Secrets & Lies (39 page)

“But he insists on going home to his own house.”

“I know. I'll come over and move in with
him
when you leave. But I think he's going to be stronger and more independent very quickly.”

I told Dad that and he rolled his eyes. “She would say that,” he croaked.

“Here,” Maggie said, “let me put someone on.” I heard her say, “Judy, it's your granddaughter, Gina.” Noise of shuffling the phone went on for a few seconds. Sometimes Grandma doesn't quite understand what a cell phone is and has to be told to put it to her ear.

“Hello, Grandma?”

“Wha—hello?”

“Hi, Grandma. It's Gina. How are you?”

“Oh, okay.” Her voice had that slow and resigned, but not necessarily unhappy, tone she always exhibited.

“Are they treating you nice where you live?”

“What?”

“I said are they treating you nice where you live?”

“Yes.”

“I'm coming to visit tomorrow! How do you like that?”

“Oh, that's nice.”

“I'm bringing Dad with me.”

“That's nice.”

I wasn't sure if she really understood what I was saying, but she did a good job of faking it. “That's nice” was an all-purpose response for her.

“I'm going to put my dad on the phone, okay, Grandma? His voice sounds funny, he's hoarse.”

“What?”

“Dad's voice is hoarse. Uh, he has a sore throat.”

“Oh.”

“Here he is.” I handed the phone to my dad.

“Hi, Mom,” he whispered. “Mom? Mom, it's me, Martin.
Martin
. Yes, your son Martin. My voice sounds different, Mom, I, uh, have a sore throat. But it will get better. I just wanted to tell you that I love you and I'll be home tomorrow to see you. All right? Gina and I will see you tomorrow. Okay? I love you! Give the phone back to Maggie, all right?”

To me it didn't sound as if Grandma comprehended much of that at all. Dad and Maggie spoke for a minute about Grandma's condition and then he asked her a bizarre question.

“Maggie, how long is a normal pregnancy? I know it's nine months, but how many weeks? Uh-huh. I just want to know. Oh, don't be silly, I haven't gotten anyone pregnant, geez. What? Really? Well, what about a forty-two week pregnancy, is that unusual? Really. So it's uncommon but not rare. Uh-huh. Okay.” The expression on his face indicated that whatever she'd said bothered him. “Thanks, here's Gina.”

He handed the cell back to me.

“He sounds better,” Maggie said.

“Yeah, with every passing day his voice sounds less like Boris the Toad.” That made her—and Dad—laugh again. I made a face at Dad and he mimicked me, but I sensed he was covering up a bundle of different emotions.

“Well, we'll see you tomorrow. Be safe.”

“Thanks, we will.”

“When you get in I'll—what's that, Judy?” I heard my grandmother's muffled voice in the background. “Okay, Judy, I'll tell him. Gina, one of those remarkable things that sometimes happens during Alzheimer's just occurred.”

“What?”

“Judy said, ‘Little Man Martin.'”

“What?”

“She used to call your father that when he was little. Tell him she said it. Out of the blue, after talking to him. She must have made the connection of who he was.”

I put down the phone and relayed the message to him. His mouth dropped. “I never knew you were called Little Man Martin,” I teased. “Can I call you that now?”

He waved me away, and I got back on the cell. “That's amazing, Maggie. Say good-bye to her for us.”

We hung up and I asked Dad, “What was all that about pregnancy?”

“Did you know women can carry babies up to forty-two weeks?” he whispered.

“So?”

He waved me away again—now his trademark “never mind” sign language—so I chalked it up to one of his kooky Dad-isms. We continued to organize his medications, clothing, and bandages. After a while, he went to the bathroom. I moved to the end table he was using as a nightstand to see if he'd left anything there, and I happened to open the small drawer. Inside was an old book with a rubber band around it. It looked like a diary. I picked it up and saw that someone had marked “#4” on the spine. A bookmark was stuck in it toward the end. Too curious to pass it up, I removed the rubber band and opened it to the saved page.

The text was handwritten, and I was pretty sure it was my grandmother's penmanship. There was also a piece of paper from a small notepad stuck between the same pages as the bookmark. I unfolded it. Dad had written in pencil, “December?–October 13” and
“Leo Kelly????” The only thing familiar about that was October 13th was Dad's birthday.

“Gina!” Dad's voice was loud and sounded like sandpaper. It made me jump, and I dropped the diary and note. He came over, angrily picked up the book and paper, and put them back in the drawer.

Well, I felt I had the right to ask, “Dad, what is that?”

He held up a finger, shook it back and forth, and then pointed to his throat.

“Oh, you can talk for a minute. Or you could write it down.”

He shook his head at me. “Not now, Gina,” he struggled to whisper. “Please. Don't ask me now.”

That was weird. The book was actually something he hadn't wanted me to see. I shrugged. “Okay, Dad.”

So we got on with the task at hand.

But
boy
, was I intrigued.

1961

D
ECEMBER
31, 1961

It's nearly 5:00 in the morning and I can't sleep. The last twelve hours have been a nightmare, dear diary. I'm in despair. I've been betrayed with such ungodly magnitude that I don't know if I'll ever get over it. I'm hurt, angry, and humiliated. I've been in tears since I got home. Damn, damn, damn!

All because of a man.

Leo Kelly.

The most despicable human being on the planet.

I have a lot to write down, and this is probably going to take me all morning. Then I'm going to call in sick to Flickers. Charlie won't like it, tonight being New Year's Eve and all, but I can't work. Not this night. I have a mission.

I'm going to Las Vegas to confront that bastard Leo.

Needless to say, I haven't been my best since he broke up with me. I've floated through the hours in a haze. I could barely concentrate at work, and then last night came the kicker.

I was at Flickers, attempting to put on my best hostess face. Charlie knew something was wrong and asked if I was all right,
again
. I told him flat out that Leo and I had broken up. He said he was sorry, and added, “You're not the first girl my nephew has hurt. He's family
and I love him, but he's a cad, always was, and always will be. I hope you'll be able to move on and forget about him.”

Everyone at Flickers had warned me. The waitresses. The bartender. Even Charlie. I didn't listen. I was too head-over-heels, dizzy with lust and love. I don't think I'll ever be able to watch another Paul Newman movie without thinking of Leo.

Work was a chore. I didn't know if I could get through the night. Sal Casazza was there with his two goons. They sat at his usual table. He was in a better mood than he had been in the past. He even took my hand and kissed it when I greeted him at the door. When he wasn't looking, I wiped my hand on my dress.

Everything was moving along in a dull fog until I saw Christina. She came in around midnight, just as Frankie Avalon was about to end his second set, and she went straight to the bar as usual. I wondered if she knew about me and Leo, so I purposefully walked in front of her.

“Oh, hi, Judy,” she said.

I turned to her, but I didn't smile. “Hi, Christina.”

There was the hint of a smirk on her face. She knew about Leo and me. “How are you doing?”

“Fine.” I couldn't help the sarcasm creeping into my voice. “And you?”

“Oh, I'm fabulous. I went to a
marvelous
wedding on Christmas Day. Did you hear about it?”

“No.”

“Oh, you haven't heard?”

“Heard what?”

“Leo got married.”

The words stunned me. At first I wasn't sure I'd heard her correctly. “What?”

“Yeah, on Christmas Day. It was a beautiful ceremony.”

I had trouble finding my voice. “T … to who? Wh … who did he marry?”

“Maria.”

“Maria?”

“Maria DeAngelo.”

My God, Vincent DeAngelo's daughter.

When I didn't say anything, she continued. “We were all wondering when they'd tie the knot. After all, they'd been dating since last summer.” I swear she was gloating.

“Last … last summer?”

“Sure. Didn't you know he was seeing her, too?”

I walked away. I couldn't listen to her. Everything became a blur and I suddenly felt rotten. I went straight to the ladies' room, went into a stall, and vomited into the toilet.

How could he have done it? He came to see me after Christmas, and he
spent the night
. We had
sex
. And he was already
married?? Oh, my God!

The next hour was a blank. I don't remember what I did. I think I went into the break room and sat for a while. I may have gone back to the hostess station, but I must have greeted guests without thinking about it. During my next break, I called Barry. I woke him up, but I didn't care.

“Did you know about Leo Kelly marrying Maria DeAngelo?” I asked him.

“Yeah,” he said. “They had this big hullabaloo at DeAngelo's ranch in Vegas on Christmas Day. Why?”

“How do I find him?”

“Stiletto, what are you thinking? What's wrong?”

“Just tell me how to find Leo Kelly.”

“I don't know. If he and Maria aren't in his home in Hollywood, then he's probably out there with the DeAngelo family. They didn't go on a honeymoon yet, they're probably waiting until after the New Year's Eve party.”

“What party?”

“DeAngelo throws a huge New Year's Eve party every year. He must be really rolling in dough to be able to afford that wedding on Christmas and then the party tomorrow night.”

“Where is that ranch, exactly?”

“Stiletto, don't even
think
about going there. It's heavily guarded, like a fortress. They'd shoot you on sight.”

“Just tell me how to get there, Barry. I mean it.”

He revealed the address and how to find it outside of Vegas. I wrote it all down. I thanked him and hung up. I went back on the floor just in time to see Sal Casazza and his two shadows getting their coats from the hatcheck girl. I overheard Casazza say to Shrimp, “Don't worry, it'll all be resolved tonight at the meet up.” Then he looked at his watch. “We better hurry, or we'll be late.”

They were on their way someplace significant, and I was pretty sure it had something to do with mob business. I figured doing some Stiletto work would get my mind off of Leo, and if I could take out my aggression on some gangsters in the process, it would do a lot for my mental health. I went straight to Charlie, told him I wasn't feeling well
again
, and said I was going home. Instead, I ran to my car and waited until I saw the valet deliver Casazza's Rolls-Royce to the front of the nightclub. The three men got in, and Shrimp drove it away.

I followed them.

1961

From Hollywood they took a route south and then east, toward downtown Los Angeles. But soon it became clear they were headed for the Wholesale District, southeast of downtown. It took quite a while, but eventually they stopped at a dark warehouse on Towne Avenue. It appeared to be completely derelict.

I circled the block and parked a street away, and then changed into my Stiletto outfit in the car. First making sure no one was around to see me, I got out and stealthily darted between shadows until I had a clear view of the warehouse from across the street. I crouched behind a parked pickup truck and surveyed the scene.