“That’s very brave,” she said.
“He doesn’t scare me.”
“I know that.”
“So I’ll go have it out with him.”
“You won’t. That’s an order.”
“I don’t take orders.”
“You will from me.”
“Sylvia, I can’t let you risk your pretty neck.”
“Kiss my toes.”
“Jesus.”
“Kiss them. You said you would if I asked. So do it.”
“What’s that going to prove?”
“That you love me enough to do what I say. I’m waiting.”
Frankie got down on his knees and kissed her red painted toenails. Her toes didn’t smell sour as his could, but of perfume, which seemed to be hidden everywhere on her body.
“I could almost make love to your toes,” he said, getting up and rewarded with a deep kiss.
“The bum’s a bully,” she said. “So we have to play him careful. So neither of us gets hurt.”
“Tell him it’s over.”
“He won’t accept that. He’d keep after me, thinking he said something wrong, or did something. He’d apologize. Slobber over me. Hoping everything would be hunky-dory.”
“Write a letter. Say you’re pregnant. Going to Puerto Rico for an abortion. You don’t want to get knocked up again.”
“Are you kidding? With him Sicilian? You think he’d let me get an abortion of his kid? He’d pass out cigars. My God, I’d never get rid of the bum.”
“So then what?” said Frankie.
“I could always shoot him. With his own gun. In the motel. He always signs in as Jones.” She seemed very serious, looking Frankie in the eyes.
“Jesus.”
“After we do it, he passes out. Then I’d hit him between the eyes. He wouldn’t know he got killed.”
“No. No, Sylvia. Jesus, no.”
“You believed me?”
“I did.”
“I really wouldn’t.”
“Don’t, Sylvia.”
“Hey, Frankie, I’m not that kind of girl. I couldn’t do that, take his gun and kill the SOB, even if he is a rat by trade.”
“I’m glad. Killing is the worst thing. It makes us rotten as him. My father says that.”
“Not that I’m saying it’s right in this case, Frankie. But you have to kill rats sometimes, or they can nibble a person to death.”
“Jesus. Don’t do it. Not for my sake,” he said.
“It ain’t only for your sake. It’s for mine too. And I just got a great idea. It’s getting us out of this mess. Out of Bruno’s clutches.”
“Yeah? What’s the idea?”
“I can’t tell you yet. After I figure out all the answers to all his questions.”
“You sure I can’t tell him nice myself?” said Frankie.
“You want to kiss my toes again?”
“Something else this time.”
“You listening to me? And not talking to Bruno?” she said.
“I’m listening to you,” he said.
“Good. Later we’ll go out for macaroni and clams.”
For her performance Sylvia bought a nice sensible dress that came up to her neck and down to her knees and had plenty of room for her breasts. Ordinarily, her breasts were pushing against the fabric. She was just too big-busted, the shopgirls in the dress stores would say. And her new dress was also in white to look cherry. She had had a sexy look since puberty but had kept her cherry until giving it to Bruno, which was the biggest mistake of her life.
Actually, Sylvia had two plans. If the first didn’t work, then she would ask Tony to get Bruno off her back. Bruno would kiss Tony’s toes. Bruno worked for Tony, and was scared of Tony. And Tony had told Sylvia, who was his secretary in the olive oil office, that whatever her problem, it didn’t matter if it was money or love or hate, he, Tony Tempesta, wanted first crack at solving it for her. Even though she was Jewish, she was in his family like his sister and he wouldn’t let any harm come to her.
Before Bruno asked for their next date at the motel on Long Island, she asked him to have a drink when she got off. She was in her modest white dress and almost looked like a nun in the summer habit, and Bruno didn’t give her the usual slap on her ass as soon as they were alone, and not getting it now, Sylvia knew her idea was working. He took her in his Caddie to The 19th Hole on the corner of 14th Avenue across from the Dyker Heights Golf Course. At the back of the bar they took the red leather booth where no one else was around.
Bruno’s long black hair was combed straight back, his teeth were slightly irregular, his face was square and strong, and he still wasn’t fat from all the food he ate, and he had the kind of smile that one minute could love a person to bits and the next minute could chop a person in pieces. The bad part of Bruno’s smile came from his eyes, which were brown, but not warm as brown eyes often are. His eyes were like dried blood, scabby and mean, and if they weren’t disguised by his smiling mouth, then the average person could feel a chill that no amount of clothing could warm up.
“I don’t know how to tell you this, Bruno.”
“So tell me. I won’t bite.”
“I got this marriage proposal,” said Sylvia, very calmly. “He’s a nice guy.”
“He screw you?” he said.
“You know I wouldn’t,” she said.
“But he wants to get hitched anyway?” he said.
“Yeah. He’s Jewish.”
“I thought my Sicilian cock converted you.”
“He’s an accountant. He’ll make a good father for my kids someday,” she said.
“Accountant. That’s pretty good. So you’re quitting your job?” he said.
“Not till I get pregnant.”
“I wouldn’t screw up your wedding plans.”
“I knew you’d understand, Bruno.”
“Hey, I ain’t no animal. I respect a woman who tells me what she has to do in her life. So, do I get an invite to the wedding? Like I’m just a friend from the office?”
“It’s going to be a civil ceremony. At city hall. Just us.”
“When you set the date and all, you let me know. So I can give you a wedding present. What can I give to show I appreciate all the good times we had?”
“I wouldn’t ask for anything, Bruno. I had good times too. But thanks just the same.”
“You finishing your drink?” he said.
“I had enough.”
“Let’s get out of here. I’ll drop you off at your house. Don’t worry, I ain’t asking for a last piece of nookie. By the way, what’s his name?”
“His name?” she said. “He’s just a guy.”
“I’m curious.”
“Oh. Herbie.”
“Herbie what?”
“Herbie Schwartz,” she said, biting her tongue too late.
“So, pretty soon, you’re going to be Sylvia Schwartz. Is that the truth, Sylvia?”
“Of course.”
“Well, that’s pretty good for Herbie. Not so good for Bruno. But what the hell, I’m married anyway. Maybe I’ll go give Marie a good screwing for a change. You know, that butterball, she gained another five pounds last month.”
Frankie and Sylvia waited for weeks to see if anything would go wrong from her dumping Bruno. Then they had a rip-roaring celebration, just the two of them, at Le Petit Cabaret in Greenwich Village. There Frankie spent his money on French champagne, escargots, and calf brains in brown butter. The show had Apache dancers, cancan girls, a comedian, and a canary, blonde, small, but with the voice of a choir.
They sat close, touching hands and thighs under the table, and saying clichés they meant. They danced cheek-to-cheek on the crowded floor. But their golden hour wouldn’t last. Frankie, in order not to spoil the evening, didn’t mention the greetings from the draft board in his pocket. He would tell her, if not that night, and not when they awoke in the morning in their rented room with other things on their minds, then another night.