Dinner With The Mafia

Chapter 3

Ben sat in front of his Uncle Carmine, who was taking his time answering.

“So, Uncle Carmine? What do you think? Can you find a job for my friend at your restaurant?”

His hesitation in responding had little to do with not wanting to grant Ben his wish, but more to do with playing for time to come up with a counteroffer.

He was a businessman, after all, whether it meant dealing with a stranger, or his nephew. He lived by a rule over the years; every favor asked of him that he was able to grant, required an immediate payback by the person asking. And the payback had to be, if not greater than the favor, at least equal to it.

“I was just thinking how lucky your friend is. Do you remember Pablo Ruido, the Mexican waiter? Well, just yesterday, he was telling me how homesick he was and how he would love to retire and go back to Mexico. He worked his entire life, and I believe that a man should know when to call it quits and rest. Regarding your friend, this could be just what the doctor ordered.”

Ben jumped up from his chair, beaming with happiness at the opportunity that he could offer Susan, overjoyed at the prospect of keeping the half-promise he had made to her. He started rambling his thanks to his uncle, who, after being pleasantly flattered, interrupted Ben with a hard stare.

“I knew I could count on my favorite uncle! That's what I always say to people: my Uncle Carmine is the most extraordinary and generous person on the face of the earth. If you ever have a problem, go see him, 'cause he can fix anything in a heartbeat!”

When Carmine was satisfied with enough compliments, he stopped Ben's babbling. “Are you finished with the rigamarole?”

Ben shut up and sat back down, like a schoolboy reprimanded by his teacher. “Yes, Uncle Carmine. Sorry.”

“I was just saying that it could be a stroke of luck, not that it will be.”

Ben's enthusiasm vanished into thin air. “But Uncle Carmine, I told you that she already has experience and she's a nice, honest girl!”

“The fact is, dear Benito…” When Carmine called Ben by his full name, it could only mean one thing: a forthcoming lecture. “…I had you in mind for that job. Hold on, don't interrupt me, let me finish what I want to say to you.”

Ben gazed into the air with a lost expression. He was imagining a way to fend off his uncle, allowing him to keep the promise he had made to himself; that no matter what, under any circumstance, nothing would keep him from following his dream. He was preparing to tell his uncle a flat out “no”.

“Obviously, I already know what your answer is,” said Carmine. “You've told me hundreds of times, so stop worrying. That's not what I'm about to say. You've also made it very clear that you don't want any help from my friends or from your uncles to break into show business. I do, however, have something I would like to propose to you. I'll do a favor for you and hire your friend and you pay me back by coming to work at my place as a stand-up comedian.”

Carmine picked up the glass in front of him and knocked it back in one gulp. None of his friends would have ever guessed that the glass wasn't full of alcohol, and Ben, who was floored by his uncle's offer, would have liked nothing more than a drink right then.

“But aren't you the one who was embarrassed to have a nephew who made people… laugh?”

“What's that got to do with anything? Competition is high and the restaurant needs some new blood to bring people in,” said Carmine. “If you're half as good as you say you are, then I'll have doubled my money. I can fill the restaurant with people and you'll finally have a job. Think about it before you say no, 'cause whether or not you agree, I'm gonna put someone on that stage. If it's not you, it'll be someone else, and you'll have thrown away a big chance that won't present itself again.”

For the first time in his life, his uncle was making him an offer that honored his ideas. A once-in-a-lifetime offer that only a true artist gets and is too good to turn down. Not to mention that his restaurant was popular among high profile people that would increase his chances of getting noticed, maybe even by someone important who could give him his big break… maybe even Hollywood!

“So? How much time are you gonna need to decide?” asked Carmine. He added a little more pressure to get the answer he wanted, “It would mean I'd have to turn down someone else's offer… but I'll admit, yours is a lot more interesting. As long as you agree to the pay, of course.”

“Hey! Don't try to buy low, sell high with me. There are people out there who'd accept the job for free. You can be sure that the salary I have in mind would be more than fair!” Ben knew right then that he was pushing his luck. “All right. I was just kidding. I accept!”

Carmine stood up from his chair, applauding in a slightly annoyed and resigned mood. “Look at you. You're acting like you're the one doing me a favor. Listen to me, dear little nephew! Let's get one thing clear: your show better be really exceptional. If it isn't, I swear on your father's grave that I will personally kick your ass out the door!”

Knowing his uncle, Ben could bet on his life that he was as good as his word and his unveiled threat brought his level of anxiety up a notch or two, causing him to keep his composure in check.

“You won't be sorry. On the contrary, you'll be one of the first to applaud,” said Ben.

“I hope so… for you! Tell your friend to show up at the restaurant day after tomorrow morning at eight. And you get busy with a decent cabaret act. You have two weeks and not a day more. Now, get outta here. I've got work to do.”

Ben made his way abashedly to the door, leaving a grouchy Carmine to his paperwork. In that moment, he realized what had truly happened. “Uncle Carmine? One last thing. Thank you.”

For some reason, his nephew's “Thank you” touched his tough, old heart. Deep down, he loved his nephew, even if he would never let it show. “Ya, ya. Now get outta here.”

Ben was in seventh heaven. He ran to the nearest phone to call Susan with the happy announcement. She was already in a good mood for having aced her exam that morning. Ben's news sent her over the top, giving her a sense of optimism and hope that maybe some of Ben's good luck really was rubbing off on her.

The Observers, Valerio Esposito and Willy Whoosh had to endure the latest scolding from their Boss, while they cursed themselves for keeping Susan's aspirations of becoming a lawyer under wraps.

“Why did I have to find out from her at the interview? What the hell do I pay you for? Well, it's too late now. I've already promised Ben and I can't go back on my word. I want to know everything about her: where she hangs out, where she goes shopping, who she meets and what she eats. Start with her family and relatives and leave no stone unturned! And don't forget, keep an eye on her at all times! I don't want any surprises. One last thing, did Pablo Ruido give you any trouble?”

“He whined a little at first, until he saw his payout,” said Willy, a bit smugly. “If you want my opinion, you were too generous with that Mexican…”

Carmine stared hard into Willy's eyes with a look that would have scared a ferocious pit bull. “I don't pay you to hear your opinion, least of all to shoot your mouth off. That man was faithful to me for many years. I never forget loyalty. That's the only way to earn respect. Now go, and leave me alone with Esposito before I make note of my generosity when it's your turn to leave us.”

Willy turned white as a sheet and lowered his head in submission. He bit his lips in an attempt to hold back anymore useless words and left.

Even though they were alone, Esposito waited for a signal from his boss before speaking. They both lifted a finger as their “starter” cue.

“I already mentioned to Joe…,” began Esposito, then held up his hand to correct himself. For years, it was held in the highest consideration by the entire family that when one of them were alone with Joe Santini, they could call him Joe, but in the company of other people, he should be referred to by his title.

Esposito continued, “…to the Boss, that the girl has had a certain impact on your nephew. I believe that it would be a good idea to direct his attention toward other women before it becomes a more complicated problem.”

Carmine let out a big sigh. Why did life have to feel like he was constantly putting out fires? As soon as he fixed one problem, another one popped up. “The girl… Susan, is very pretty. We would need to find another that measures up, that would catch his interest. Though I doubt he would be interested in anyone else as long as he's got it in his head that Susan's the one. Just like his father… God rest his soul.”

“In my opinion, two big tits and a nice ass work miracles on a man. I've got one chick in mind that could resurrect the dead. Her name is Lola. She's from the Meat Packing District. She is number one on Gansevoort Street!” said Esposito.

“A prostitute…” Carmine was reluctant. It wasn't a question of morals; he was first in line when he had the time and longing. But it was different for his nephew. Ben was young and handsome, and certainly didn't need a hooker.

The entire family agreed that Esposito's best quality was his ability to tune into the person to whom he was speaking, deducing even the smallest phrases and reading the slightest facial movements, already knowing what they were thinking and what they were going to say.

“With all due respect, sir, I doubt that a woman like Lola would be easy to win over, even for an attractive boy like your nephew. The fact that she is a professional would make everything easier for all of us. Give your nephew a few nights of passion with Lola, and Susan will be sweet history. This way, getting rid of her will be painless.”

Esposito's argument was pretty convincing.

“Let's give it a try. Make contact with this Lola and take her to a boutique and get her a nice wardrobe. I don't want her looking like a hooker. Explain the situation to her, then we'll invite her to dinner. We'll find a way to leave the two of them alone together.”

“It would be ideal if we invented a good story that Lola could act out during the evening. Something moving that touches the heart.”

Carmine decided to entrust the creative mind of Esposito. ”Why not… any ideas?”

“Well, for starters, she could play the part of an elementary school teacher.”

Esposito recalled with pleasure one of their evenings. To satisfy one of his fantasies, he had her interpret the role of a school teacher: a blonde babe wearing glasses, a tiny low-cut white blouse and a short plaid skirt.

“She's from Ukrain, so we can give her a tormented past; she was a young orphan and had to go out in the street in the snow to sell matchsticks.”

“Matchsticks? Isn't that a children's fairy tale? Esposito, are you firing on all cylinders? No, here's what we're gonna do. An orphan is good, but she was adopted and her foster father was violent. He beat and abused her. When she turned eighteen, she ran away from home, finding odd jobs that allowed her to study at night school and became the woman she is today. What do you think?”

Esposito was almost crying. “I think that's the most touching story that I've ever heard, Boss. My compliments. You have an incredible imagination.”

“What imagination? It's the story of a soap opera that my wife used to watch, may she rest in peace.”

“Anyway, we need to come up with an explanation for Ben as to why she'll be at dinner at our house,” said Carmine.

“Lola can just show up at dinnertime as a volunteer for some orphanage, asking for a donation that we had promised to give to charity for the poor orphans. Then she can pretend to have forgotten the right day. At that point, we can invite her to join us for dinner,” said Esposito.

The idea was full-proof and could work.

“You know something? You're a really good liar. I hope your wife is the only one who needs to be careful.”

Carmine grabbed the phone and got Joe Santini's number. “Joe? Hey, it's Carmine. I just want your opinion on a deal regarding Ben… no, don't worry, he's not in any trouble. Actually, I think we might have a solution for our problem…”

In other circumstances, he would have sent Esposito over to explain, but on this occasion, he wanted to tell him himself. Joe agreed with the plan and gave him carte blanche to go ahead.

In the dark about his uncles' behind-the-scenes plans to orchestrate his life, Ben was busy getting his material ready for the show, when an unexpected phone call filled him with joy.

“Susan! How nice to hear from you so soon?”

“I hope I'm not bothering you. I've just been given two tickets for a concert this evening at the Webster Hall Nightclub and I wanted to ask if you wanted to come with me. I'd like to pay you back a little for all your kindness. It's the least I can do.”

He couldn't have been happier if she had offered ten gold bricks, so he immediately accepted before some other invitation could ruin his evening. “It will be a pleasure. Thank you. I can't think of anything better than some good music to help me unwind.”

After they worked out a time and place to meet, Ben hung up and realized that he had no knowledge of the music that would be playing. It wasn't important, after all. The only thing that mattered was that he was going to spend the evening with Susan, wherever they ended up was fine with him.

Chapter 4

Webster Hall at 125 East 11^th Street

Judging by the long line of people waiting in front of the entrance, the event of the evening seemed to have attracted a lot of interest.

Susan gave off an almost tangibly exhilarated air, which contrasted with Ben's dark suspicion, as he kept looking around for something to reassure him. But the more he searched, the more his anxiety increased.

He figured that at least fifteen people, between those in front and those at the end of the line, could have very well spent the last two or three years behind bars. Not to mention their clothing, that appeared tenebrously sinister and bordered on something close to satanic. He found the courage to ask a question that might help him understand his surroundings a bit more.

“Susan, sorry but, what exactly are we going to see tonight?”

She looked at him like he had come from another planet. “What do you mean? Everybody knows Zoroaster from Atlanta!” Ignorance surrounded him, clearly revealed in his face.

“You really don't know who they are? I mean, don't you like Sludge Metal?”

He attempted a vague answer while clearing his voice, but Susan saw right through his posturing.

“I get it. You don't know and you need me to explain, right?” Despite his embarrassment, Ben had to confess that he had no idea what she was talking about.

“Sludge Metal, or rather, Sludge Doom Metal is a sub-genre of Heavy Metal music that's usually considered a fusion of Doom Metal, Stoner Metal, Southern Rock and Hardcore Punk.” She waited for Ben to wrap his head around all of it, then decided to change her tactic. “Don't worry. Let's do this, we'll listen to a few songs and if you can't stand it, just tell me and we'll go somewhere else. Does that sound all right?”

The skies cleared, the sun came out and Ben immediately felt better. He happily accepted Susan's offer, even if he would have rather been standing in line to see Shakira.

Inside the club, the music was a detonation that filled every corner, embellished by various strobe lights rotating wildly, shooting in every direction.

Everyone was moshing to heavily distorted bass sounds and rivers of oppressive riffs which appeared to try its best to smother the writhing mass of Metalheads. Ben felt like he was at the center of a spinning universe that was breaking apart with every violent beat of the drums, jolted right and left while the sea of people slam danced and shouted guttural hardcore punk language. He struggled to understand what Susan was trying to yell in his ear.

“Oh my God! This is the Ancient Ones from the Matador album.”

He nodded and gave a hint of a smile, hoping that this torture would soon be over. The only way he was able to stand the nightmare, was because it looked like Susan was having fun.

The worst came when the crowd slammed into him and he felt something soggy and slimy spread all over his forearm. He instinctively pulled his arm back, but was only partly able to, because another wave of pushing shoved him in total contact with the “thing”. His whole arm, including his hand, felt like it was covered in a mix of sweaty and oily gelatin that smelled like a toilet at a service station.

Totally revolted, he found the courage to turn around and actually look at the horror that he had come in contact with.

Pushing him from behind, was the belly, soft and deformed by alcohol, which belonged to a guy wearing a muscle shirt that was two sizes too small for his immense body, only covering his chest and part of his gigantic gut.

The man, heavily made-up with black eyeliner, wore a Marlon Brando cap, dozens of earrings and studded necklaces that served as an introduction to his collection of esoteric tattoos. From the shine of his skin, it was evident that he had slathered himself in some kind of oil.

Ben gagged and knew he had to get out of there, or he would vomit.

Trying to look casual, he surreptitiously cleaned his arm on the shirt of the unfortunate person standing next to him, then grabbed Susan by the waist and quickly tried to escort her away from the herd. She interpreted his attempt at escape as trying to feel at home, so she decided to accommodate him by yelling a request in his ear.

“Can I climb up on your shoulders?”

Ben didn't hear a word, but out of kindness, answered with a smile that said yes. He only figured out what she meant after she had climbed on his back, digging her heels into his ribs. He did his best to keep his balance, counting on the crowd surrounding him to keep him from falling over.

Then suddenly Susan jerked around. A guy standing right behind her put his whole hand on one half of her ass, his eyes fixed on the stage while he sipped his beer with the other hand.

That's when Susan lost it. “Hey, you creepy pig! Get your filthy hand off me!” But he just stood there with his hand firmly in place, squeezing her butt and sipping his beer.

“Are you an idiot, or what? Take your hands off me!” Furious, she lashed out, but as soon as she came close to his hand, he moved it, then put it right back on her ass.

Worn out, she smacked Ben in the head to get his attention. “Aren't you going to say anything to this jerk?”

When Ben realized what was going on, he turned around to face the cause of trouble. “Hey buddy, go molest somebody else!” The guy let out a resounding and sour burp that hit Ben and everyone around him.

Susan, more than pissed off, gave a swift kick in the face to the perpetrator. In his attempt to protect his head from the blow, he spilled most of his beer on the couple standing next to him. The beer-drenched guy wasn't particularly tall, but was ripped from hours lifting weights at the gym and he wasn't at all happy about being doused. He grabbed the culprit by the front of his t-shirt and started shaking him like a rag doll. “What the fuck! You ruined my clothes, you moron!”

Like some kind of crazed idiot, the ass-grabber started laughing uncontrollably, enraging the weightlifter with every chuckle. “If you don't shut up, I'm gonna break your face! Then we'll see if you're still laughing.”

Behind him, a guy, dressed in yellow from head to toe, tried to intervene in defense of the idiot. “C'mon, leave him alone. Can't you see there's something wrong with him?”

The bully didn't appreciate Mr. Yellow's intrusion and decided to show him who was boss. “Who are you? Now get outta here, go back to the discotheque… canary!”

Some words have the destructive potential of a firebomb released in an atomic nuclear reactor, but the gratuitous insult that triggered the inevitable fight was, unexpectedly: “canary”.

“Excuse me? What did you call me? A canary?” He blew a loud whistle that would have been lost in the music if it weren't combined with long arms reaching out to his friends. Four guys, all dressed similarly to the “canary” moved in threateningly close to the weightlifter. They looked like some kind of gang.

From Ben's shoulders, Susan watched the group closing in and in a panic, started hitting and prodding him with her heels, spurring him on before catastrophe hit. “Oh my God! It's the Yellow Brothers! Hurry up, let's get out of here fast!”

Her frantic movements caused Ben to lose his already precarious balance, staggering until the inevitable and abrupt fall, generating a disastrous domino effect.

Susan yelled as she fell on top of the weightlifter, who, desperately trying to get a handhold, violently catapulted himself into the canary's chest, causing him to windmill blows onto the two guys standing on the sidelines while he fell backward, in turn, forcing them into a flailing kind of moonwalk, while landing more blows to the back of the heads of other spectators. In just a few seconds, a tsunami of total destruction broke out, like a saloon brawl from Hell's 7^th circle.

Pushing and shoving their way through, Ben and Susan found themselves completely blocked in front of the stage. The musicians had stopped playing by then and just stood there looking around at the chaos of the nightclub, aware of the fact that the concert was ruined… or was possibly their best and most successful gig ever.

An announcement was made that the show was over and the emergency exits were now open, while security was doing their best to maintain a semblance of peace and order.

Miraculously, they surfed through the crush of people and, once outside, could hear police sirens, announcing the arrival of the authorities.

Shocked but safe, they started walking home, ruminating about the events of the evening.

“Why is it that our exits always have to end up in a bar fight?” asked Susan.

“As a matter of fact, it is pretty wild. It's almost as if you and I attract trouble. I'm sorry you didn't get to see the whole concert.”

She smiled at his kindness.

“I only wish I had told you what kind of concert we were going to see. I just assumed you would like them, too.”

He tried not to make her feel bad, telling her a little white lie. “No, don't worry about it. It was… fun. Too bad it ended the way it did. Actually, I was enjoying myself. The rhythm of the music was starting to get in my blood.” He added a little jig, but Susan wasn't falling for it and gave him a sideways look.

“Liar. I could tell from a mile away, that you couldn't wait to get out of there. But I appreciate your efforts. Let's do this: the next time we go to a movie or a concert, you get to choose.”

That meant that they had another chance to go out, which made Ben's face light up. “Fantastic! A new science fiction movie just came out…”

Susan threw up her hand, stopping him in his tracks. “No, no! Please, no science fiction.”

Back pedaling, Ben tried to change the description, “It's not exactly science fiction, it's more of a thriller-horror.” But she kept shaking her head, no.

“For heaven's sake, only a thriller or horror could be worse than science fiction!”

So he started listing kinds of movies at random, “Musical? Comedy?”

“No and no,” she said.

He finally decided to give up and throw in the towel. “Sorry, but what's left?”

“I'd love a romantic comedy.”

He agreed, even if the concept of “you get to choose” eluded him.

By the time they reached Susan's house, there was a moment of embarrassed glimpses. In Ben's mind, he had hoped to be invited up to her place, and decided to put her on the spot.

“Even though tonight was a little lively, it was fun. Gosh, it isn't even very late. I think when I get home, I'll read for awhile till I fall asleep.”

She appeared amused and intrigued. “What a great idea. What are you reading?”

Ben wasn't really very interested in books, so he had to think fast on his feet to sound intellectual. So he mentioned a book that he had already read about twenty years ago. “A really compelling story… Treasure Island.”

“Treasure Island? Isn't that a children's book?”

“Yes, of course. But I like to go back and reread it sometimes to revisit my adolescence,” said Ben, trying not to sound pathetic. He made a gesture sliding his right hand over his left like a plane taking off into the wild blue yonder, and left it at that. Susan didn't seem to grasp the concept of his gesture, but accepted his explanation.

“All right then, seeing as you already have plans for the evening, I won't invite you up for a drink.”

Ben almost fainted right there on the spot and had to force the lump in his throat not to explode into a hacking cough. “To tell you the truth, I wouldn't mind something to drink. As long as it wouldn't be any trouble.”

He tried to regroup and pull himself together with a mix of prayer and curses merging in his brain, while Susan blessed him with brilliant smile.

Bursting with energy, he felt like a toy bouncing up the stairs to her apartment.

Just before he was about to walk into her house, he heard a very familiar voice calling his name from faraway. “Ben! Hey Ben!”

He turned around and saw Esposito's big, red face, even more heated than usual from running.

“Esposito? What happened?”

He leaned on the railing, wheezing and gasping for air while trying not to fall on the ground. Ben carefully helped him sit down on one of the steps, waiting for him to catch his breath enough to speak.

When he was finally able to talk, Esposito had some worrisome news. “Your uncle … is sick.”

“What happened? Which uncle?”

As strange as it seemed, the question was legitimate, given that he worked for Carmine D'Abbate, as well as Joe Santini.