together, I felt anything was possible for us. I just knew he would outgrow this stage, get a real job, and be a provider.

Pamela stood up and looked at Tony and me. “Why don' we drink to you two, then? That all right for you, Samantha?”

“It's fine,” I said.

“Then we gotta go, Ma,” Tony said.

Pamela brought a tray with a bottle of red wine and some glasses to the cocktail table and Tony did the pouring. His mother made a flowery toast, and I sipped as she engaged in talk about the usual things women in her circle concerned themselves with. Who bought what, who wore what, who drove what, who went where and with whom, and the like. I smiled and nodded at appropriate times, but couldn't have cared less about such inconsequential matters. All I cared about was Tony and me and our future.

The pit in my stomach had left the moment I saw him earlier and a warm feeling from the alcohol took its place as I listened to Pamela go on and on. Philip gulped his wine and motioned to Tony for a refill as soon as his glass was empty. It was the most animation I saw in him the whole time I was in the Kroon home.

When I had finished my glass, Tony drained his second and stood up. He took my hand and led me to the front door.

“Remember what I said about stayin' outta trouble,” Pamela said to her son through the screen door as we started down the steps. “Good-bye, Samantha,” she called out to me. “We'll be sure ta have your folks ova for the holidays.”