had given the equivalent of hundreds of thousands of dollars in gifts or job opportunities.
On their faces he had caught that same fleeting (to fleet – быстро двигаться,
проходить; скользить по поверхности) look of savage satisfaction.
It was during that time that he knew he had to make a decision. He could become like
a great many other men in Hollywood, successful producers, writers, directors, actors,
who preyed (to prey – охотиться; prey – добыча) on beautiful women with lustful
hatred. He could use power and monetary favors grudgingly, always alert for treason,
always believing that women would betray and desert him, adversaries to be bested
(противники, над которыми нужно взять верх, которых надо перехитрить). Or he
could refuse to hate women and continue to believe in them.
He knew he could not afford not to love them, that something of his spirit would die if
he did not continue to love women no matter how treacherous and unfaithful they were.
It didn't matter that the women he loved most in the world were secretly glad to see him
crushed, humiliated, by a wayward (своенравный, капризный, несговорчивый) fortune;
it did not matter that in the most awful way, not sexually, they had been unfaithful to him.
He had no choice. He had to accept them. And so he made love to all of them, gave
them presents, hid the hurt their enjoyment of his misfortunes gave him. He forgave
them knowing he was being paid back for having lived in the utmost freedom from
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women and in the fullest flush (внезапный прилив; буйный рост, расцвет; изобилие)
of their flavor. But now he never felt guilty about being untrue to them. He never felt
guilty about how he treated Ginny, insisting on remaining the sole father of his children,
yet never even considering remarrying her, and letting her know that too. That was one
thing he had salvaged (to salvage [‘sжlvıdG] – спасать имущество /при
кораблекрушении, пожаре/) out of his fall from the top. He had grown a thick skin
about the hurts he gave women.
He was tired and ready for bed but one note of memory stuck with him: singing with
Nino Valenti. And suddenly he knew what would please Don Corleone more than
anything else. He picked up the phone and told the operator to get him New York. He
called Sonny Corleone and asked him for Nino Valenti's number. Then he called Nino.
Nino sounded a little drunk as usual.
"Hey, Nino, how'd you like to come out here and work for me," Johnny said. "I need a
guy I can trust."
Nino, kidding around, said, "Gee, I don't know, Johnny, I got a good job on the truck,
boffing (boff – зад /сленг/; to boff – хлопнуть, шлепнуть; трахнуть, перепихнуться
/мягкое выражение/) housewives along my route, picking up a clear hundred-fifty every
week. What you got to offer?"
"I can start you at five hundred and get you blind dates with movie stars, how's that?"
Johnny said. "And maybe I'll let you sing at my parties."
"Yeah, OK, let me think about it." Nino said. "Let me talk it over with my lawyer and
my accountant and my helper on the truck."
"Hey, no kidding around, Nino," Johnny said. "I need you out here. I want you to fly
out tomorrow morning and sign a personal contract for five hundred a week for a year.
Then if you steal one of my broads and I fire you, you pick up at least a year's salary.
OK?"
There was a long pause. Nino's voice was sober. "Hey, Johnny, you kidding?"
Johnny said, "I'm serious, kid. Go to my agent's office in New York. They'll have your
plane ticket and some cash. I'm gonna call them first thing in the morning. So you go up
there in the afternoon. OK? Then I'll have somebody meet you at the plane and bring
you out to the house."
Again there was a long pause and then Nino's voice, very subdued (приглушенный,
смягченный), uncertain, said, "OK, Johnny." He didn't sound drunk anymore.
Johnny hung up the phone and got ready for bed. He felt better than any time since
he had smashed that master record.
Chapter 13
Johnny Fontane sat in the huge recording studio and figured costs on a yellow pad.
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Musicians were filing in, all of them friends he had known since he was a kid singer with
the bands. The conductor, top man in the business of pop accompaniment and a man
who had been kind to him when things went sour, was giving each musician bundles of
music and verbal instructions. His name was Eddie Neils. He had taken on this
recording as a favor to Johnny, though his schedule (расписание, график [‘∫edju:l]) was
crowded.
Nino Valenti was sitting at a piano fooling around nervously with the keys. He was
also sipping from a huge glass of rye. Johnny didn't mind that. He knew Nino sang just
as well drunk as sober and what they were doing today wouldn't require any real
musicianship on Nino's part.
Eddie Neils had made special arrangements of some old Italian and Sicilian songs,
and a special job on the duel-duet song that Nino and Johnny had sung at Connie
Corleone's wedding. Johnny was making the record primarily because he knew that the
Don loved such songs and it would be a perfect Christmas gift for him. He also had a
hunch (горб; предчувствие) that the record would sell in the high numbers, not a
million, of course. And he had figured out that helping Nino was how the Don wanted his
payoff. Nino was, after all, another one of the Don's godchildren.
Johnny put his clipboard and yellow pad on the folding chair beside him and got up to
stand beside the piano. He said, "Hey, paisan (земляк –сицилийск.)," and Nino
glanced up and tried to smile. He looked a little sick. Johnny leaned over and rubbed his
shoulder blades. "Relax, kid," he said. "Do a good job today and I'll fix you up with the
best and most famous piece of ass in Hollywood."
Nino took a gulp of whiskey. "Who's that, Lassie?"
Johnny laughed. "No, Deanna Dunn. I guarantee the goods (the goods – требуемые
качества; именно то, что нужно)."
Nino was impressed but couldn't help saying with pseudo-hopefulness, "You can't get
me Lassie?"
The orchestra swung into the opening song of the medley (смесь; попурри). Johnny
Fontane listened intently. Eddie Neils would play all the songs through in their special
arrangements. Then would come the first take (выручка) for the record. As Johnny
listened he made mental notes on exactly how he would handle each phrase, how he
would come into each song. He knew his voice wouldn't last long, but Nino would be
24
doing most of the singing, Johnny would be singing under him. Except of course in the
duet-duel song. He would have to save himself for that.
He pulled Nino to his feet and they both stood by their microphones. Nino flubbed (to
flub – сделать неудачно, совершить промах) the opening, flubbed it again. His face
was beginning to get red with embarrassment. Johnny kidded him, "Hey, you stalling (to
stall – ставить в стойло; застревать; останавливать, задерживать) for overtime?"