Who is Lou Sciortino? (12 page)

*   *   *

Aunt Carmela's white hair appears at the door to Tony's salon.

Agatino and Nunzio look at each other. “
Mioddio!
” Agatino says in a low voice, because he's worked in Milan. “
E bona notte e sunatura!
” Nunzio murmurs, never having been outside Catania—Sicilian for, “We're fucked.”

“
Buongiorno,
signora!” Agatino says heroically. “What a pleasant surprise. Don't tell me … don't tell me … we're finally getting rid of all that ugly white!”

Aunt Carmela looks at Agatino like he doesn't exist, walks with her chest out and her head high to a kind of Victorian throne, sits down, hugs her handbag to her chest, and says, “Firstly, I'm not signora, I'm signorina. Secondly, I'm not here for a hairdo. Thirdly, I came because I've got an appointment with my nephew, where is he?”

“I'm waiting for him, too,” Signora Zappulla says. “I've got a political dinner tonight and Tony's not here.”

“Dear Signora Zappulla,” Aunt Carmela says, “I didn't recognize you with that cloth on your silly little head!”

Nunzio and Agatino exchange a glance.

*   *   *

Tragedy …

The tape finishes. Tony is about to rewind it, then suddenly comes to his senses. “
Minchia,
” he says. He gets out of the car, locks the door, and runs across the busy Via Umberto, ass wobbling.

He walks into the salon, all calm and collected, like he's just come back from having a drink at a bar.

“Hello, everybody. Signora Zappulla, my respects.” Tony bows and kisses her hand. “Signora Falsaperla, my compliments.” He walks in Signora Falsaperla's direction, but the sight of her lying there like a woman in labor, letting her nail polish dry, is too much even for him, so he does a half pirouette and finds himself face to face with Aunt Carmela.

“
Zia,
you're here.”

“Yes, I'm here.”

Tony kisses her on the cheek and says in her ear, “
Minchia, Zia,
it's lucky you came. You know Uncle Sal is plotting something, as usual. Let me tell you about it.”

“What the hell have you been doing, Tony? I've been waiting half an hour,” Signora Zappulla says.

“Nunzio, get the paper and we'll do Madame Zappulla,” Tony says.

Nunzio turns off the water he's been using to shampoo Signora Falsaperla and goes into the back room.

“Tony,” Signora Falsaperla says, with her head still in the washstand, “I want you to give me the house special next week, too, I'm going to the prefect's dinner. We gave him a good deal on the meat.
The prefect!
”

Tony looks at Agatino, like he's saying,
Will those two never leave each other the fuck alone?

Avoiding Tony's gaze, Agatino folds the towel he's been using to massage Signora Zapulla's scalp.

“But of course, Madame Falsaperla!” Tony says.

“In my opinion, that prefect hasn't got long to live, the little shit,” Signora Zappulla says under her breath.

*   *   *

“Okay, this is fine. Park here, 'Nzino. Go in and ask my nephew to come out. I'm not going into a place where they take it up the ass,” Uncle Sal says.

'Nzino blinks nervously. He double-parks, switches off the engine, gets out of the car, and walks to the sidewalk.

*   *   *

Nunzio returns from the back room carrying the rolls of colored paper. Tony snatches them out of his hands. “Here,” he says, “Madame Zappulla, these are all for you…”

'Nzino comes in. He looks around nervously. He spots Tony, and makes the usual sign with his thumb. Tony looks at Aunt Carmela. Aunt Carmela nods.

“But … but … but…” Tony says, “but … you didn't do the treatment!”

Agatino looks at him.
Treatment, what fucking treatment?

Tony takes the rolls of paper, throws them angrily on the floor, and grinds them with the heel of his shoe.

“You're crazy! Completely crazy! You ought to be working in a bakery, or a butcher sh—I mean a bar! Signora Zappulla comes in here and you don't give her the treatment. Are you morons or what? I tell you what I'm going to do, I'm going to step outside, walk to the newsstand, buy a copy of
Vanity Fair
to calm myself down, and when I come back I want to see Signora Zappulla having her treatment! Signora … signora … you tell me what you want me to do. If you tell me to fire them, I'll fire them!”

Tony looks at Nunzio and Agatino and winks at them, then grabs 'Nzino by the arm and rushes outside.

*   *   *

“What is this treatment?” Signora Zappulla asks Agatino suspiciously.

“To tell the truth, signora, it slipped my mind. Please forgive me, I was up late last night, there was a new club opening, wasn't there, Nunzio?”

“A really nice club—it's the hot new place.”

“Nunzio, pass me the treatment and I'll do it right now!”

“What is this treatment?” Signora Falsaperla asks, taking her head out of the washstand and sitting up.

“Something special, signora.”

“In that case, I want it, too.”

“Of course, signora, of course.”

*   *   *

'Nzino walks Tony to the car like he's supporting a child who's fainted. Tony takes one step and sways, takes another and feels dizzy. When they get to the car, 'Nzino opens the door for him.

“Thanks, thanks,” Tony says, sitting down next to Uncle Sal.

Uncle Sal looks at him for a moment, then turns and looks out the window. “I was just passing by,” he says.

The day Tony hired Nunzio and Agatino, Uncle Sal stopped by and told him about a transvestite who'd joined the hookers in San Berillo, “and you wouldn't believe the line of cars! Anyway, they gave him the operation for free, did you read in the papers?”

Tony started sweating. “But Uncle, why are you telling me these things?”

“Just making conversation,” Uncle Sal said. “By the way, those new boys, have they got girlfriends?”

Tony's blood sugar level dropped precipitately. Uncle Sal was innocently asking questions, according to him, because an American friend of his had said apprentices should have girlfriends or wives because that way they were more attached to their work. But Tony didn't know that at the time. “NO!” he cried out. “They haven't got girlfriends!”

“You did the right thing, stopping by,” Tony says now.

Uncle Sal nods. Of course he did the right thing. “Listen, you remember Nick?”

Tony doesn't answer.

Uncle Sal continues looking out the window. “I been thinking about him.”

“Oh,” Tony says.

“I wanna forgive him.”

“Oh.”

“And you know why?”

Tony shakes his head.

“Because,” Uncle Sal says, turning to look at him, “he made the whole family look like shit. Not just me, not just you. Oh, no! He really made the whole family look like shit. Like he was doing it on purpose. Because where do you find the whole Scali family together? At Tony's barbecue. And that deadbeat made the whole family look bad in front of the guests!”

“But … Uncle … look…”

“Shut up,” Uncle Sal says. “Now, I've either gotta forgive him or kill him. Which do you prefer, Tony…?”

Tony looks at him, stunned, and says nothing.

“No point in asking the question, huh, Tony?” Uncle Sal says. “Because you like the deadbeat … In fact, I'm sure you'd like it if he became part of the family, right? Correct me if I'm wrong.”

Tony says nothing. He's got a look on his face like somebody who's turned in on himself, somebody who's repeating obsessively,
My sugar level's dropping, please leave me alone.

“Fuck, Tony,” Uncle Sal says, “don't piss me off. I told you to correct me if I'm wrong. Maybe you think I'm wrong?”

“No, Uncle Sal … it's just my sugar level's dropping and—”

“Who gives a shit about your sugar level, Tony?” Uncle Sal says. “Stop busting my balls!”

“As a matter of fact, Uncle Sal,” Tony says, “I do like Nick and I'd be happy if—”

“Good, Tony, good!
Minchia,
you've convinced me! Throw a nice barbecue tomorrow night, and we'll see if Nick and Mindy are making eyes at each other.”

“So I invite … just Nick and Mindy?” Tony says.

“Tony! Tony! It's not your sugar that's dropping, it's your brain! You gotta invite EVERYBODY! EVERYBODY!
Minchia,
what do I gotta do to make my nephews and nieces happy?” Uncle Sal says.

*   *   *

At Tony's, Agatino is scientifically demonstrating the principle that flattery is best used, not for the sake of ingratiation, but for distracting the other person while you shovel shit under the rug. It's the explanation for a lot of things, you know. Why, for example, do you think Uncle Sal behaves that way? Anyway … Applying distilled water like it was some kind of miracle potion, Agatino says, “Signorina Carmela is a woman of the old school, isn't that right, signorina? She likes to keep her hair white, because it's a sign of wisdom, isn't that right, signorina? Anyway … I say it's nice that in Sicily you can find people with such different lives existing side by side. Isn't that right, Nunzio?”

Nunzio nods fervently.

“A woman like Signorina Carmela so … proudly rooted in tradition, that's what they say, isn't it, Signora Zappulla? And someone like you, oriented toward the future, emancipated, dynamic…” Agatino has run out of adjectives.

“…open to innovation, part of the social fabric, motivated by a sense of equal opportunity!” Nunzio says, blushing.

“She's a woman, let's don't forget,” Agatino says, “like you, Signora Falsaperla, a woman … a woman…”

Signora Falsaperla lifts her head from the washstand, her curiosity aroused.

“Here he is…” Agatino looks at Nunzio. Nunzio looks at Agatino.

Tony comes in, shaking, white-faced, sweating, out of breath, with
Vanity Fair
under his arm. “Are you doing the treatment?”

“Sure, Tony. I already finished!”

“Good! Agatino, do me a favor, bring me some water.”

“With sugar,” Aunt Carmela says. “Tony, are you all right?”

“Yes, yes, Aunt,” Tony says, putting his hands on Signora Zappulla's head.

“You got something to tell me?”

Agatino comes back with the water and the sugar and gives it to Tony. Tony drinks it, sighs, and says, “I met Uncle Sal while I was buying
Vanity Fair.
He said, ‘Tony, why don't you throw a nice barbecue tomorrow night and invite Nick and Mindy?'”

“Nick and Mindy?” Aunt Carmela says.

Tony nods. “Yes … Nick and Mindy … You remember Nick, don't you, Aunt?”

Aunt Carmela makes a face,
Of course.

Tony looks at Aunt Carmela. Aunt Carmela sees into Tony's mind. Then she nods. “You deal with the hair,” she says.

“But Aunt—”

“And let me think about the clothes.”

“But Aunt—”

“Shut up. Please—she needs to look like a
bride!
”

UNCLE SAL WOULD REALLY LIKE TO SEE YOU

“Uncle Sal would really like to see you at the barbecue tomorrow evening. Mindy wants to introduce her fiancé Nick Palumbo to the whole family,” Tony told everyone. And everyone has obliged. It's the fateful evening of the fateful barbecue, and
it could well be a memorable barbecue … one of those barbecues you don't think much about and then they turn out real nice … elegant guests, the whole family together, music, dim lighting, the mood carefree and intimate … it could be a really memorable barbecue,
Tony thinks, standing on the stairs inside his house, from where he can look out at the whole garden. Wearing a puffy fuchsia-colored Indian silk shirt and a tight pair of matching pants, Tony takes a last drag on his third menthol cigarette of the day, then walks out into the garden to greet Uncle Sal's copywriter, the
americano
who got food poisoning from eating amaretti.

*   *   *

“Are you sure I'm repulsive enough?” Mindy asks Aunt Carmela in a corner of the garden.

Mindy is wearing one of those dresses her mother makes her from a pattern, chosen for the occasion by Aunt Carmela: puffed sleeves, crochet work, lace trimmings. On top of her head, a back-combed bridal hairdo so big there's enough hair for four women.

“Don't worry, Mindy,” Aunt Carmela says. “I know men.”

Aunt Carmela invented a brilliant method to remain a spinster: to dress up as a bride
before
getting married, that way men get an eyeful of what they're likely to end up with, and they take off and never come back.

When Mindy first suspected that Uncle Sal had killed her father, she decided to remain a spinster, too: she wasn't sure that Uncle Sal was really guilty, but, thinking about it, she reached the conclusion that, even if he wasn't guilty, he might be guilty, and she didn't want to have anything to do with a world in which there was a possibility your mother's brother might have killed your father. “Aunt, I forgive all of them,” she said one day, “but I want to stay single, because if I get married and accidentally bring a child into the world, I'll take a machine gun and make it a clean sweep.”

Aunt Carmela knew Mindy wasn't joking. She'd had the same thought forty years before.

*   *   *

Valentina is sitting farther along the wicker couch: red lipstick, bleached linen pants, peach-colored T-shirt, matching moccasins, legs crossed, a sullen look on her face. Next to her, Rosy is busy making sure her stockings don't run. She's wriggling about, trying to find the right position, and every time she moves, her skirt rides farther up her legs.