For three soul-destroying years she had worked in the factory and finally decided this wasn’t going to be her way of life. She stole fifty dollars from her grandfather and left Brooklyn. Arriving at East City, Johnny’s town, she decided it was far enough away from New York to be safe and she settled there. She had no need to worry about safety: her grandfather was only too happy to find her missing.
She got a job as a waitress in a sleazy snack bar, but the hours were killing. She quit and other jobs followed, then after a year she finally got taken on in one of the many cheap stores in town which suited her. The pay wasn’t much, but at least she was on her own with no one to tell her what to do or how to behave and she had a tiny room that belonged to her, and to her only.
Melanie was sexually attractive without being pretty. She had long, coal-black hair, large breasts and solid hips and the hot sun of Naples in her loins. Men, looking at her, knew it. The store buyer, a timid, fat man, living in terror of his wife, became infatuated with her. She allowed him from time to time to put his hand up her skirt, but no more, and in return he put her in charge of the men’s shirt counter with a raise in pay.
It was while Johnny Bianda was buying shirts that he became aware of her. At that moment, he was without a girl, having quarrelled with a pick-up who had been too exacting, and he was in need of a girl. As always, Melanie was in need of a man. He dated her for dinner, proved he was generous and for the past three years, they had been going steady.
Within two months of meeting Johnny, Melanie moved out of her tiny room and into a two-room apartment in a walk-up, Johnny providing the rent and the furnishings.
In spite of being grateful and liking Johnny, Melanie regretted that he was so much older than she, that he was bulky and far from glamorous, but he treated her right, was nice to her and always had money to spend on her. They met three times a week: sometimes he would take her out to dinner and then to a movie, sometimes she would cook Italian food for him at home. Whatever the programme, they always finished up on the big double bed that Johnny had bought for her, and it was then, after so much experience with younger men, that she really appreciated Johnny as a lover. He and no one else could satisfy her.
To Johnny, Melanie, although so much younger than he and with no thoughts in her head, was a girl he felt he could trust and this was important to him. He was sick of the diggers, the cheats and the toughies with whom he had previously associated. Melanie came as a breath of fresh air. To him, she was more than attractive: she was wildly eager in bed and she didn’t yak as all those other women had yakked. She would be content to sit by his side in silence or talk when he was in the mood, and she never hinted of marriage.
Johnny felt in his bones he would never marry. He didn’t want a permanent woman: all he wanted was a boat and the sea and sex when the mood was on him. Sooner or later, he knew he would lose Melanie. Some young punk with a little money would come along and that would be that. Because he knew he would eventually lose her, he had never told her about his urge to own a boat, and now he was committed to the steal, he was thankful he hadn’t told her: that he had told no one. Massino was an expert at squeezing information from anyone when he wanted and if the steal turned sour and Massino even suspected it was he (Johnny ) who had taken the money he would brutally quiz everyone connected with Johnny. If Massino ever got the idea that Johnny was boat mad, it would be goodbye to the boat.
Most of Massino’s mob knew that Johnny’s girl was Melanie. You can’t take a girl out three times a week for three years without running into some of the mob at the restaurants Johnny could afford nor at a movie house showing the latest film. This thought worried Johnny a little, although he kept assuring himself that nothing would turn sour the way he had planned the steal and that Massino would never suspect he was the thief. He was fond of Melanie. Love? No, he told himself, he wasn’t in love with her. He felt that love didn’t come into his life. Love bound a man, but he was fond of her and wouldn’t want anything to happen to her.
He lit another cigarette. In the street below a child yelled, a woman called across the street to another woman, the car crawled by in low gear, making a racket of noise. Listening to the noise, he thought of the sea in the sunshine and felt the breeze against his face. His hands closed on the spokes of the tiller and he heard the murmur of the powerful engines. Patience, he told himself. Two or three years and he would be afloat.
Every Friday night he took Melanie out to dinner and then to a movie. This night—he glanced at his watch—he would be taking her out. Next Friday would be different, but he wouldn’t tell her tonight. He would jump it on her. Although she wasn’t a talker, if she knew beforehand that next Friday was going to be special, she might worry.
He spent the next two hours going over his plan again and again, then finally, realizing the futility of this constant rehashing, he got up, stripped off and took a shower.
An hour later he picked Melanie up outside her apartment and drove her to Luigi’s restaurant.
They had a good Italian dinner. They didn’t have much to say to each other. Melanie always seemed to be hungry and when the food was placed before her, she ate happily and in silence while Johnny, now thinking of Friday 29th, pushed his food around on the plate and didn’t eat much. He kept looking at her. His eyes took away her clothes and saw her olive-skinned, lush body naked and he thought of the wasted three hours ahead of them when they would sit in a stuffy movie house and watch some goddamn film before he could lay her on her back on the big double bed.
“Have you something on your mind, Johnny?” Melanie asked suddenly. She had devoured an enormous plate of spaghetti and was sitting back, eager for the next course, her big breasts forcing themselves against her cheap skimpy dress.
Johnny jerked his thoughts back to her and he smiled.
“Just looking at you, baby,” he said and put his hand over hers. “Right now, I’ve got the hots for you.”
She felt a hot rush of blood to her loins.
“Me too. Let’s skip the movie tonight. Let’s go back and have a real ball.”
That was what he wanted and his fingers closed tightly over the back of her hand.
“You have yourself a deal, baby.”
Then a shadow fell across the table and Johnny looked up.
Toni Capello was standing there. He was wearing a black suit, a yellow-and-white striped shirt and a yellow kipper tie. He looked very dressy, but his flat snake’s eyes remained snake’s eyes.
“Hi, Johnny,” he said and his eyes shifted to Melanie and then back to Johnny. “The boss wants you.”
Johnny turned hot with anger. He knew Toni was almost as good as he was (had been?) with a gun and he hated Toni as he knew Toni hated him.
He sensed Melanie was scared. He glanced at her and saw she was looking at Toni with wide, frightened eyes.
“What do you mean… he wants me?” Johnny demanded.
A waiter hovered to change the plates, then moved away.
“Like I said… he wants you and pronto.”
Johnny drew in a long deep breath.
“Okay. I’ll be along. Where?”
“At his place and right now. I’ll take the doll back to her pad.” Toni smirked. “A pleasure.”
“Get the hell out of here, you cheap punk,” Johnny said quietly and dangerously. “I’ll be there, but in my time.”
Toni sneered.
“Okay, if you want to cut your throat… that’s fine with me. I’ll tell the boss,” and he walked out of the restaurant.
Melanie turned, her eyes wide.
“What is it, Johnny?”
He wished he knew. He had never been called to Massino’s house before. He felt cold sweat start out on his forehead.