The Scorpio Illusion (29 page)

“
Cara Zia
, my new friend speaks a fine Italian,” he cried in that language.

“I gathered that,” said Bajaratt, also in Italian and without much enthusiasm. “Were you educated in Rome, my child, or perhaps Switzerland?”

“Gosh, no, Countess. After high school, the only teachers I had were some method weirdos in acting class until I got the TV series.”

“You’ve seen her, my dear aunt,
I’ve
seen her! In our country it’s called
Vendetta delle Selle
, everybody watches it! She plays the sweet girl who cares for her younger brother and sister after the bandits killed their parents.”

“The translation’s not too hot, Dante.
Revenge of the Saddles
doesn’t really say it. But look, who cares? They watch.”

“Then your fluency in our language …?”

“My father owns an Italian deli in Brooklyn. Where they live, not too many people over forty speak English.”

“Her father hangs whole provolones and cheeses
from Portofino and the best
prichute
from the south. Oh, I would love to go to this Brooklyn!”

“I’m afraid there’s no time, Dante. I’m flying back to the coast tomorrow morning,” the actress said.

“My dear child,” the Baj said quickly in Italian, her coolness receding rapidly as she smiled at the actress, a new warmth in the tone of her voice, an idea forming. “Is it so necessary that you return to … to—”

“The coast, we call it,” completed the young woman. “That’s California. I have to be back on the set in four days, and I need at least a couple to run on the beach and work off my family’s cooking. The
Saddles
big sister has to look the part.”

“If you stayed just one more day, it would still leave you two for your beach, not so?”

“Sure, but why?”

“My nephew is very taken with you—”

“Wait a minute, lady!” the actress burst out in English, obviously offended.

“No,
please
,” broke in Bajaratt, also in English. “You misunderstand me.
Rispetto, rispetto totale
. Always in public and I would be with you—a proper chaperone. It’s just that all these business conferences with people so much older, I thought perhaps a day off, sightseeing with someone nearer his own age who speaks his language, would be a welcome relief. He must get tired of his old aunt.”

“If you’re ‘old,’ Countess,” said the young woman, relieved and reverting to Italian, “then I’m still in the first grade.”

“Then you’ll stay?”

“Oh, well … why not?” the young actress said, gazing at Nicolo’s handsome face and breaking into a smile.

“Since we should start early in the morning,” said Bajaratt, “may we get you a room at our hotel after dinner?”

“You don’t know Papa. When I’m in New York I
sleep at home, Countess. My uncle Ruggio owns his own taxicab and he’s waiting for me.”

“We can see you home to this Brooklyn,” insisted Nicolo excitedly. “We have a limousine!”

“Then I can show you Papa’s store! The cheese, the salamis, the prosciutto.”

“Please,
car a Zia
?”

“Uncle Ruggio can follow us, that way Papa can’t get angry.”

“Your father protects you, doesn’t he?” said Bajaratt.

“Tell me about it! Since I’ve been in L.A., one unmarried female relative after another shares my apartment. One leaves and twenty minutes later another shows up!”

“A good Italian father who instructs his family in the proper traditions.”

“Angelo Capelli, father of Angel Capell—that’s what my agent shortened it to; he thought Angelina Capelli belonged in a New Jersey diner. He’s the toughest papa in Brooklyn. But if I tell him that I’m bringing home a real baron to meet Mama and him …”

“Zia Cabrini,” said Nicolo, in his words an edge of authority. “We’ve met everybody, can’t we leave? I can smell the cheeses, taste the
prichute
!”

“I’ll see what I can do, my nephew—but may I have a word with you privately?… It’s nothing at all, young lady, just a few words about a man he will meet before we leave. Business, of course.”

“Oh, sure. There’s a critic from the
Times
who gave me a terrific review for a small part I played in the Village; it led to the series. I sent him a letter, but I’ve never thanked him personally. See you in a few minutes.” The young actress, carrying a champagne glass filled with ginger ale, walked toward an obese, gray-bearded man with the eyes of a leopard and the lips of an orangutan.

“What is it, signora? Have I done something wrong?”

“Not at all, my darling, you are having fun with someone your own age and that’s fine. But remember,
you do not speak English! Do not even betray an inkling in your eyes that you understand English!”

“Cabi, we speak only Italian together.… You’re not angry that I find her attractive, are you?”

“You’d be a fool not to, Nicolo. Middle-class morality is irrelevant to you or to me, but something tells me you should not treat her as you might a woman from the docks of Portici anxious for your body.”

“Never! She may be famous but she is a pure Italian girl whom I respect in the family traditions as I do my sisters. She is not part of the world you brought me into.”

“Are you dissatisfied with that world, Nico?”

“How could I be? I’ve never lived like this—never dreamed I would.”

“Good. Go to your
bellissima ragazza
, I’ll join you soon.” The Baj turned and glided gracefully toward their host, who was in a deep, even contentious, discussion with two bankers. Suddenly a hand touched her elbow, gently yet firmly. She snapped her head around only to stare at the attractive face of an aging, white-haired man who might have stepped out of an English magazine advertisement extolling the virtues of a Rolls-Royce. “Have we met, sir?” asked Bajaratt.

“We have now, Countess,” replied the man, lifting her left hand, his lips touching the flesh. “I was a late arrival, but I see that all goes well with you.”

“It is a charming evening, of course.”

“Oh, this is the crowd for it, take my word. Charm lathering over the room like barrels of shaving cream. Power and wealth combine to turn maggots into butterflies—monarch butterflies.”

“Are you a writer … a novelist, perhaps? I’ve met several here tonight.”

“Good heavens, no, I can barely get through a letter without a secretary. Piquant observations are merely part of my stock-in-trade.”

“And what do you trade, signore?”

“A certain aristocratic legacy, one might say, purveyed primarily among the diplomatic corps—the corps of many countries—generally at the behest of the State Department.”

“How intriguing.”

“It’s that, of course,” agreed the stranger, smiling. “However, since I’m neither an alcoholic nor politically ambitious, and have a rather splendid estate that I truly enjoy displaying, the State Department finds my environs an attractive neutral ground for visiting dignitaries. You can’t ride horses with a man or a woman, then play tennis, or swim in a pool with a cascading waterfall, have an attractive meal, and subsequently behave like a boor in negotiations.… Naturally, there are other inducements, both male and female.”

“Why are you telling me all this, signore?” asked Bajaratt, studying the self-proclaimed aristocrat.

“Because everything I own, everything I learned, came to me years ago in Havana, my dear,” the man replied, his eyes locked with those of the Baj. “Does that tell you anything, Countess?”

“Why should it?” said Amaya, her expression totally neutral, her breathing, however, suspended.

“Then I’ll be quick, for we have only moments before some sycophant interrupts us. You have several numbers, but you don’t have the telephone codes over here, and now you must. I left a waxed envelope for you at your hotel; if there are cracks in the wax, call me immediately at the Plaza and everything will be changed. The name is Van Nostrand, Suite Nine B.”

“And if the seal is intact?”

“Then from tomorrow on, use those three numbers to reach me. I’ll be at one of them night and day. You now have a friend you need.”

“A ‘friend I need’? You talk in circles, really, you do.”

“Stop it, Baj,” whispered the Rolls-Royce advertisement, again smiling. “The
padrone
is dead!”

Bajaratt gasped. “What are you saying?”

“He’s gone.… For God’s sake, look pleasant.”

“The disease won, then. He lost.”

“It was not the disease. He blew up the entire compound, himself in it. He had no alternative.”

“But why?”

“They found him; it was always a possibility. Among his last instructions were to befriend you and offer you whatever assistance I could should anything happen to him—naturally or unnaturally. Within limits, I’m your obedient servant … 
Contessa
.”

“But what happened? You tell me nothing!”

“Not now. Later.”

“My true father—”

“No longer. He’s gone. You turn to me now, and through me to my considerable resources.” Van Nostrand arched his head as if responding with laughter at a remark made by the countess.

“Who are you?”

“I told you, a friend whom you need.”

“You are the
padrone
’s contact here in America?”

“His and others’, but mainly his. In every other sense, I was
solely
his.… Havana, I did mention Havana.”

“What did he tell you—about me?”

“He adored you and admired you enormously. You were a great comfort to him, and he therefore demanded that I help you in any way that I can.”

“Help me in what way?”

“Using my assets to get you from one place to another, one person to another, with as little or as much attention as you wish. And to obey your orders as long as they are not in conflict with mine—ours.”

“Ours?”

“I am the leader of the Scorpios.”

“Scorpiones
!” The Baj kept her voice barely above a whisper, muted and mingling with the hum of the guests, her control absolute. “The head of the High Councils
spoke of you. He said I would be watched, tested, and if I were accepted, someone would reach me and I would become one of you.”

“I shouldn’t go that far,
Contessa
, but you may well be given extraordinary assistance—”

“I simply never associated the Scorpios with the
padrone
,” Bajaratt said.

“Genuine credit is elusive, isn’t it?… The
padrone
created us, with my invaluable assistance, of course. As to your being tested, what you accomplished in Palm Beach eliminates any further examination. It was simply outrageous—and outrageously marvelous!”

“Who are the Scorpios, can you tell me?”

“In a general way, yes, nothing specific. We are twenty-five in number, that’s our limit.” Again Van Nostrand laughed heartily at another nonexistent remark. “We’re in various professions and occupations, selected very carefully for maximum advantage—I made those decisions with an eye toward profiting our many clients. The
padrone
always felt that if a day passed without realizing at least a million dollars, it was a day wasted.”

“I never knew that side of—of … my only father. Can all the Scorpions be trusted?”

“They’re terrified into being so, and that’s all I’ll tell you. They obey orders, or death is a preferable option.”

“Do you know why I’m here, Signor Van Nostrand?”

“I didn’t need our mutual friend to explain it to me. I have very close ties with rarefied government officials.”

“And?” said the Baj, staring at Van Nostrand.

“It’s madness!” he whispered. “But I can see where the
padrone
would find it exhilarating.”

“And you?”

“In death as in life, I am beholden only to him. I was and am nothing without the
padrone
. I did mention that, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. He was everything they say in Havana, no?”

“He was the fierce, golden-haired Mars of the Caribbean,
so young, so magnificent. Had Fidel enlisted his genius rather than banishing it, Cuba today would be an island paradise, wealthy beyond imagination.”

“And the
padrone
’s island, how was it found?”

“A man named Hawthorne, a former officer in naval intelligence.”

The color drained from Bajaratt’s face. “He will die,” she said quietly.

The interlude in Brooklyn was endurable for the Baj only because the strategy was sound. Angelo Capelli and his wife, Rosa, a strikingly handsome couple, for none but such a union could produce the young actress Angel Capell, were delighted by the modest
barone-cadetto
, who in turn was overwhelmed by the Salumeria Capelli, a delicatessen in the old tradition, where more and more was better and better, and small round tables were placed about for those caring to eat the Casa Capelli on the premises. Photographs of the family’s daughter were everywhere, the majority scenes from the television series, and Angel’s younger brother, a sixteen-year-old, shorter but nearly as handsome as Nicolo, rapidly became friends with the
barone-cadetto
. Provolone was cut, prosciutto and salami sliced, and a cold pasta with Rosa’s own tomato sauce presented, along with several bottles of Chianti Classico. The tables were clustered and a full-fledged
antipasto misto
was had by all.

“See,
cara Zia
, I told you!” cried Dante Paolo in Italian. “Isn’t this better than eating with all those stuffed shirts?”

“Our host was mortified, my nephew.”

“Why? Whose ass was I supposed to kiss next? There weren’t any left!”

The roar of laughter was punctuated by Bajaratt’s humorous admonition. “
Really
, Dante—but I suspect you’re right.”

“You kiss
nobody’s
ass!” roared Angelo Capelli.

“Please, Papa, your language—”

“You please, daughter. He is the cadet-baron of Ravello! Anyway, he said it first.”

“He’s right, Angelina—Angel—I did.”

“Such a nice young man,” said Rosa. “So natural and down-to-earth.”

“Why shouldn’t I be, Signora Capelli?” asked an exuberant Nicolo. “I did not demand to be born with a title. I just arrived—oh, Mother mine, did I just arrive!”