Chapter 32: Interruptions, Part 2
Luigi and Peach spent the better portion of the weekend hopeful that the garage door would open and a black Honda would park inside it. By Sunday evening and several cartons of moo goo gai pan and steamed rice later, a resigned Peach telephoned Rospo to pick her up from the 17th Avenue brick A-frame. She gave a lingering embrace to her cognato and asked him to call her if Mario turned up by night's end or, more likely, at work on Tuesday. He nodded silently, then watched them depart for the Upper East Side. The following morning found the house empty; the plumber wondered if returning to Brooklyn had been one of the biggest mistakes of his life – no fratello, no zii, and no Daisy. A depressed Luigi dragged himself out of his room to walk down to 18th Avenue and 70th Street for a cornetto. The last time that he had been at this bakery, he pinned Daisy against its cold brick to nuzzle her soft skin and reduce the budding desire to drag her to bed. He missed her terribly and wished she would come find him in Bensonhurst. Above all, he wished that they were still in Palo Alto together, lounging in the king-sized bed and talking about nothing in particular.
As he tortured himself with his daydreams on the way back to the vacant residence, Luigi felt his phone buzz against the back pocket of his blue jeans. Checking the caller ID, he quickly answered, "Zia, how is he?" He nodded and picked up his pace, "Okay, I'm leaving right now." Hanging up the call, his brisk walk changed into a jog back home. Ten minutes later, the plumber removed his keys from the hook, and he departed for Eltingville in his red Suzuki, which he had missed driving while in California. As he normally did on the way to Staten Island, he allowed his mind to go blank, mindlessly queuing in the medium to heavy traffic on the Verrazzano. Once he turned southwest onto Richmond Road, the geography evolved from endless brick, steel, glass, and concrete to a dense collection of large green trees and American suburban houses. Upon moving to Staten Island in October 2002, just one month before Maria's 'accident,' an angsty sixteen-year-old Luigi referred to his new surroundings as "Several One-Ways to Hell" and "Land of Guns, God Bless 'Merica, and Guidos," both of which earned him a smack from his paternal uncle. Though he remained distant and even hostile with Giuseppe during his two years in Staten Island, he secretly loved having a father, mother, and three sisters. There, he became a Luigi Masciarelli from a parallel universe; instead of being born a math and engineering prodigy to deceased parents and an absent older brother, he was an ordinary kid with a complete nuclear family. Yet as he enrolled in the union's community college program in 2004, Luigi felt that nexus disappear, and the gap between him and his newly-found family widened, as if Giuseppe and Lucia knew that his future lay elsewhere. The latter resigned herself to that fate. His uncle, however, never accepted it; even as he was proud of his quasi-son for becoming a plumber and continuing the Masciarelli tradition, he remained as intrusive and enmeshed as he had always been.
Luigi inhaled deeply as he parked alongside a brown brick house with a full front yard and large tree. Exiting his red car, he walked up to the front doors and entered, knowing that they were open. "Zia? Zio?" he called out as he shut the front door and removed his shoes. From the entrance way and the living room, he could see into the large kitchen which he helped Giuseppe and Maria remodel during the summer following his high school graduation, but neither his uncle nor Lucia were there. He heard the slight moan of a man coming from the master bedroom. "Zio?" he repeated, to which the young plumber heard a middle-aged voice rasp his name. Luigi ran toward the bedroom where, a moment later, he skidded to a stop. In the bed lay a frail, slimmer Giuseppe in a white tee-shirt and navy and green plaid pajama bottoms; his hair, normally a medium-length curly gray, had begun to change to a cropped near white. As he gaped at his uncle in shock and horror, the man's blue eyes opened and, reaching over to the night table, he slid on his Buddy Holly-framed glasses. They stared at each other in mutual recognition and apprehension. "Zio?" asked the younger plumber.
"Yeah, kid," answered Giuseppe.
Not knowing what to say, Luigi whispered, "Where's Zia?"
"She stepped out to do a grocery run." The older Italian chuckled. "She'd have stayed cooped in here with me had I not told her to go." Seeing the fear and hesitation within his adopted son's eyes, he added, "You ready to start tomorrow?"
Exhaling and running a hand through his hair, he murmured, "I, uh, haven't given it much thought, to be honest. I got to New York, only to find that you're … And Mario disappeared again."
Giuseppe closed his eyes and shook his head. "Fuckin' selfish idiot … goes with the name 'Mario Masciarelli.' And I told Mario not to tell you until … you got back. I didn't want that shit in your head when you … couldn't do nothin' about it in California. I was protectin' you."
An angry Luigi sat on the edge of the bed in front of his uncle and brushed a stray teardrop from his right cheek. "I should have been told."
"I ain't apologizing for it, figlio. You got to keep … your eye on the prize. With … Pete and Lucas circling like vultures, you … need to be … vigilant."
He shook his head and blankly gazed at the wall. "I should've stayed in California. Nothing good can come from me taking over for Sal. Nothing!"
"Cut the shit!" hissed the older man. "Stop feelin' sorry for yourself. You … need to fight. Fight for us! Use … California to make … change. Don't run away … like your father. You're … better than that."
"Daisy's parents found out about us," he voiced gravely. "Her father told me to fuck off."
Joe grimaced, still watching the distraught Luigi. "I'm sorry, kid. If … she's serious, then she'll … choose you. Family's … difficult. As I said … before, this is … dangerous, so … can't blame 'em."
Luigi brushed another tear from his cheek, though he remained silent. Giuseppe propped himself up in the bed and moved closer to his nephew until he was within a foot of him. "You shouldn't be exerting yourself," the younger plumber finally said. "I've read that with chemo …"
"Fuck that!" interrupted Uncle Joe harshly. "I'm not dead! Plan to be here … for a while yet. Not … goin' anywhere." He looked around his room, then focused on a high-backed wooden chair in the corner, which Maria and Lucy had used to relieve their mother from her caretaking every so often. "Remember … sitting in the chair when … you first came here."
The young man's eyes focused on the chair and he winced. "Yeah, not one of my better moments, I'll admit. After I was released from the hospital, youse brought me here. I, uh, resented it, mainly because …" he breathed in deeply, shifting his hesitant blue orbs to catch Giuseppe's identically expectant ones, "I felt like I wasn't supposed to be alive anymore. Mama died when I was young, so I didn't really remember much about her. There was no hope of Pops comin' back, and Mario … took Pauline and ran off to the Army. It was like this void that I didn't know how to fill. I felt cheated."
"I know, kid," replied Joe with a single nod. "Hope's a fragile thing. But it's … what keeps us going – you and me. What … kept your father … going in the end. In that chair … I found my hope again." They both focused on the wall again for what seemed like hours. "Stay," he uttered faintly.
Luigi turned to his elder. "You want me to … stay?"
"Can't … work or eat much. Everything tastes wrong. Italian guy's … hell. Need to find … alternatives."
Before he could properly respond, they both heard soft footsteps thud against the hardwood floors. Luigi spun his head to find a tired, yet comforted Lucia standing in the doorframe. As he rose, she rushed into the room and threw her arms around her nephew, whose embrace he immediately returned. "Nipote, thank God you're back. It was the two stunads' idea not to tell you, and I'm so sorry!" Giuseppe rolled his eyes at his wife's backhanded comment.
"I know, zia," he mumbled.
Luigi spent the day in Eltingville with Giuseppe and Lucia. As the former slept due to post-chemo fatigue, Lucia kept her nephew busy by asking all about Stanford and then about Daisy, whom her husband shared next to nothing except for calling her a 'siriana' and expressing concern about her Jewish parents. Prior to Luigi's birthday party, Maria had gleefully played her mother the clip of the Bowser fight; Lucia was originally apprehensive of her quasi-son dating a 'tough girl,' although she was not surprised, given how sensitive and almost effeminate he had always been, even as a child and teenager. On several occasions, she recalled Mario Senior voice his concern, perhaps even fear, that his youngest son was "a queer," especially when the latter pleaded with him to take ballet lessons. Both agreed to keep their suspicions to themselves and from Giuseppe who had never approved of his brother's encouragement of "boys in fuckin' pink tutus." Despite the initial shock, she was quietly supportive of Daisy, who had, through Luigi's tight-lipped descriptions of her and their time together in Palo Alto, emboldened him to take control over his own life and destiny. He did not volunteer details about Lucas, just as she did not inquire about Pete Morello, whom she had met briefly at Gabriella's funeral, or Mario. Giuseppe woke just before Maria and Lucy came home from work; the girls were happy to see their cousin, and over dinner, he shared pictures of the Stanford campus along with a few photos that he had taken over the Fourth of July weekend with Mario, Peach, Miles, and the Bowser children. Maria, being the expert troll of the Masciarelli family, stole Luigi's phone when his back was turned, and rifled through it to find – thankfully, thought Lucia – PG-rated pictures of Daisy in Mexico and aboard the sunset cruise. Dinner was a subdued affair, especially as Joe was still unable to eat or drink anything except Gatorade, which he normally loathed as "shit sugar water," pureed carrots, and bits of Brooklyn Blackout Cake from his preferred Italian bakery near Tottenville. Everything else either tasted metallic or sickeningly salty.
Although Giuseppe steadfastly insisted that Luigi needed to return to Brooklyn for his "big day" the following morning, there was a sadness that he unsuccessfully attempted to hide upon the latter's departure. He was, of course, thankful that he still had two children at home, but it was never easy saying goodbye to his two other ones – Addy, who lived with her husband and baby at the very edge of Staten Island and New Jersey, and Luigi in Bensonhurst. As for the young plumber, he usually found his family stifling and intrusive at times; however, he was this time glad to have taken the series of familiar one-ways toward home. He made the nighttime drive from Staten Island to Brooklyn in just under forty-five minutes, pulling up to an empty 17th Avenue house at 8:30 pm. Once inside, he sent a short text to Peach stating that Mario had still yet to appear, then went upstairs to his room and cold bed to shower and sleep.
Dressed in his usual green zip-up hoodie, blue jeans, and plumbing boots, Luigi arrived to the shop by eight o'clock to applause and cheers of "Suck my dick!" by José and the other journeymen, apprentices, and adjunct welders. He cursorily scanned the small crowd for his older brother, but Sal put his arm around his shoulders and led him into the office. Closing the door, the grinning Sanjuanero offered him a cup of coffee, which he politely accepted. Contrary to Giuseppe, who seemed to have aged ten years in a matter of weeks, his soon-to-be-former boss lost years and wrinkles from his chiseled face. "Ah, kid, it's my last week. Thank God!" Wincing a little, he then asked, "How's Joe? I heard that he's …"
"He's doing alright," replied Luigi with a hint of melancholy. "He's … hanging in there."
Sal gave a nod of sadness. "Joe's always been a tough sonofabitch. He'll pull through, kid. What about Mario?"
"I thought he was at work yesterday?"
The portly man frowned and shook his head. "Nah, I thought he was with you – youse in Staten Island. Egoísta de mierda! I'll deal with him once he gets back – I sent him to a job in Queens." He studied the younger man before him, then said, "I want to say that … you've come a long way, kid – the way you handled Slaughter and then how you stood up for yourself with the union guys. Your father would be proud. I know that Giuseppe is, and I am. That's why I know I made the right decision. That being said, mijo, it ain't gonna be easy. There are some things I can teach you and some things you're gonna have to learn for yourself. In addition to Pichler and this Lucas Kariolis character, there are two men that you must absolutely be careful of: Jackie Morano and Pete Morello. Neither of them can be trusted. They have lied and gone back on their word so many times, taking more and more money. I was naïve, mijo – I trusted Pete because he seemed better than that fat escoria. But he's no better. Don't think for one minute that blood means much to these people because it doesn't."
"What do I do? Sal, Pete … he approached me right before I left California. He's coming to New York next week."
Sal muttered several curses in English and Spanish, then rubbed Luigi's shoulder soothingly. "Shit, I shoulda known that greedy fuck would pull something. He probably knows about Joe's chemotherapy treatments. Just … do as he says right now. You don't have the bargaining chips yet to negotiate with them. They're both capos; word on the street is that Pete is Cutthroat Carlo's de facto consigliere – you understand what that means? Mouth off or disobey, and they'll put a bullet in you. Trust me, mijo, it does not matter that you're Luigi Rigassi's grandson or the great-nephew of Carlo Morano – they'll end you or they'll kill Mario in your place. Relax for now; play ball. There will be better days ahead." At Luigi's blazing blue eyes, Sal cupped his cheek and added, "I know you're scared. But you are very, very strong – intellectually and emotionally. That's what this place desperately needs. You'll eventually understand what I mean." Logging onto his computer, Sal smiled. "Now, let me show you the books …"
Throughout the morning, Luigi paid the minimal amount of attention to Sal's explanations on budgeting, keeping track of tickets, and approving contracts to do his new job; most of his thoughts were centered around Mario and an indescribable sense of foreboding, the Native tattoo burning and itching against his skin. They paused for lunch at noon. Accepting José's invitation to join him, Ginsburg, and some of the other journeymen at a nearby burger place in Dumbo, he noticed that Mario strolled into the shop and Sal's office. Slamming the door behind him, they all watched for several seconds as an enraged Sal animatedly yelled and gestured at his journeyman for lying to him about his whereabouts. An indifferent Luigi walked out with José and the others, mentally jabbing at his brother that he deserved the asschewing.
A tired Luigi returned to Bensonhurst at around six o'clock in the evening carrying several sacks of groceries. Between lunch and grocery shopping at the local Italian market, he received two voicemails from Yoshi and Uncle Joe asking for a status report and an encrypted email from Miles with a single question mark, which meant that he too was curious about the first day as manager-in-training. He walked into the kitchen and, as he was mentally making a list of whom he would contact first, heard a familiar voice chortle behind him, "Well, if it isn't Don Coglione. How was your first day of lyin', cheatin', and screwin' the shop?"
He angrily spun to face his irate older brother whose freshly bruised arms and scuffed knuckles were crossed in front of him. "It's not my fault that you were stupid enough to lie to Sal. Oh, and Joe and Lucia say hello. Too bad you were too busy punching bricks and goombahs to make it to yesterday's dinner."
The younger plumber resumed organizing the produce into the refrigerator containers when Mario moved to stand perpendicular to him. "Fuck you, Weegie!" he growled.
Shutting the refrigerator door, Luigi moved toe to toe with Mario, which caused the latter to blink in surprise. "What the fuck do you want, hmm? First, you don't fucking tell me about Uncle Joe, then you blame me for his condition?! Oh, and then, the fucking icing on the cake, you didn't even wait for me to explain about Lucas! Or the fact that I told him to go to hell! You know what? Screw you. Go bully someone else for a goddamned change. 'Cause God knows Peach won't take your shit like I have! Consider this my sixty-day notice because I'm moving out!" He concluded his retort with an ombrello.
A stunned Mario blinked several times, attempting to process what Luigi had just said. "Wait, what? Moving out? To where?"
Luigi shrugged and smirked. "Well, I'm making six-figs now, so … I could go anywhere in Brooklyn. Anyway, go call your girlfriend. She's been worried sick."
As he opened the refrigerator a second time for the jar of mayonnaise to prepare a tuna sandwich, Mario rasped, "Peaches, uh, she told me that she wants space. I tried to … make nice, but she ain't havin' it this time. I don't know if we're done or not. Apparently, I fucked up with you, too, because now you want … space."
"And you think that there's no reason for that?" demanded the green-shirted plumber while opening and draining the tuna can in the sink. "Look, I think Peach and I agree on this point. We're tired of wondering and waiting for you to come back injured or worse, Mario." He stopped and braced himself against the sink as Peach had done after their argument. Facing his older brother squarely, he added, "You need to talk to someone. I know you see that Army shrink every so often. Whatever the hell it is that fuels your rage, fratello, you need to face it. Because neither Peach nor I can handle it anymore. And I'm speaking from experience. I had my own come-to-Jesus moment a few weeks back with Daisy. I know I don't want to live like this any longer. I've …" he drew out a harsh, angst-ridden breath, "I've hidden here," he gestured at the four walls with his mayo knife, "from the world. It was like a tomb for me. In fact, it was my tomb until Daisy drew me out. Ti voglio bene, fratello, but I want more than being trapped in goddamned Bensonhurst for the rest of my life. And no, for the record, I'm not joining the fucking Mafia!"
"You think they care about what you want, fratellino?" hissed Mario. "I … I only know bits and pieces about Lucas Kariolis, Weegie. I don't know exactly what happened between the time I left for basic and when you went to live with Joe and Lucia. But I know this kid's dangerous. DK thinks so, Pops thought so. He was lookin' into his ass right before he died. He's tied to the Mafia. Pete Morello, most likely." He exhaled and approached his little brother, stopping in front of him and the counter. "I … I get that you want your own life. But I don't want you by yourself right now. You and Peach are the only people I got in this life. And I ain't gonna let Pete Morello or Lucas have you. No way!"
He shook his head emphatically as he assembled his sandwich and took a bite. "Mario, you act like you have a say here. You don't. I gave you sixty days, and that's that." Setting the sandwich on a dinner plate, he picked it up and climbed the staircase to his room. He groaned at the steps following rapidly behind him and decided to leave the door open, knowing that his brother would only force it ajar if he attempted to shut and lock it. Sitting at his desk to check his email and eat his sandwich, Luigi attempted to ignore Mario's entrance and takeover of his bed. They stayed in a sort of détente for fifteen minutes; Mario glaring at his brother while the latter nibbled on his tuna and sent an email to Yoshi and Miles about the first day. Once he was finished, he spun around to face his angry brother who had not moved from his reclined position atop his bed. "What do you want, Mario?"
"You are not moving!" he barked. "Not unless I know where!"
"Once I find a place I like, you'll know," calmly responded the younger brother.
"What about the Sfacciata? Is she coming with you?"
Luigi paused, debating on how much to tell Mario about the current situation with her parents and the unknown status of their relationship. The little he knows, the better. "If she wants to come with me, yeah."
"And I can't come with you?"
"No."
"Why?"
He ran an exasperated hand through his wavy brown hair and exploded, "Because, Mario, you're part of the problem!" At his older brother's open mouth, he said more softly, "You've always tried to protect me, even at the expense of your relationship with Peach. And it's not fair to her. I'm a grown man; I'll be alright if youse decide to move to Italy, Manhattan, or Massachusetts. Really. I lived, albeit for a brief time, clear across the country, and I did okay for myself. Go … Go build a life and house with Peach."
Mario crossed his arms furiously. "Not without you."
"Jesus Christ …" he scoffed, throwing up his hands.
"No, Weegie!" he yelled, leaping off the bed, "Not without you! Do you know what my second biggest regret in life is? Huh?" Luigi shook his head, afraid of the answer. "It's not taking you with me and Pauline down South! You could've … graduated from Georgia Tech or, shit, even Duke! Used them to get to MIT or Harvard. Done what Pops wanted, and I'd have gotten you away from that Lucas fuck. But I left you here to become a fucking plumber. That was meant for dumbasses like me who didn't give much of a shit in high school, who were lucky to get above an eighty. Nah, I'm not gonna make that same mistake now! I won't leave you to the Mafia, not a snowball's fuckin' chance in hell."
Luigi suddenly felt a surge of anger and bolted out of his chair to face his brother. "Fucker, you already did! When you left on Friday to play Mister Tough Guy, you left both Peach and I! You left Giuseppe! You left me in New York to play hero halfway around the world while I was living on the streets, 'cause Cousin Jackie and I never got along, and it was fuckin' better to crash here alone than be a mafioso!" As he was about to list another instance, Mario grabbed and enfolded him in a crushing hug.
"Mi dispiace!" murmured the older brother. "Mi dispiace, fratellino. And I'll … I'll return to hell for that. Just don't ask me to give you up now. I'm tryin' to make this right."
"If you want to make this right, then make it up to Peach. Talk to the psychologist, please. Don't … Don't become nonno."
Mario stepped away from Luigi, his face ashen at the latter's words. He had heard rumors in the family about physical abuse, especially of their father; while he never witnessed it, he knew Mario Senior, Giuseppe, and Zia Maria never allowed Nonno Mario unsupervised access to his grandchildren, and that the latter's temper had been directed at his sons and, at times, young Luigi. The internalized anger over losing his entire family in Pescara and being expected to "get on with life" created a nasty, miserable shadow of his sixteen-year-old self. "I … I would never hurt you, fratellino. Niente! If … If that's what it takes to make it right, then I'll … I'll do it. I don't know what'll happen with Peaches, and I know I fucked up …" Trailing off, Mario looked at his bruised and split knuckles, flexing his hands to permit himself to feel the pain. "I just can't tell her. How am I supposed to tell her, Weegie?" He returned to the bed and sank down while a tired Luigi sat down next to him. "Did you … tell her?"
"No," admitted Luigi. "It wasn't my story to tell. Besides, I still don't … remember much, and I'm not sure I want to. I did tell her about Uncle Joe. She became his physician, so she needed to know."
Mario nodded. "Yeah, she did." He then twisted his head toward his brother. "I'll, uh, get an appointment with a shrink tomorrow. I'd prefer outside of the Army 'cause they would ding me for the … fights. Union insurance will cover it. You have my word. As for Peaches … I'm … I'm not ready to tell her. I'm a fuckin' coward, I know, but I can't. I can't think about it, Weegie. Every fuckin' time I do, it makes me reach for the J.D., and what good will that do? But … I can't … I don't want you to move out, not yet. I need to protect you. You're my family. I know … I know I haven't always acted like it. I left ya, and now, I'm seein' just how much of a clusterfuck it was. I didn't know you were at Big Jackass's until much later, I swear to ya. Joe never told me, and I hate him for it! If he had, I'd have been on the next plane to New York – the Army be fucked! Let's … give you movin' until after the New Year. If after New Year's, you wanna move, then I'll even help ya. And if the Sfacciata comes with, then I'll help youse. I need to know that you're safe. Otherwise, nothin' matters. Please."
The younger brother let out a sob and gave a single, nonverbal nod. "Aight," he finally mumbled. "I'll wait until New Year's, so long as you work it out with Peach and you see someone."
"Deal," the crimson-shirted plumber agreed. He reached over to Luigi, embraced him, and kissed the top of his head. "We're a package deal. I know … I know why you think we're not," he whispered. "And I never owned that. Lemme … Lemme try to do right by you. I don't want youse – Peach and you – to leave me all alone." He stood up and, taking his brother by the hand, began to pull him toward the stairs.
"Where are we goin'?" asked a confused Luigi.
His brother gave him a wicked grin. "It's been a while since I took my little bro for a Guzy-cruisie down 86th Street and a cherry ice. The lights are gonna be a bit brighter 'cause of Santa Rosalia's next week."
Since Mario was on Sal Maldonado's "Shit Detail" for the entire week, he had to leave for work at five in the morning to pull a twelve-hour shift in the worst parts of East New York and Canarsie. Luigi, however, rose leisurely at seven o'clock, showered, dressed, grabbed his bagel and a schmeer, and arrived at the shop a little past nine. Wednesday was yet another day of mindless minutiae involving contracts, though Sal arranged for he and Luigi to take a "field trip" to Queens and the Local 2 office to review pending work and crew orders for upcoming projects for the third and fourth quarters of 2014. Luigi admitted that he was a bit excited that the shop was in very early talks to perform plumbing work on the Brooklyn Tower and possibly The Hub which would allow him to adapt his knowledge of computerized systems to automated plumbing functions. Strangely, the union treated Luigi like he was a superstar, serving him and Sal a catered lunch from Katz's Delicatessen in Manhattan. As Mario accompanied two new apprentices to unclog bathtubs filled with old hair, crack pipes, and used condoms, the thin plumber in black jeans and a green Oxford enjoyed a pastrami sandwich with mustard. The discussions and training continued until mid-afternoon, after which the union representatives pulled him in for a quick meeting regarding his tuition assistance, explaining that it was valid for any institution of higher learning in the tri-state area, including Princeton, Cornell, Yale, and Columbia, of which the administrative assistant made mention, as it was rumored that he had done extremely well at Stanford and could be considering the Ivy League for the upcoming spring or fall.
Upon his return to Bensonhurst at around three in the afternoon, he called Uncle Joe and gave him a brief report on his first few days back to the shop. A tired Giuseppe listened more than spoke, although he made sure to warn his nipote-figlio of the upcoming dangers posed by Pete Morello and Big Jackass, who would undoubtedly make their presence known. When Luigi mentioned the union's tuition waiver, which would even cover Princeton or Columbia, the older plumber bit out that "he didn't need fuckin' frills right now" and to keep "his ass firmly grounded to the Brooklyn dirt," particularly as that "little shit Lucas was like a goddamned shark in the waters." The younger plumber rolled his eyes and inwardly smirked that he would apply to NYU, Princeton, and Cornell anyway. While it was left unsaid, Luigi knew Giuseppe wanted him to come for Sunday dinner, which he would gladly do to brighten his spirits following his second round of chemotherapy. After an hour, they hung up the call.
Checking his email to find a response from Dr. Czernin agreeing to resume their sessions next Thursday at six o'clock New York time, he was relieved to start therapy again. Luigi felt the anxiety building, from the harsh effects of Giuseppe's chemotherapy, Mario's descent into a personal hell, to Daisy's silence on all forms of telecommunication since her coded message via Miles's email. Remembering Dr. Czernin's homework assignments on self-care, he went online to search for dance or exercise classes near Dumbo and Brooklyn Heights to release the stress instead of giving in to cigarette cravings. As he favorited a few ballet schools near Brooklyn Heights and Park Slope, he felt his iPhone buzz against the table. Picking it up to read the incoming message, his heart began to thud against his chest upon seeing Daisy's name. He rushed to unlock the phone and scan the text: "296 12th St, 2nd floor, Park Slope. You can come now if you want." Not missing a beat, he ran downstairs, snatched his car keys, and, phone still in hand, slammed his hand against the garage door button.
Twenty minutes later, he maneuvered his red Suzuki in the last available parking spot just before the corner of 5th Avenue and 12th Street. Exiting the car and running across the crosswalk to a four-story residential building wedged two older brick buildings, Luigi buzzed the second floor apartment; the door unlatched and he shoved past the blue portal and took two steps at a time up the staircase until he reached a wooden apartment door and knocked. As his heart began to pound with excitement and trepidation, a familiar figure let him into the studio. Closing the door behind them, Luigi gave her a once-over: Daisy was dressed in a black skirt suit with a pale yellow silk blouse. He stared at her in a mixture of fear and awe – she could be dressed in a paper bag and be the most stunning woman on the planet. Yet he was filled with dread, as this was obviously her new apartment. She saw the warring emotions in his sapphire-colored eyes; cautiously, she pulled him into a warm, loving embrace, pecking him on the lips, and then led him so that they could sit together on the gray sofa.
"Dio, Luigi, I'm so sorry," she began quietly. "I'm sorry that I … I didn't contact you sooner. My parents took my phone and laptop so that I couldn't reach you. Let me explain, okay?" Sniffling a little, he nodded. "After they confronted you … Well, they didn't react well, particularly Yael. I got the 'Hitler Speech' several times." She rolled her eyes. "As for my father, well, we have a … system. If I can present an argument that's logical, then he will revisit the punishment or 'verdict.' I didn't win, per se,but I got him to settle. The settlement was that I would rent a studio in Park Slope or Crown Heights – just not Bensonhurst. He didn't say no to our relationship here."
"He said it to me, Daisy," he interrupted harshly, drawing away from her. "And I don't want to be your dirty secret."
"Luigi, sweetie, you're not going to be my dirty secret. Please allow me to finish." He gave a curt nod and dramatically extended his hand for her to continue. "Okay, they're not thrilled that you're an Italian Catholic plumber, but my father seems more concerned with the history of Bensonhurst and … the Moranos than he is with you personally. He's willing to wait and see about you. I'll trust his word because he's never lied to me. But … in the worst-case scenario, by December, I should have enough money to start paying my own way. I … I got a scholarship, sweetie, which pays a quarter of this year's tuition. I also got the UN job." His hurt, angry eyes met her brown orbs. "I … I know that you probably think I'll do whatever daddy wants, but it's my life. I will not give you up, and I have told him as much. This past week, I had time to think about what I wanted. Papai does have a point about Bensonhurst – you hate that place, and me living with you and Mario would only trap you." She inhaled deeply and went on, "So what do I want? You've told me that I've made you happy, that I've brought out the best in you. Well, you … have brought out the best in me, forced me to live my own life. Yeah, I want to go to law school. And I will. But I also want you, and I am willing to stand for that, if you still want me. This place is here for you."
They remained silent for several minutes while Luigi processed what she said. "Daisy, I'm … I'm glad that everything's working out for you. Really."
A fearful tear escaped her eyes and she rasped, "But?"
"But … my life's changed. I'm starting a new job, Mario's still going AWOL, and … Uncle Joe's undergoing chemo. He may not survive. Right now, I just … I'm not sure I can invest in a relationship where my significant other's parents hate me because of who I am or who I'm related to as an accident of birth. I don't want to put you through that, either." He grasped her hands and murmured, "I know how important family is, cat-face. I know how important your father is to you. And I'd be an asshole if I encouraged you to put that at risk. Your father's right; Bensonhurst is a cesspool, albeit a dying one, of mafiosi. It was foolish for me to even suggest …"
"So, what, that's it?" she asked with an edge to her voice.
Luigi opened his mouth; however, he found that he was unable to answer her properly, his heart thudding brokenly in his chest. He knew that the right thing was to end the relationship, to allow Daisy to move on from the Mafia, Lucas, and whatever else might pop up in his life – to save her from himself. She deserved a quiet life as a highly-paid attorney, with a husband and family who loved and cherished her. Instead of saying the words, he burst into tears and, seizing her shocked frame, screamed into her shoulder. He sobbed for minutes until he unexpectedly babbled, "I'm sorry, I can't … I just can't. I'm too weak! Please just … leave me. You don't deserve to have to choose."
Daisy, who was also crying, inquired, "What do you want, Luigi? Don't worry about what is right or what you should do. What do you need?"
Sitting up, he sniffled and took his time to consider what he wanted. "I thought that I'd be so … happy takin' that job. Six figures and stability, y'know? But it's kissing Mafia ass! They're skimming off the top of our budget, and I have to give them a percentage. It makes me sick!" he raged. Slowly, he faced her and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "I can't do this, be a manager of this fuckin' shop, and I already feel so … dirty! And I need … you so much! I'm just so fuckin' scared that you'll see how unworthy I really am of you, and leave me when I'm already down. Your father's right; all I've done is get you mixed up with Bowser, Lucas, and now …"
"That's not all you've done!" she insisted. "I remember the … plumber who … danced with me on Valentine's Day, brought me Brooklyn Blackout Cake on my birthday, who was so … gentle when I had a meltdown at the mini-golf club. I remember the plumber who stood up to the union, the Mafia, Lucas, and Bowser! I remember the plumber whose lips caressed my body to the point of making me enflamed with joy and desire! I took the job at the UN to be better for that plumber – you! Remember when I said that Lucas could never best you?" At his slight nod, she murmured, "No man could ever hold a candle to you. Because …" As a tear rolled down her cheek, the lioness mustered all of her courage and, looking at him straight in the eye, spoke in a near whisper, "Because I believe in you. Because I love you."
He started to sob once more. "Say it again."
She grinned through more tears. "I love you."
"Again."
"I love you, Luigi Masciarelli."
Grabbing her head in his hands, he kissed her, tasting the salt from their mixed anguish. "Ti amo!" he growled against her lips. "I have always loved you. And I believe in you."
Daisy caressed his hands with hers. "Then fight for me, for us! My father doesn't know you like I do. He doesn't know the big heart that lies within." Placing her right hand on his chest, she whispered, "This studio, as quaint as it may be, is for us. I want to be right by your side – Giuseppe, Mario, the Mafia – all of it. And I do so willingly."
"But your safety?" he asked uncertainly. "I can't let anything happen to you."
"It won't. Because I won't let it. And you'll stand by my side."
He kissed her once more. "Always. I'm sorry, Daisy. I'm sorry that I got scared, that I forced the issue with your parents …"
She took her fingertip to his lips, silencing him. "Don't be. I'm not. I'm sorry that I made you feel like you were a dirty secret. You are my kerido – my beloved. We both got scared until we remembered what's important. We will work through this! Stay with me."
"What about your father?" he inquired hesitantly. "I-I don't want you to get in trouble with him."
Letting out a puff of air, she stroked his cheek with her hand. "Kerido, I will handle my father and stepmother. They already assume that you'll be with me. Papai said as much. Trust me that I will pull my own weight, that I am your partner."
"Okay," he acquiesced after a full moment. Quietly, almost reverently, Daisy rose and pulled Luigi to his feet. Cupping his cheek, she gazed into his eyes, which had morphed from a flat sapphire blue into a pitch black. As she moved toward him, she felt her body being lifted up in a fireman's carry and let out a squeal. Luigi gave her a lascivious smirk and marched to the bedroom area which was obscured by an indigo curtain. He pushed it aside with his body and laid his lioness down on the bed. She licked her lips and purred when he slowly removed his tee-shirt and covered her with his semi-clothed body.
The sun had begun to set behind the Brooklyn skyline and brick buildings; the remaining streaks of red, orange, and blue light illuminated the studio apartment to a low glow, causing the occupants of the bedroom area to turn on the night table light. Luigi and Daisy lay in bed facing each other, perspiration having dampened their bare skin and their bodies having become heavy and satiated. She reached out to brush her fingertips across his long eyelashes, but he caught her hand and brushed his lips against it. "You're thinner," she mumbled.
He nodded with a small wince. "Yeah, I … I didn't take care of myself like I should've. I, uh, changed that in the past week. You, uh, you're glowing as always."
"Maybe on the outside," she replied sadly. "I … It wasn't the same without you. I wanted you to meet my friends and be at Shabbat dinner."
"And I wanted you to meet my family, especially when they asked nonstop about you." Luigi parted his lips to speak again when his iPhone buzzed insistently. "Ah, cazzo!" he swore as he rolled away from a giggling Daisy to retrieve his jeans among the discarded clothing at the base of the bed. Sitting up, he slipped the phone from the back pocket to find a text message demanding his whereabouts. "Speaking of family," he groused.
"Mario?" she asked while propping herself up with her elbow and pillow.
"Yep." He wrote a quick text to his older brother that he was at Daisy's apartment. Tossing the phone to the corner of the bed, he rolled back to his girlfriend and closed the distance between them. "Now, where were we?" He seized her lips and was in the process of moving down her body and under the comforter when the phone buzzed. Luigi ignored the phone in favor of listening to Daisy's breathy gasps of encouragement when it started to ring. He rolled on his back and growled in frustration, "I fucking hate you, Mario Masciarelli!"
A snickering Daisy sat up and retrieved the iPhone. "Non ho fratelli, ma penso che il pover'uomo sta soffrendo di separation anxiety."
Luigi, harumphing, gently took the phone from his girlfriend's hand, punched the speed dial for his older brother, and put it to his ear. A moment later, he barked, "Asshole, I'm kinda in the middle of something!" He then leaned into the phone and hissed, "No, fatti i fatti tuoi, huh!" The auburn-haired woman covered her mouth to keep Mario from overhearing her laughter. "What? No. No. No!" He rolled his eyes. "Forget it, no! Oh, for fuck's …"
"What's he want?" she mouthed to her boyfriend.
Pressing the mute button and covering the speaker with his hands, the plumber responded, "Cazzone wants your address. He wants to harass us in person. I can tell him to fuck off, but I can tell that he'll keep calling until he gets his way. It's your call. I have no problem telling him to take the next fucking train and boat to Newark."
Daisy sighed and chuckled. "It's okay. You can give it to him."
He unmuted the phone and put it back to his ear. "Aight, I'll text you the address. But play nice, asshole, otherwise I'll drop you out of her window. Yeah, yeah, fuck you, too." With that, he hung up the call and texted Mario her address as well as a request for a change of clothes. At Daisy's raised eyebrows, he groaned. "At least the cazzone is bringing a pie – and yeah, he made a crack about you being vegetarian, so he's aware. He said he'll be here in about a half hour. Don't, uh, bring up Peach. He's in the doghouse – big time." He grasped her by the hand and strolled toward the bathroom. "Now, I say we get a quick shower and clean up before he arrives."
Twenty-five minutes later, a fully dressed Luigi was tidying up the bedroom and arranging her black suit on the bed when Daisy, who had put on a bright yellow tank top and pair of orange shorts, entered from the adjacent living room space. Hugging him from behind, he relaxed in her embrace and placed his larger hands over hers. "I just put your work clothes on the bed because I figured they needed to be dry cleaned, and I don't know where you keep your bags for that," he explained.
Before she could answer, there was a buzz through the intercom. "Mario," they said simultaneously, and Daisy went to let Luigi's older brother into the building. They soon heard heavy footsteps approaching the front door and a sturdy rat-tata against it. She pecked him on the lips, then went to let in the tired-looking Mario Masciarelli, who ambled into the living room, green backpack and two pizza boxes in hand. "How ya doin'?" he greeted her nonchalantly as she noticed his bruised and split knuckles. He glanced at his kid brother in acknowledgement, handed him the backpack, and set the white cardboard boxes on the small, rectangular dining room table. Daisy went into the kitchen for a few plates and napkins with Mario and Luigi slowly following. The older plumber inspected the kitchen space and murmured, "Nice, uh, studio. Very kitsch." Next, he went to the refrigerator and opened it, scanning the condiment shelves; he gave her a disappointed and disapproving glance at the lack of ketchup before closing the door. She gave him a questioning look, carrying the plates and red cloth napkins, as she moved to the glass table and set them next to the boxes.
"How was Shit Detail?" inquired Luigi with a grin.
Mario rolled his eyes. "Smartass. It was Shit Detail. Two crack pipes and a used condom here, several fuckin' three-foot rats there."
"Crack pipe?" she voiced while flipping open the pizza boxes to reveal one topped with onion, peppers, mushrooms, and olives and another with sausage, pepperoni, and meatballs in addition to the vegetarian toppings. She plucked a slice from the vegetarian option, licking her fingers of red sauce, and moved to sit on the couch.
The red-shirted plumber took a slice from the meat pizza and, between bites, nodded, "Yeah. I was in East New York. I got in trouble with the boss, so I got sent to supervise the apprentices in one of the Housing Authority's Section 8s and a shitty motel. Twelve hours of bad fuckin' plumbing and crack dens. Not all Section 8s, y'know, just the real shitty ones."
Daisy frowned, chewing on the pizza. "I thought the Housing Authority's supposed to fix that."
Mario and Luigi both guffawed audibly. The latter handed his brother one of the dining room chairs, who brought it to sit directly across from Daisy. Selecting a slice from each pizza, he sat next to his girlfriend and answered, "The Housing Authority doesn't do jack shit for Section 8s. Not rich enough. If they want somethin' unclogged, they have to call a shop."
"Yeah," affirmed Mario, munching on the folded slice and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "Those rich motherfuckers take our taxes and stick it in their back pockets. It's good business for us, but it's a shit deal for the people who live there. Sal tries not to charge 'em too much. Anyway, when you start up at Columbia again?"
"Um, first week of September. I'm working next week, though."
The older plumber knitted his eyebrows together in confusion. "Weegie didn't mention that you got a job. Whatcha do?"
Luigi smiled a little, supportively rubbing her back as she responded, "I was just hired, actually. I'm working in the Operational Support Department at the UN. It's, uh, doing data and statistical analysis."
Mario raised an eyebrow. "Is that, like, accounting shit?"
"Yeah, more or less. It's compiling and crunching data for the economists at the UN and IMF. My boss told me that, um, I might also be assisting the department with speechwriting and maybe some IT stuff."
Wolfing down his slice, Mario rose from the chair to get another slice of meat pizza. "How much are they payin' ya?"
"Twenty-two an hour. It's not a lot, but it's a start," replied Daisy while wiping her mouth and fingers with the napkin.
Sliding back into his chair, Mario swallowed a gob of meatball and mozzarella before commenting, "Apprentice wages. Ey, it's not a bad job and it kinda fits you – crunchin' numbers and writin' angry letters for a couple hours a day."
Glaring at his brother, the younger plumber retorted, "Ey, get the fuck outta here!" The auburn-haired woman snorted into her napkin.
"What?" insisted Mario, pinching his fingers together in a che vuoi. "When I was in Iraq and Afghanistan, the UN was real good at standin' around doin' jack shit, but hey, they was good in a pinch when we needed a fuckin' angry letter."
"Hey," interjected the woman, "fucking angry letters can get shit done. Just ask any decent lawyer, Mario."
"Jesus H. Christ," muttered the older plumber between bites, pointing his sauce-covered index finger at her. "If you end up at the bottom of the ocean with the other ten thousand fuckin' lawyers, don't bother callin' me!"
As Luigi began to tell off his brother, Daisy giggled, "I know how to swim and am buoyant enough to reach the surface. Besides, sharks find Italian plumbers much tastier. They're saltier than shrimp with just a dash of fuck off."
Luigi's sapphire blue eyes twinkled in mirth at his girlfriend's clapback. Mario shook his head and mumbled in his native Italian about Hans Blix, sfacciate, and lettere della minchia. To change the subject, the former asked, "So how long are you on Shit Detail?"
Mario shrugged, chewing on a piece of pepperoni and cheese. "Dunno. I'd guess through Sal's retirement. Then," he gave his brother a grin, "it's up to you. Speaking of Sal, are we, y'know, having a going-away party?"
He stopped eating and leaned back against the couch. "Jesus, I hadn't even thought about it. They've been having me review financials this, union that. I suspect Sal did that on purpose. But I'll call the bakery and order a chocolate cake. Nothin' fancy, y'know? He wouldn't like that."
The older plumber nodded. "Don't worry 'bout it. You make the call, I'll pick it up Friday morning. Just, uh, reimburse me. Since it's under seventy-two hours, I'd assume that a plain chocolate sheet cake will work."
"Yeah, that's fine." Luigi suddenly stopped eating and balanced the plate and half-eaten slice in his lap, ostensibly lost in thought. Mario and Daisy both peered at the younger plumber with concern.
"What's a-matter?" demanded Mario. "Somethin' wrong with the pizza? You've lost enough weight as it is, Weegie."
"I'm fine, really. I'm just tired."
The older brother gave a questioning glance at Daisy, then nodded suspiciously. For another half-hour, he filled the silence with chatter, arguing with the lioness over baseball and football, especially as the San Francisco Giants were emerging as a World Series contender. Luigi remained withdrawn, contenting himself with keeping Daisy close and rubbing the small of her back. Reluctantly, Mario excused himself back to Bensonhurst to get a six or seven-hour sleep before beginning Thursday's Shit Detail. Tomorrow at lunch, he resolved to whatever he needed to do – lick Sal's boots, exchange shifts with one of the junior journeymen, bribe José with tickets to the Giants game – to get out of Shit Detail and keep an eye on his kid brother. Although Luigi would become the next manager of Brooklyn Plumbing and Mechanical Works, he was still naïve and easily manipulated. Mario had left his brother behind too many times; he would not do so again. Losing Luigi was not an option.
After they refrigerated the leftover pizza, which Mario insisted that his fratellino take for lunch, and cleaned up the dishes and trash, they undressed and went to bed, where Daisy cradled a shivering Luigi against her. He did not speak for the rest of the evening or the night; instead as his princess slept, he laid his head atop her bosom and allowed her scent to give him comfort. In a matter of days, he would be in charge of thirty employees, including his brother, and have to negotiate the underworld. Why me? Why couldn't Daisy and I stay in California?
Following a sleepless night for him, Luigi and Daisy showered together before breakfast. As she washed his hair, she sensed that he was holding in his anxiety to avoid burdening her. Pinning the uneasy plumber against the tile, she nipped and kissed him until he burst and made her moan until the water ran cold. "Feel better?" she purred against him while shutting off the faucet. He merely smiled, following her out of the shower and wrapping a towel around his waist to step in front of the mirror to shave and trim his mustache. They shared the sink to take care of their facial and oral hygiene, with Daisy kissing his pectoral muscles. They walked out of the bathroom, and Luigi dressed in a dark green button-down shirt and wood-colored cargo pants. Daisy, who had put on a thin, pale-blue bathrobe, made her way to the kitchen to toast a few bagels and start the coffee. A moment later, she felt strong arms encircle her midriff and playfully fiddle with the tie.
"Bom dia, kerido," he murmured into her ear.
Daisy grinned. "Stai bene, amore?"
He kissed her neck in response, still fiddling with her bathrobe tie. "I wish you could come with me. Do you have, like, training today?"
She shook her head and grabbed the toasted bagels to arrange them on small plates. He went to the fridge for the cream cheese. "No, I start next week. I've got plenty to do, though, as law school applications for Stanford, Harvard, and Yale are due the first week of September."
Luigi hungrily munched on his bagel and nodded a little. "You ready?"
The woman shrugged while smearing cream cheese on her bagel halves. "Yeah, I am. I was going to re-take the LSATs in October, but with the new job, and all, I don't know."
He swallowed a hearty bite. "Well, I guess it depends on where you want to go, cat-face. East Coast or West Coast, Ivies, y'know."
"Indeed." Daisy gave him a shy grin. "I'm applying to both West and East Coast schools, but as for preference, I … I want to keep my options open. I thought about my top choices, and well, it'll depend on several factors. Right now, it's Harvard, Stanford, and Columbia. I'll apply to Yale and Cornell, too, but I'm on the fence about them. My backups are NYU, Berkeley, and Boston U. To be competitive for the first three, a 175 is good enough, but it's better to have a 177 or higher, particularly for women."
He set the bagel down and wrapped his arms around her again. "I see that there're a lot of East Coast schools on that list, cat-face, especially within the New York area. I just … I just don't know about this job. If I were to stay, I'd do it to go to Princeton, Cornell, or NYU. I don't want you to feel obligated to stay in New York for me. I'd … I'd gladly move to California for you."
"Well, sweetie, let's just keep our options open. I'll go ahead and re-take the LSATs in October. I know you liked Palo Alto, and I'm sure they'd love to have you back as a student. But I also know that with Giuseppe's health, you might want to stay here. Your family's important, too."
At the mention of his uncle's name, he buried his face into the crook of her neck. "He's, uh, getting treatments at Presbyterian, just a few blocks from here. Like me, he doesn't like the City much."
"Sweetie, as far as I'm concerned, this is your place, too," she said, stroking his drying hair. "I know you'll probably spent a few nights in Bensonhurst per week, but I'd like it, I mean …"
He abruptly moved his head from her neck to seize her lips with his. Breaking for air, he nodded. "I'll live in a fucking closet if it means sleeping next to you. As long as it's in the open, and I'm … integrated in your life."
Daisy raised an eyebrow. "Are you calling my two-thousand-a-month Park Slope studio a closet?" Luigi's head bobbed side to side, gesturing that it was – a little bit. She whacked him playfully on the chest, and he laughed aloud, resuming his bagel breakfast. "I'll ask the super if you can have a key. And yes, you're with me. You can come and go as you need, and even visit your Uncle Joe in the hospital." He stopped chewing his now cold bagel to kiss her in thanks when she recoiled from him. Rubbing her hand against his back at his hurt reaction, she murmured, "Prego. But sweetie, you need to eat."
"Not you, too," he retorted before scarfing down the food to approach her again. She tried to scamper out of the kitchen, but Luigi used his long, lanky arms to pull her back to the kitchen and into his body. "Nah-uh," he objected while pressing his forehead to hers. "I'll be back, hopefully, by five or six. I know I'll be chained to the desk to take tickets and calls, but I've done that a couple times before. You want me to pick something up for dinner – Tofu Pad Thai?"
"Um, sure," she responded, handing him a couple pizza slices wrapped in tin foil. "I'd like that."
He accepted them and bent down to kiss her. "Be good at school. I love you."
"I love you, too, sweetie." She licked her lips as if tasting the words. "I … I never said that to Tatanga, you know? Not to any of my previous boyfriends."
Luigi cupped her cheek. "I know. And I … I came closest with Mark, but I never said 'em to anyone else, either." He lifted her hand and kissed it gallantly. Walking to the front door, he beamed and opened it. "I'm so glad to hear them from you, especially now." A slow smile spread across his lioness's face, warming his heart, and he mouthed a 'see you soon.'
He enjoyed a quiet twenty-minute ride from Park Slope to the red brick of the shop, calling the bakery along the way to order Sal's chocolate cake. As he was about to park alongside the entrance, the plumber spied a black BMW with the license plate WAH2U sitting in front of him. Muttering a few choice curse words in both English and Italian, he pulled in behind Lucas's car and shut off the engine. Exiting his red Suzuki, he heard a familiar voice chortle, "Hey, man, it's Taco Thursday, only we're not eating tacos today."
Spinning to face the man, the plumber slammed the door and angrily growled, "First, it's Taco Tuesday. Second, what the fuck does that even mean, Lucas?" The normally flamboyantly-vested Lucas was instead dressed in a tasteful, conservative gray Armani suit with a plum-colored dress shirt, and his hand was in a cast. "What happened to your hand?" he asked.
Lucas shrugged with a grin. "Running accident – nothing exciting. As to what I meant, well, I've been sent to get you for lunch."
"Sent by whom? That way, I can send my regrets. Also, you're about three or four hours too early."
Luigi began to walk into the shop, but the taller man intercepted him, putting his hands up to signal friendship. "Check your iPhone, Weeg. Maldonado says it's okay. Really." The plumber reached into his right-side cargo pants pocket to examine his texts. While he had been driving, Sal had texted him with an apology for the last-minute change, requesting that he attend a lunch with Lucas and "another special brand of mentiroso." Raising an eyebrow, Luigi silently beckoned him to elaborate where Sal had not. Lucas gave his friend a toothy grin and put his arm around his shoulders. "My man, we are going to have a very nice lunch today, so you can't go looking like, well, a plumber. I tried to pick you up at your place on 17th Avenue, but you, uh, weren't there. Leave your piece of shit car here, and we'll get you properly manicured and dressed."
The Brooklynite twisted away from the man and crossed his arms. "Nah, I'm not going anywhere until I know where we're going, who we're meeting, and why! Stop playing your games, Lucas, or you can go screw yourself."
Lucas crossed his arms and replied flatly, "As I already said, Weeg, we're going back to Bensonhurst to get you dressed. It's an important lunch! Then we're going to Sirico's at around noon …"
"Sirico's?!" screamed Luigi. "That's Madison Square – Manhattan! Go fuck yourself! I'm not going!"
Before he could run away, Lucas seized his shoulder and pinned the offended man against the red car. "Goddamnit, yes, you are! I had no choice in picking the restaurant! It was that fat prick's choice, and we can't say no to him, Weeg! If we do, your shop's dead, we're both quite literally dead!"
Although his blue eyes remained glassy, the plumber blinked in recognition and fear. "Jackie?"
He nodded. "Yeah. He wants to see you. Fat Tony will also be there, which is why I'm here. My asshole father and Tony sent me as the messenger."
Luigi sniffed and closed his eyes in pure anger and terror. "He did it on purpose, the fuck! He knows … He knows I hate Manhattan!"
"Yeah, which is why I have a plan. That's why I asked Maldonado to take you early. He was going to kill me until I convinced him that I'm a friend! We have to show up, but I'm having my personal doctor meet us at your place. He'll get you a script for Xanax or anti-anxiety medication."
He began to laugh mirthlessly. "Oh, this must be so much fun for you, Lucas! Does this turn your fucking crank?! Yeah, let's drug Luigi! Because his asshole mafioso cousin decided that it'd be so fuckin' hilarious to force him to eat near where his father vanished into nothing!"
"No, it's not fun!" yelled the taller man. "Your other piece of shit capo cousin, Pete, involved you in this shit game – this is his fault! I'm trying to make this easier on you! It's important that you keep a level head. If Jackass thinks he can rattle you, he'll do this over and over, and we're all screwed!"
"I'm not workin' with any of youse!"
"Yeah, Weeg, you are. You don't have a choice. It's better me than them because I'd never do that to you. I'm the one who held you on that rooftop, remember? We both watched it happen. C'mere," he spoke softly, enfolding his anxiety-ridden friend into his arms. "You'll be okay. Alright? I'm not leaving you." He then led him into the passenger side of his BMW, shut the door, and entered the driver's side to maneuver the car toward Bensonhurst.
