Kenny placed his hand over the mouthpiece. “Mom! Come here!” He handed his mother the phone, then stood several feet away, watching her expression as she listened to the person on the other end of the line.
“I’m going to give him permission to go now that you’re telling me you’ll pick up my son and drop him back home.” She nodded, smiling. “Thank you, Mr. Esposito. Goodbye.”
Kenny couldn’t stop smiling when his mother hung up the phone. “Thanks, Mom.”
Justine smiled. “You’re welcome. I hope you’ll complete your homework today or tomorrow morning before you leave, because I’m not going to allow you to stay up late Sunday night to work on it.”
“I only have math homework. I’ll do that today.”
“Okay. Now, if you don’t need me for anything else, I’m going back to work. If you get hungry, there’s chicken and potato salad in the refrigerator.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Justine nodded. “You’re welcome.”
Turning on her heels, Justine walked back to the small room she had set up like her office with an old rolled-top desk and a couple of bookcases she’d bought from a store selling secondhand furniture. A gooseneck table and floor lamps provided enough light for her to work during the evening hours. She’d replaced the heavy drapes with lacy ones that allowed an abundance of light during the daytime. Several potted green plants lined the windowsill and tops of bookcases; framed prints of ancient maps on two of the four walls cheered up and added color to the space.
Almost all of her weekend hours were spent typing, and occasionally transcribing diction from a professor who preferred using a tape recorder to writing on legal pads. Despite having to rewind the tape several times because she had aproblem understanding his German-accented English, she preferred listening to him, because it was nearly impossible for Justine to read his illegible handwriting.
Although she had sacrificed not attending college until her son graduated high school, Justine hadn’t regretted it, because the joy she derived from becoming a mother was more rewarding than she could’ve ever imagined. If she hadn’t been on welfare, she didn’t know how she would’ve been able to survive, because then she would be forced to work and pay someone to watch her son when she wasn’t at home. The bimonthly checks were enough to cover her rent, utilities, and food. Justine had become quite adept as a seamstress when she was able to make most of her clothes from the patterns she’d purchased from a store selling fabric and notions. These savings allowed her to buy new clothes and shoes for Kenny.
She and Kenny were inseparable the first six years of his life, until it came time for him to attend first grade. Justine had taught him to read and count before enrolling him, and when she’d met his teacher for back-to-school night, Mrs. Connolly recommended he skip a grade. Justine had rejected it, because she felt her son wasn’t socially mature enough to be with older kids. Her rationale was if he was academically gifted, then he would always rank at the top of his class. She hadn’t disclosed to Kenny’s teacher that she also had been an above-average student.
Justine made good use of the hours when Kenny was in school. She’d taken the subway downtown to the Barnes & Noble bookstore to purchase used books on English lit, psychology, sociology, history, math, science, and early childhood education; a stack of spiral college-lined notebooks were filled with notes covering each subject as she read the books from cover to cover. Her fervent wish to become a schoolteacher did not end once she’d become a mother. In fact, it was stronger than ever.
A month before Kenny was scheduled to graduate fromthe sixth grade, Justine spoke to her caseworker about seeking employment. She wanted to earn enough money so she wouldn’t have to rely on the city’s welfare checks. After her caseworker warned that teenagers needed close monitoring when left at home alone, the woman was able to secure a position for Justine at St. Luke’s Hospital in Morningside Heights, and if Justine was interested, her hours would be eight in the morning until two in the afternoon. She was interviewed, given a typing test, and was hired a week later. She would leave the house before Kenny; however, she’d be home before his classes ended at three o’clock. Her beginning salary wasn’t enough for her to be taken completely off of the welfare rolls, but she would receive a lesser amount for her to maintain her current lifestyle.
Justine had felt as if she were finally in control of life, with a new job and her son entering junior high school. She had lectured Kenny about not allowing kids in the house when she wasn’t there, and he was to make certain to take his key and lock the apartment before leaving for school.
She deliberately hadn’t befriended any of the tenants in the building, because she didn’t want to repeat the lies she’d told Pamela Daniels. There were times when she thought about her former neighbor and her children, experiencing a modicum of guilt for losing contact with her. But when she’d moved, it was to begin life anew without the web of lies that she feared had been spinning out of control.
Now her life was on an even keel with a job she loved and a son who made her proud to be his mother. He was a straight-A student, and he made friends with boys who also were good students. The first time he asked if Frankie and Ray could come over to study for a science exam because there were too many people and noise in their apartments, Justine had given her approval. The first time she saw Francis D’Allesandro, she thought she was looking at a young Tony Curtis because of his brilliant blue eyes and dark hair. Ramon Torres was equally attractive with his swarthy complexion,large dark eyes, and curly hair. She’d heard talk around the neighborhood that girls were constantly flirting to get their attention.
Justine was forthcoming when she spoke to Kenny about keeping his distance from girls who wanted him to be their boyfriend, because it would lead to disaster if he were to have sex with any of them. She told him she’d only married after finishing high school, and planned to go to college, but she had to forfeit that plan once she discovered she was pregnant. What she hadn’t planned on was losing her husband so soon after their marriage, leaving her to raise their son on her own. Justine hated lying to her son about his father, while she promised herself that there would come a time when she would reveal the truth about his birth.
She would wait until he was old enough to decide whether he wanted to exact revenge on the women who, with their money and influence, had blackmailed her into having a child they’d planned for her to carry, then turn over to them. No one—not Precious Boone, Lillian Crawford, or even the midwife Miss Cynthia—had known she was carrying twins. She may have been forced to give up one baby, but not the remaining twin. She would do everything possible to keep and raise him, because after all, she was his biological mother.
She closed the door, sat down at the desk, and rewound the tape recorder, her fingers paused on the typewriter keys. Justine had been contemplating purchasing a new IBM Selectric to replace the outdated manual. A smile flitted across her face. She’d made enough money from typing papers to purchase a new electric typewriter. It would be a gift to herself for her thirtieth birthday. After making her own clothes and buying secondhand and used items, it was time she began to think she deserved better. And because of all she’d gone through, she now deserved owning something that was brand new.
CHAPTER9
Frankie D’Allesandro put his hands over his ears to block out the yelling and screaming coming from his sisters’ room, and he wondered when it would ever stop. They argued and fought about everything: clothes; if one stayed too long in the bathroom; whose turn it was to help their mother wash dishes or clean the apartment.
It was a wonder that he could keep up with his schoolwork with the chaos that seemed to escalate every day. Whenever he had to study for a test, he’d pack up his books and go to the public library, or he would ask Kenny if he could come to his house so they could study together. Kenny told him he felt different from the other kids because he was growing up without his father. However, Frankie had to remind his friend that his father had been a soldier and fought in a war to stop the spread of Communism.
There were times when he’d gotten so sick of hearing talk about Communism and the Red Scare. Kids his age shouldn’t have to concern themselves whether they would be blown up by bombs like the Japanese during World War II. The photographshe saw in a magazine of people after the atomic bombs had been dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki had triggered nightmares for weeks. The images were something he didn’t believe he would ever forget.
Frankie just wanted to be a kid who enjoyed going to school and playing with his friends, but it was now May 1964, and adults still continued to talk about the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, along with the persistent rumors of a government conspiracy and cover-up. Some hinted it was a mob hit, while others blamed it on Cuba’s Communist dictator Fidel Castro.
The ongoing talk of doom and gloom was the reason social studies was Frankie’s worst subject. He refused to read the newspaper, listen to or watch the nightly news, and his textbook had remained unopened even in class. Frankie had come to rely on Kenneth Russell to help him pass the subject. His dislike of social studies was offset by his love of math. Numbers had come so easily for Frankie when he was able to solve a problem within seconds of the teacher writing it on the blackboard, while he was a B-plus student in English and science.
His other friend Ramon Torres had become known as themad scientist.Ray’s obsession with science ranged from anatomy to zoology. He was able to identify and name every muscle and articulated bones in the human body. He, Ray, and Kenny had become best friends and unofficial blood brothers in and out of school, and whenever they studied together, they confidently knew they would pass all of their exams.
When any of Frankie’s relatives asked if he was going to work in his father’s grocery store once he graduated high school, he told them of his plan to go to college to become an accountant. He’d known by Gio D’Allesandro’s expression that he was disappointed that his only son had chosen not to take over the business he established as a small vegetable stand before he added canned goods, milk products, and deli meats; no number of threats or pleading from the elder D’Allesandrocould get Frankie to change his mind. However, he did have the support from his uncle—also his godfather and namesake, known in his neighborhood as Frankie Delano—that once Frankie became an accountant, he would have him oversee his East Harlem business ventures.
Just when he was ready to go into his sisters’ bedroom and tell them to stop fighting, he heard his father’s voice as he pounded on the closed door. It wasn’t often that Gio got up early on Sunday morning, because it was the only day he allowed himself to sleep in late. Opening the grocery store at six in the morning and closing around seven at night, six days a week, Gio declared Sunday as his day of rest. The year before, he’d stopped attending Sunday mass with his wife and children, because he found himself falling asleep during the priest’s homily. His snores had embarrassed his wife Kathleen, who suggested he stay home rather than embarrass her. Pushing off his chair, Frankie walked to the bedroom door and opened it just enough to hear what his father was saying to his sisters.
“How many times have I told you about making all that racket when I’m trying to get some sleep? Is what I’m saying going in one ear and out the other? I warned you the last time you were fighting with one another that I’m going to enroll you in Catholic school so the nuns can teach you right from wrong, because you refuse to listen to your mother.”
