“Hey sweetheart, it’s just us girls.” My heart aches as I picture Suds at the fancy hotel.
The cold sheets on the other side of the bed remind me how much I miss him and want him home.
“From this day forward, I solemnly vow to be a normal girlfriend.” I hope I didn’t chase him away. If I’m honest, lately I have been a little high-maintenance. Shit.
Pulling out my earplugs, I hear the kitten’s pathetic whines and the sweet, sweet rumble of the subway across the street.
Thank God, the nightmarish construction has ended.
Cat eyes me as I slip into Suds’ huge sweatshirt and inhale his scent. Then, I grab the railing and circle down the staircase with the kitty underfoot.
I push on her little behind. “No murdering your owner.”
Purring, she pads over to the cabinet where I keep the food and stares. “I’m so glad you reminded me, otherwise I may have forgotten where I put it.”
Chuckling, I dish out a kitty-sized portion of wet food and add a little dry, too.
Without so much as a meow of thanks, she dashes to her bowl and scarfs it down while I make coffee.
At the salon, I receive a package with no return address. When I tear open the brown wrapping, a red scrapbook appears with a yellow sticky note on the front.
Hope this helps, Martha
Old-school, she printed out images of Mrs. Gallo and pasted them on each page, in chronological order. The first few date back to the seventies. One in particular catches my eye. In the photo, a much younger version of her is seated at a round table, smoking a cigar with eight gangsters, one who happens to be my uncle Vinny.
After working my shift, I phone him and he answers straight away. “How’s my favorite niece?”
He says that to all of us. Usually I smile, but not today. “Can I ask you a question about Anne Gallo?”
There’s a long pause. “How about we talk over lunch. You hungry? My treat.”
With Vincent, there’s always a price but I’ve come up empty handed on this case and need a little insight. “Absolutely, positively, no blind dates.”
“Petey’s in about an hour. I’ll be in the back room.”
Huh. I never knew it had one but don’t admit it. No doubt he’d add that intel onto the cost of today’s meeting.
I hang out for a while then don my raincoat and exchange my sneakers with mid-calf yellow vinyl boots.
Icy rain falls and the wind whips my face, too windy for an umbrella. I’m stuck trying to stay dry under my wool cap which I pull lower. I’ll probably die from wet hair, according to my nonna.
Holding, my purse tight. I jog, or rather slog, to the pizzeria and inside catch my breath as Pete looks up. “Hey Sam. Coffee?”
“Oh my God, yes.” I unbutton my dripping coat, shake it, and wipe my boots on his rubber mat. “What the fuck is wrong with the weather?”
“At least it isn’t snow.” He opens an oven door, slides a few pies around with a paddle, then shuts it again.
Outside, the slushy rain turns to small pellets that bounce on the empty sidewalk. I suppose that’s why the usually busy pizza parlor is empty.
Petey points to the kitchen. “He’s back there.”
His young helper opens a door behind the walk-in freezer and I don’t know what I expected but not a crystal chandelier and a Picasso.
My uncle sits at a table for twelve, back to the wall. “Sit, sit. I already ordered for us.”
After placing my raincoat and purse on a red velvet chair, I lean over and kiss both of his clean-shaven cheeks. Then, I take a load off and pop a fried calamari into my mouth. When I moan at the fatty deliciousness, my uncle grins as Pete drops off my coffee with a small white pitcher of cream.
After he leaves, Vinny sighs. “What da fuck are you doin’ messin’ with the likes of Anne Gallo?”
