Reply Hazy, Try Again.
by Bill Prindle
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Table of Contents parts: 1, 2, 3, 4 |
part 2
Eight years earlier, Paulie had been working as a bartender for his younger brother Lorenzo, who owned a small popular supper club named Nonna’s, after their grandmother whose recipes supplied much of the menu. It had always done a good business, and Renzo had put his heart into making the food simple and tasty, the room attractive, and the entertainment pleasing.
Renzo, Teresa, and their new child Billy were doing well and on their way to moving out of her father’s house when disaster struck. Renzo was stabbed to death when he tried to break up fight on the sidewalk outside Nonna’s. Soon after that, Teresa’s father Rafaelo dropped dead of a heart attack. Unbeknownst to Teresa, her father had left behind years of unpaid taxes. Teresa managed to pay off the owed taxes and save the business and Rafaelo’s house by taking out a large mortgage.
In her grief and confusion after her husband’s murder, she succumbed to Renzo’s brother’s entreaties and married him. Back then, Paulie had been a handsome charmer, and Renzo had left him a successful restaurant to run. It didn’t take long for Paulie to run Nonna’s into the ground. He renamed it Lucky’s after the mobster Lucky Luciano, changed the menu to cheaper fare, and styled it as a hangout and after-hours haunt.
Paulie paid off the local police so he could keep it open early into the morning for Brooklyn wiseguys, racketeers, and their trampy goomahs to have a Sambuca or strega, sip an espresso, nibble a tiramisu, dance to Sinatra, place a bet, do a little business, or play a couple of noisy rounds of morra. Paulie felt important hanging out with them and took to dressing, gesturing, and talking like a wiseguy.
But Paulie had a bigger problem unrelated to his shady customers: his gambling.
Now that he had access to more money, he gambled more and more extravagantly. By the time Billy turned four, Paulie was skimming the till at Lucky’s to bet on races. When Billy turned seven, Paulie had to cover his debts by selling half-ownership in Lucky’s to a guy known as Joey Two Fingers.
Within two years, he had to sell his remaining stake to pay off big gambling losses. Now he worked at Lucky’s as the bartender and bouncer.
Teresa stayed with Paulie because after his losses, he’d promise to straighten up, did for a while, and then started gambling again. She hung on because she once thought she’d loved him and held onto an almost extinguished hope that he still might change. She also thought Billy needed a father, even a lousy one.
A year ago, Teresa had to sell the heavily-mortgaged house her father had left her and use some of the proceeds to pay off Paulie’s debts and the rest to pay off the second mortgage. They’d moved into a dilapidated two-family rental where they now lived.
* * *
A few nights after slapping around his wife and stepson, Paulie met Scalise at Lucky’s. He asked for more time and persuaded Scalise to take a large cash down payment and monthly payments. Scalise still wanted a stake in the plumbing business but was willing to accept the cash “for friendship’s sake.” But if Paulie came up short or missed a payment, Scalise would get part ownership in Paoletti’s, no matter what Teresa said, end of discussion. He gave Paulie two months to come up with first payment.
Paulie knew he’d never be able to lay his hands on that kind of dough; he’d have to sweet-talk Teresa into handing over part of her business. He’d have to be a model husband and father, at least until he paid off Scalise.
The next day, when Teresa came home from work, she was unnerved to see Paulie had not only cleaned the house and done the laundry, he’d made a lasagna and had a Dean Martin record playing when she came in the door.
Dinner was tense. Teresa said little, Paulie sounded contrite when he spoke, and Billy was so anxious he could barely eat. Hiding his left hand under the table, he crossed and uncrossed his fingers twenty times, the way he did during tests at school. He hoped they could finish the meal without it winding up decorating the walls and floor, and he got his wish.
Later, he sat in his pajamas at the top of the stairs and listened to his parents talking in the living room.
Paulie swore he’d learned his lesson and would never gamble again. If she would only sell Rico part-ownership, with his connections and juice, they could expand Paoletti Plumbing into Long Island and maybe even Manhattan construction projects. Before long, they’d be making more dough than Rafaelo ever made.
They could easily get by on half of the expanded business’s income, and Paulie promised he’d get a day job instead of night shifts at Lucky’s.
“But if we don’t sell, we’re in big trouble, Teri.”
“If we don’t sell, you’re in big trouble,” she said. “If we do sell, I’m in big trouble.” She sounded resigned and weary, but she didn’t give in.
Billy waited for Paulie to explode but nothing happened.
Three days later, Teresa went to the bank and took out a loan on the plumbing business for the twelve thousand. She’d left the cashier’s check in her safe deposit box and phoned Scalise to meet her at the bank to pick it up. No way was Paulie getting anywhere near the check.
Rico thanked her and promised some big-time contracts could be coming her way. She didn’t believe a word of it. She knew he was after her business and wouldn’t stop until he got it.
Two weeks later, Billy was in bed listening to his parents talking when Teresa told Paulie she’d paid off Scalise.
“This is the last time,” she said. “You gamble again, it’s over.”
After a long pause, he said, “What are you talking about? What’s over?”
“Us. You and me. I’ll take Billy and leave.”
“Say that again.”
From Paulie’s tone, Billy knew something really bad was about to happen. He started whispering his prayer.
Teresa repeated what she’d said and then gasped in pain. Billy had never heard a sound like that, and he shut his eyes tight and clapped his hands over his ears.
“Paulie, stop.” She was barely able to choke out the words.
“Say one word about leaving again — ever,” he said, “and I’ll kill you. I’ll kill both of you.”
Billy began shaking uncontrollably. His hands groped for the bedside light, and he picked up the 8-Ball.
“Can I make Paulie go away forever?”
The answer was, “Help him.”
It made no sense but neither had taking an umbrella to school on a sunny day.
* * *
The following Saturday, while Teresa caught up on some bookkeeping at the office, Paulie stretched out on the living room sofa and spent the afternoon with the racing form and a glass of strega before he went to work the night shift at Lucky’s.
Billy was upstairs, practicing a card trick in which he showed three cards and encouraged his spectator watch the money card in the middle — the King of Spades. When he laid them face down and the spectator turned over the middle card, the King had disappeared and in its place was a Joker.
“Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo,” he’d say, his eyes wide in mock surprise.
Mary Jo Dietz had asked him to do the trick three times in a row and hadn’t figured it out. “The closer you look, the less you see,” he’d pattered. “The less you see, the better for me.” She’d laughed and kissed him on the cheek.
When Billy walked through the living room on his way to the kitchen, Paulie took no notice of him, but Billy saw what Paulie was reading. Billy stood silently in front of him until Paulie lowered the racing form and said, “What? You got nothing better to do than stare at me? Smammate!” Scram!
Billy said, “You promised not to gamble anymore.”
Paulie gestured for Billy to come closer and clamped his hands onto Billy’s shoulders. Billy flinched, certain he was about to get slapped.
“Billy Boy, a man has to live his life the way he wants. I’m a gambler. That’s what I am. Sometimes I win, sometimes I lose. Those are the breaks. This time, though, I’ve got a plan. This time I’m going to play it cool, take my time, do my homework and — BAM — one day your mother’s gonna look out the kitchen window and see a brand-new Cadillac in the driveway. How’d ya like that, huh?”
“But you promised—”
“Billy, the leopard doesn’t change his spots, capisce? Hey, I got an idea. Maybe you got some luck.”
Paulie spread the newspaper on the floor and told Billy to look over the races coming up at Aqueduct that evening.
“Any names look good?”
The only part of the form that made any sense were the horses’ names. Jitterbug, Sergeant, Ladies Man, So Blue, Daisy Mae, Gin Rickey, Pancho Village, Plum Ready, Dark Victory, and so on. He said he couldn’t tell which ones were winners.
“That’s right — you can’t!” Paulie said. “That’s what losers do — pick a cute name. What you gotta do is you gotta look at the odds, you gotta know how the horse did on this track before, who’s the jock, who’s the trainer, the sire, the dam, the weather conditions, the track surface — it’s very complicated.” He held up a worn spiral notepad. “It’s all in here” — he smacked it against his palm “ — and this time, I’m gonna bet smart and win big. Wait till you see the look on your mother’s face when she sees that Caddy.”
He leaned back in the chair and resumed his calculations. “Listen up, pally. This is our secret. Omertà. Zip it.”
Billy caught the lowered tone, the clear threat, and went upstairs. He sat on the edge of his bed and considered what to do.
If Paulie starts betting again, Mom could lose the business, he thought. If she finds out he’s gambling, she’ll leave and...
Billy had an image of him and his mother sitting out on the street, like when the Dellacroce’s landlord had dumped that family’s belongings — bureaus, beds, sofa, clothes, record player, toys — by the curb, and the cops had arrested Mr. Dellacroce because he tried to strangle one of the evictors.
Billy felt trapped, immobilized. He picked up the 8-Ball and asked, “Paulie’s gambling again. Is there anything I can do?”
The answer appeared. “Daisy Mae to win.” He shook the 8-Ball, asked again, and received a different answer: “Our secret.”
He thought a moment and had an idea. He pried up a loose floorboard with his fingernails and took out a cigar box from between the joists. It had fifty-seven dollars in it he’d earned from his paper route, running errands, shoveling snow, and his allowance, when he got one.
He took a ten, returned the box to its hiding place, and went downstairs. He had no idea what was going to happen, but whatever it was, he trusted the 8-Ball.
“One of those names,” Billy said with feigned excitement, “I got a feeling she’s a winner.”
“Oh yeah? What’s the name?”
“Daisy Mae,” Billy said.
Paulie looked over the form. “Aqueduct, sixth race tomorrow. Thirty-to-one. Jesus, you sure know how to pick ’em. Forget about it.”
“I’m positive.” He held out the ten. “I’ll even bet my own money.”
“Where’d you get that? You stealing from your mother?”
Billy shook his head.
“Come to think of it, this might be a good lesson for you.” He pointed at a column of numbers. “You know what these odds mean? She’s a long shot. They get you to bite on the long odds and suckers like you bet and lose. But to hell with it, I’ll do it. A cheap lesson for you at the price. If you win — which you won’t — I take half. Deal?
“Deal.”
* * *
Daisy Mae came in first.
Two days later, when Teresa was at work, Paulie called Billy to the kitchen table. He slapped down some tens.
“I can’t believe it, but you called the winner. So okay, subtracting the vig and my end, you get one hundred. You want me to hold onto your cut so you don’t spend it all on Tootsie Rolls?”
Billy shook his head. He counted the bills. “You made a mistake. This is only eighty.”
Paulie snorted. “They must have stuck together. Here you go, tough guy. And don’t flash it around. We might need it later.”
Three days later, after Billy came home from school and went to his room to do his homework, Paulie stood at the bottom of the stairs and called up to him. “Okay, genius, pick me a winner.”
Billy quickly consulted the 8-Ball, got a name, and went downstairs. Paulie spread out the racing form for him to examine, but Billy closed his eyes and bowed his head as if in prayerful concentration. “Bouncing Betty,” he said.
Paulie consulted the form and whistled under his breath. “I’ll be damned. Bouncing Betty, fifth race at Belmont, ten to one. Go get your hundred.”
Bouncing Betty won by three lengths. Seventy-five for the bookie, six hundred for Paulie, and three twenty-five for Billy, who knew he’d been shortchanged but didn’t care.
After they divided the money, Paulie grilled his son. “You see the name in your mind’s eye or get a tingle or what? How’re you doing this?”
Billy said he didn’t know.
“Why can’t you come up with more winners?”
“It doesn’t work that way. It just happens when it happens. I can’t explain it.”
“Eh bene, I got a fortune teller here — a zingaro.” He reached out and ruffled Billy’s hair, which Billy had always hated.
“I should be selling your tips when you get ’em. We could make some real money.”
“No, you can’t do that,” Billy said. “It has to be a secret, just us two, or it won’t work.”
Paulie regarded Billy, lit a cigarette, and puffed out a series of concentric smoke rings. “All right, don’t get your panties in a twist. Just you and me, Scout’s Honor.” He went back to the racing form. “So go upstairs and put yourself into a trance and get me another winner.”
* * *
Copyright © 2021 by Bill Prindle
