Chapter 154
Bamonte's is quiet when Oswald and I arrive. Oswald grips my hand tight, practically pulling me along. There's been a shift in power with Frankie dead, and now Gabe stands at Frankie's post. Don Maroni sits at the restaurant's largest table, nestled towards the back. Despite its size, no one sits at the table but him.
"Friends! Welcome," Maroni greets, as he wipes his mouth with the napkin tucked into his shirt.
Getting out of his chair, Maroni meets Oswald in a warm embrace. Moving onto me, Maroni bows his head, taking my palm to kiss my hand.
"Such a beauty...Oswald is a lucky man," Maroni pats the top of my hand, and, unsure of how to react, I keep a polite smile.
As Don Maroni turns back around to the table, Oswald grins, tightening his grip on my hand, "Good Trixie...keep it up."
Refusing to make eye-contact, I push forward to the large table reserved for us. There, Maroni is tucking in a napkin over his jacket collar.
"I'm afraid it'll just be the four of us tonight," Maroni explains, gesturing to Gabe, "most of my men are out on business tonight. I hope you understand."
"Things are going well, I would hope," I inquire, seating myself down before Oswald can offer a chair.
Gritting his teeth, Oswald shoots me a dagger-eyed glare, "Trixie, you shouldn't speak out of turn-"
"No...no, I like a lady who can talk business," Maroni interrupts as Oswald and Gabe take a seat, "a woman should be able to understand her man's line of work, no?"
Turning into a bumbling yes-man, Oswald smiles, "Yes, yes...of course."
Just as the servers finish pouring wine into our glasses, Oswald's cell phone goes off. I can't help but glance down as he takes it out. Don Falcone.
"Please...please excuse me...my mother…" Oswald struggles to stand with his bad leg, before beginning to hobble away from the table.
"No, no, please. Take all the time you need," Maroni shoos him off, as Oswald ducks out of the restaurant.
The table is silent for several seconds, before Don Maroni picks up his knife and fork, scraping them against one another, "So...Trixie, how are you and Oswald? Everything's all well in the relationship I would assume?"
I nod, my false smile stretching to its limit, "Yes, everything's fine, all fine."
"You sure? Are you certain? Oswald's a small guy, but...when he's upset, the boy can get a little feisty," Maroni glances me over with a glare of suspicion. Is he onto me?
"I...I can handle myself," I murmur, lowering my head.
Raising an eyebrow, Don Maroni picks up his glass of wine, taking a sip before responding, "I see...I see...his mother, Oswald's mother, have you ever...actually met her? What's she like?"
I restrain the urge to groan or roll my eyes, "Yes, yes, we've met. He introduced me to her not long after we met-"
"And what is she like?"
I swallow, unsure of how to reply, "She's...she's a lovely woman. Older in years, but, wonderful nonetheless-"
Leaning back in his chair, Maroni presses his fingertips against each other, "Is she really sick, Trixie? Is Oswald's mother really ill? Or is he just pulling my leg?"
Gritting my teeth, I frown, "No...Oswald's mother isn't sick…"
Both Don Maroni and Gabe sit up straight, Gabe dropping both his knife and fork, causing them to clatter onto the plate.
"...he's just sickly in love with her!"
As I finish, we all burst into laughter, Maroni pounding his fist on the table.
"Oh...oh, that's a good one, Trixie! You, you really had me for a second! Haha, but, I'm not surprised about his mother. Mother's want to see their boys, I know my Mama feigned ill several times just to get me to come over," Maroni chuckles, as the laughter dies down.
"You know, boss, I hear so much about Oswald's mother...but what about his father? You ever hear about him?" Gabe asks.
Maroni assumes a thinking position as he realizes, "You know what? ...no. He's never brought up his father. What about you, Trixie? Oswald ever mention his father?"
"I...I feel it may be a...touchy subject for him. I avoid it when I can," I explain.
Maroni and Gabe nod their heads in understanding.
"You know, so many of us in this business had bad fathers growing up. I've heard every story imaginable. Deadbeat alcoholic who beat his wife, gambler who pulled his entire family into some serious debt...I wonder, what's Oswald's story? What kind of sick, messed up dad made...that?" Maroni asks himself, as he dabs his chin with his napkin.
Pursing my lips, I give a shrug, "Honestly, I really don't know."
Maroni keeps pushing, "C'mon, you must have some idea, and if not, take your best guess."
With a sigh, I close my eyes, "Well, if I had to guess…"
A young Oswald Cobblepot plays with a set of porcelain dolls on the floor of the Cobblepot's apartment, handling them with extreme care for a child of his age. Mr. Cobblepot looks over from his paper, as his son acts out a scene with his toys.
"Oh no! Viola has been cornered by the dastardly Richmond!" Oswald imitates a radio announcer's voice, as he plays with a male and female doll.
Oswald brings in another doll wearing a purple cape, "But look! Richard is here to save the day!"
The doll with the purple cape knocks over the other male doll, as Oswald joins the female doll and the one in purple.
"Thank you Richard! I'll be yours forever!" in a high-pitched voice, Oswald speaks for the female doll, before he starts making kissing noises, smacking the dolls together.
A young Mrs. Cobblepot scurries over to her son, "Oh, my dear baby, you mustn't be so rough with your toys. Mother got those porcelain dolls special, just for you."
Turning to her, Oswald kisses his mother on the forehead, "I know, mother. Anything for you…"
Unsettled by Oswald's last sentence, Oswald's father sets down his paper, "Don't you think he's getting a bit old to be playing with dolls, Gertrud?"
Her hands on his shoulders, Mrs. Cobblepot smiles down at her son, "Oswald can play with whatever he likes. Can't you see, dear? Our son is special, different from all the other boys."
Mr. Cobblepot examines Oswald, "No kidding. And maybe not special is a good way either."
Hearing all of this, Oswald's eyes shoot to his father, his expression one of innocent pleading. Noticing this, Mrs. Cobblepot wraps her arms around Oswald, kissing him on the forehead.
"He can hear you, you know. He's a very smart boy, aren't you, Oswald?"
Oswald turns to nod to his mother, kissing her back. Without a second glance, Mr. Cobblepot leaves the room.
"Your father will come around, my little Oswald. He just doesn't understand yet, is all," Mrs. Cobblepot assures her son, combing her hand through his hair.
"Mommy...can we live somewhere without Dad? Just the two of us," Oswald asks, seemingly unaware of the implications of his question.
Mrs. Cobblepot's eyes widen in surprise, but she's soon back to being the affectionate mother, "Oh, Oswald, you silly thing. Your father means well, you don't need to be afraid of him."
His eyes gaining a blank, glassy look, Oswald looks his mother dead in the eye, "I'm not afraid of him, Mommy. I just don't like him."
Later that evening, Mrs. Cobblepot is preparing dinner in the kitchen when Mr. Cobblepot comes out.
"What are you making tonight, my spring blossom?" he asks, wrapping his arms around her.
"Oh, just some soup. I used the some of the money from your promotion to buy some potatoes and herbs, so tonight's dinner is going to be extra delicious!"
As she chops up the potatoes, Mr. Cobblepot kisses her on the cheek, "Ah, of course. Why do you think I work so hard? Only the best for my little flower."
Putting down the potatoes, Mrs. Cobblepot turns around and embraces her husband, "Ooh, I could not be a happier wife. I have you and Oswald. My two guardian angels."
He chuckles, "Sometimes I think you love our son too much, sometimes, Gertrud. You're too soft on him, eh? Oswald is going to be a man someday, we can't spoil him forever."
Mrs. Cobblepot slaps him playfully, "Oh! You are just jealous! Oswald's still a boy, and besides, we're in America now. Don't you think he ought to have all the things a proper American boy should?"
"I don't think those 'things' include dolls," Mr. Cobblepot jokes, but his expression suddenly drops a bit, "a question, my love. If you had to choose, between Oswald and myself...who would you choose?"
A little surprised by his question, Mrs. Cobblepot chuckles, "Oh Elijah, you silly man. How could I ever choose? You and Oswald are parts of the same whole. Of family."
Mr. and Mrs. Cobblepot kiss, and Mrs. Cobblepot gives her husband an extra peck on the cheek.
"Now, the soup's almost done. Why don't you call Oswald from his room for dinner?"
Smiling, Mr. Cobblepot does a small bow in front of her, "Your wish is my command."
The two of them giggle, as Mr. Cobblepot crosses the small apartment to Oswald's room. He opens the door to find the lights turned off, and the curtains drawn. Various books and drawings lie askew, and the bedsheets have been stripped. As Mr. Cobblepot wanders further into the room, the door slowly swings close, with Oswald having hidden behind it.
"I don't like how you look at Mommy," he murmurs from the shadowy corner.
Mr. Cobblepot whips around to find nothing but the closed door. Glancing around the dark room, Mr. Cobblepot lurches as a tied bedsheet is wrapped around his neck. Pulling him with unusual force, Mr. Cobblepot grasps the sheet with both hands as the thin cloth chokes the air out of him. Trying to find something to grab onto, Mr. Cobblepot's hands flounder around, and as he takes a step back towards his assailant, he trips, stepping on a loose book and falling, hitting his head on the bedpost.
The upper half of Mr. Cobblepot's body falling limp to the ground, Oswald jumps off of the bed, bedsheet in hand. He's panting hard, as he stares down his father with angry, menacing eyes, as he watches a small pool of blood form around his head.
"Is everything alright in there, dear?" Mrs. Cobblepot asks, as she opens the door, letting the light of the apartment flood in.
She recoils back as she sees Mr. Cobblepot's lifeless body on the floor, Oswald standing over it. The pool of blood spreads, reaching the tip of Oswald's white bedsheet and soaking it in blood.
"Oswald...how...what…" Mrs. Cobblepot is unable to form words as Oswald shows no clear reaction, his expression unmoved.
Finally, her son moves, looking straight at her with vengeful eyes uncharacteristic for a child, "I didn't like how he looked at you, Mommy."
"Wow...quite the, ha, active imagination you got there, eh, Trixie?" Don Maroni chuckles, as I conclude my story.
"It's just my best guess," I shrug, leaning a bit back in my chair.
"Well, I've got a different idea," Gabe insists.
"Out with it then, you mook," Maroni mocks him with an impatient tone.
"...okay, so what if, Oswald's dad is...you know...some kind of rich, aristocrat guy? Nice house, with a fancy robe, that sort of thing. And...and Mrs. Cobblepot was a young kitchen servant, and, and they fell in love. But his parents didn't like them gettin' together, so they break up, and Oswald never knows who his father is, even to this day. And maybe, maybe Oswald's dad doesn't know he exists either. Yeah...yeah, it could be like that."
The table silent for a few moments, Maroni raised his eyebrow, "That...is the stupidest thing...you have ever suggested, and that's saying something, Gabe."
Gabe's head sinks, "Oh...sorry boss."
"I was thinking maybe, like...you remember when they used to use Arkham Island to process immigrants? Before they built the asylum? I was thinking maybe Oswald's dad got separated from Mrs. Cobblepot, and they never found each other again. Pretty common story."
Gabe and I both nod in agreement as Oswald comes back to the table, "My apologies. Mother says hello."
"I hope she's doing well," Maroni smiles, outstretching his wide arms.
"Very," Oswald chuckles, as he sits down next to me.
Maroni raises his glass, "A toast, to wonderful mothers and...absent fathers."
Tentatively, Gabe and I raise our glasses, Oswald soon following with a puzzled expression. We all drink, and continue on with dinner.