Author's notes: General warning for crude language. Why? Because a certain *character* turns up like a bad penny and is generally an asshole.
Also, all of the exam questions and information are taken from proposed practice exams for actual master plumber assessments. As for the proctoring of the actual NYC exam, I made an educated guess based on what I know of Pearson/CompTIA exams.
Chapter 16: Veni, vidi, vici
Following dinner, Luigi and Daisy spent the evening watching 42 and making out on her sofa, causing him to take a long and cold shower before bed. The next day, Luigi returned to an empty Bensonhurst red brick house. In his absence, the young plumber assumed that Mario spent his time either at Peach's Manhattan apartment or extracting his pound of flesh from Bowser and Fat Tony. Luigi tried to resume his regular schedule; as the downtown Brooklyn pipe job had been completed, he returned to his usual ticket duty, though Sal told him that he was on a reduced schedule per Scott Pichler's and John Slaughter's orders. At his subordinate's visible distress, Sal was quick to assure him that he was not being fired, but his next assignment was "pending approval." Although he maintained an outwardly calm composure regarding the unusual situation, Luigi was internally questioning potential outcomes. Did they find out about his and Lucas's trips? Was he going to be fired soon? Did Mario rat him out? At his jobs, he made doubly sure to be extra polite to the clients and methodically solve every obvious and potential problem.
On Friday morning, he received a text message from Lucas assuring him that "everything was handled with 'the business loser'" and not to worry about the meeting that he would be asked to attend. Sure enough, his boss called him into his office at nine o'clock sharp. Cautiously, Luigi entered the small, seventies-era office where a tired, yet content Sal Maldonado sat and a scowling John Slaughter stood kitty-corner from him. The reddish-brown haired and mustachioed Irish-American from Queens carried fifty or so extra pounds on his five-foot-eight frame and wore an ill-fitting blue suit and black tie, despite being a self-described 'loyal working-class union guy' for the past thirty years. A former Marine who received a medical discharge for unknown reasons, he was furthermore distinguished by his notorious bullying of anyone who was not a white Christian male as well as his hatred of three generations of Masciarellis, from the grouchy Nonno Masciarelli to his personal nemesis, Joe Masciarelli, and finally both Mario and Luigi themselves.
"Hey Boss," greeted Luigi to Sal, then tersely acknowledged John Slaughter's presence with a nod. "You wanted to see me?"
"Yeah, kid. Look, I wanna to get straight to it. Don't worry – you're fine. In fact, better. Apparently, you did such a great job for Scott Pichler that he wants you to contract work for them full-time."
Luigi's eyebrows raised into his hairline. "R-really?"
Sal beamed. "Yeah, mijo. How's that sound? Do you want to do this? You can say no."
"Well, uh, I'm flattered, but what about the union and pay? I'm anti-independent and I don't really have the funds to start …"
"Scott Pichler is one of our top clients, Masciarelli," barked Slaughter. "When he wants you, he gets you. But you have a valid … concern about pay and benefits. You'd still be union, of course, so you'd get paid the same rate. But there's a catch."
"There's a catch," deadpanned Luigi. "With you, Slaughter, I couldn't imagine that."
"A legal catch," clarified Slaughter irritably. "To go work for them full-time, you have to be able to sign for contracts and request work permits. In short, you have to be a New York City master plumber. Since Pichler is an active union supporter, we have expedited the process somewhat." He shoved a stack of forms at Luigi, who reluctantly took them from the hostile business representative. "Get these signed in the next five minutes. The written exam fees have been paid for you. As for the written, it's being scheduled as we speak. You know the drill; if you pass, then you got to do your practical which would likely be at the end of May. Pass that, get through the background check, and you've got the increase in your hourly. This would take effect sometime in either July or August, depending on how fast you move your little fairy ass."
The journeyman plumber blinked a couple of times, then looked at his boss uncertainly. "Sal?"
Giving him a slight smile, the Sanjuanero replied, "Kid, you've been ready for the past six months. But it's entirely up to you."
"Wait a sec," said Luigi in a disbelieving tone. "Most candidates get several weeks, if not months, to study. How come I get a week, John? And normally, the process takes weeks for approval. Plus, I'm not going to be Sal's competitor."
"Oh, relax. You're not going to be Sal's competitor. You're just moving into … management as your own 'll oversee Pichler's contracts, and you'll get paid union wages and benefits accordingly. Look, Lou, take it or leave it, because that's the offer you're getting. And believe me," he added menacingly, "You may never get another opportunity."
Sighing in dismay and distrust, Luigi shrugged at the two men. "Yeah, fine." He filled out the missing information and, with Slaughter accompanying him, took the form to the bank down the street to notarize his signature. Having collected the signed and completed forms, Slaughter informed him that he would receive the official convocation from the testing service in his email by the end of business day. Upon his return to the shop, a relaxed Sal sent Luigi home to "study," as he agreed that one week would necessitate a major cram session for the four-hour, one-hundred-question exam, though the older man did not seem too bothered by the time constraint.
As he left the shop, the plumber saw a message from Lucas that he took care of the money order and other 'exam bullshit.' His task for the next week would be to study, as they both needed him to pass the master plumber exam to have credibility with their investors and "to get the fucking union off their backs." He moreover promised a 'victory dinner' next Friday, to which Luigi diffidently accepted. The morning traffic lessened by nine-thirty, thus the drive to Bensonhurst only lasted twenty minutes. Luigi maneuvered his red Suzuki into the garage next to his brother's black town car. Unlocking the front door, he found the house predictably empty, as Mario had left for work. Walking upstairs to his bedroom, he lay on his bed and exhaled a nervous breath. When it rains, it pours. Lucas managed to coax or potentially blackmail the union into allowing Lou Masciarelli to take the master plumber exam. Although by New York City union and municipal regulations, he had been eligible as of 2012, UA 2 as well as the city were selective in who was granted the master plumber license. Those chosen were often among the good ol' boys or were the result of a political decision. If he passed both the written and the practical by the end of May, he could reduce his hours, make more money, and go part-time to Brooklyn College or NYU. However, most master plumber candidates began the process well in advance, as both the written and practical exams were notoriously difficult. Throughout the United States, one would normally encounter master plumbers in their early twenties; this was not the case in New York City, where master plumbers tended toward their thirties and had routinely at least ten years of experience before attempting the exam. In his grandfather's and Uncle Joe's time, most candidates failed either part at least once; Giuseppe was among the rare group who passed on the first try, though narrowly passing the practical, in which the old style wiping of a pipe was still an obligatory skill. No one had ever received a perfect score. While the severity in grading had changed somewhat, the New York master plumbing exam remained in the top three most difficult to pass in the United States.
Pulling several thick volumes of notes and guides off the shelves, Luigi hurriedly began to organize them according to mathematical calculations and measurements, regulations, and miscellany. Over the next three hours, he skimmed two to three hundred pages of written material that he had collected from his apprenticeship and journeyman courses at LaGuardia College. Whereas the mathematical figures, pipe installation procedures, and proper tool usage came the most naturally to him, he soon realized that his main weaknesses were city, state, and national regulations and business practices which he would be required to memorize for the closed-book, closed-note exam. Feeling pangs of hunger, Luigi decided to go out for lunch and then sneak into the NYU Engineering library to cover business practice and law. As he grabbed his keys and headed downstairs, he heard the front door open and close. Ambling downstairs, Luigi spotted his angry older brother, dressed in his usual red zip-up hoodie, blue jeans, and boots, whose right-hand knuckles were bruised and split.
"I just heard the news from Sal," spat Mario. "You know you're being set up, right?"
Luigi glanced at him tiredly. "And? No, I don't fucking trust that asshole. But what pisses you off more? The fact that I could be a master plumber before you or the fact that I've stopped being everyone's whipping boy?"
"Goddamn it, that's not true, and you know it!" he yelled. "I care about you! I know you're already a master plumber! Sal knows it, too, otherwise he wouldn't have acquiesced to whatever the hair-brained fuck Slaughter's up to. And as for … that other thing, I didn't know until you said you went to Colorado. Frankly, I'm pissed at Joe, too. I'm pissed at Pops. Yeah, I knew about the birth certificate, but I didn't know that the Moranos were actually your godparents! All's I knew was that the Rigassis moved Mama and you to Lenox Hill. Weeg, Jesus, I … I meant what I said on the plane – you and Peach. You first. D'ya understand?"
The younger plumber rolled his eyes and shouted back, "It is true! Frankly, I'm sick to death of being left out of everything, of being told precisely nothing, and then being treated like I'm some fucking ingenu when I don't have all of the information! You say that it's us, but it isn't. It hasn't been for some time. I don't begrudge Peach. But don't pretend to be buddy-buddy with me."
"Luigi, you goddamn stubborn mule, I'm trying to protect you the best way I know how! You are everything to me! I don't want to see you hurt!" He paused, gulped, and said quietly, "Don't kick me out of your life. Sei la mia famiglia. You always have been. I'm … I'm sorry that I … I haven't always treated you like a grown man. I try, but I don't always do it. I know you didn't become a wiseguy; you hate everything they stand for, more or less. I was out of line."
Luigi blinked in surprise, as he could count on one hand the number of times when Mario offered a true apology to him. Examining his features, Mario's normally bright blue eyes had become sullen and dull, his appearance was a bit more unkempt, and his upright, alpha-male stature had slumped ever so slightly. He sighed and answered, "Apology accepted. You're my brother, Mario. You can be an asshole, but you're my brother."
Mario smirked. "'Ey! I'm from Brooklyn, New York, U.S. of A. Of course, I'm an asshole."
"Well, you're buying lunch, asshole."
Thankfully, Mario took Luigi to their favorite red-brick burger and beer haunt in Cobble Hill instead of, as Luigi had feared, the Burger King drive-through. Over bacon cheeseburgers and fries, Luigi filled Mario in on what he was told by Sal and John Slaughter that morning. Even though Mario was uneasy at Slaughter's involvement, he knew that this may be the only chance that Luigi would have at passing the master plumber exam. Technically, any New York plumber with the prerequisite relevant work experience, two of which as a journeyman, could apply to take the test, it was well-known that the union tightly controlled whose applications were approved in order to avoid the proliferation of independent plumbing shops who could underbid building contracts and compete against them. Because of Luigi's Manhattan-related anxiety and his sensitive demeanor which was welcomed by, in particular, female clients yet harshly judged by his peers, he was not at the top of the union's list for becoming manager of a shop or chief engineer with the city. As for John Slaughter, the slimy union representative was, in both Nonno's and Joe's words, a "scum-sucking, sewer-shit plumber." He was, however, an excellent ass-kisser, so much so that he rose to the higher echelons of UA 2 without the normal hands-on job experience. He was the very exemplar of shit rising to the top. The feud between Joe Masciarelli and Slaughter was something of UA 2 legend and had begun sometime in the late-1980s when the former had just finished his apprenticeship and passed his journeyman exam. Slaughter was one of the instructors at LaGuardia College and was discernibly incompetent at plumbing. He was in fact such an embarrassment that the senior instructors habitually had to step in to correct his lessons and figures for the new apprentices and journeymen. According to one story from a couple old-timers who had since retired, Joe publicly questioned Slaughter's measurements on a job, and he tried to have the Italian kicked out of the union. When the union bosses failed to "punish" Joe, as he had saved them thousands of dollars from having to redo Slaughter's botched pipe job, the latter carried a grudge against him for decades, and seized any opportunity to bully or deny an assignment to any Masciarelli. The only exception was Nonno, as Slaughter was smart enough not to screw with him, as he was well-respected by the union bosses.
Slaughter's grudge eventually became dishonest and even violent. He attempted to fail both Mario and Luigi on their apprenticeship exams, which were inevitably appealed to the union higher-ups. However, his most egregious actions came two years prior to Luigi's entrance into the apprenticeship program with UA 2. Uncle Joe's daughter, Maria, was admitted as part of a New York City initiative to integrate women into underrepresented trades such as plumbing, ironworking, welding, and elevator construction. Maria and three other women unfortunately found themselves in Slaughter's classroom, where they were ignored, told to get back in the kitchen, or physically accosted. As the eldest daughter of Joe Masciarelli, Maria was a singular target for him; he made vulgar comments to and about her, mocked any (correct) answer that she gave, and encouraged her male peers to do the same. In one classroom session, he showed a hardcore pornographic film in class to get a rise out of the remaining women and particularly Maria. The daily sexual harassment subsequently drove two to drop out, yet Maria, who was as stubborn as her father, refused to give Slaughter the satisfaction. Angered by her obstinance, he sent her on a dangerous job as a required part of her apprenticeship. The onsite journeymen, who were equally hostile to women in plumbing, intentionally gave her ill-fitting protective equipment and harness; an hour later, she ended up at Mount Sinai with several herniated discs and a broken hip. An aghast Luigi witnessed Joe's primal scream of rage upon seeing his broken child in the hospital. Later that day, Slaughter ended up face-down in the November mud, his own face and chest was black and blue from Joe's fists. The good-old-boy network looked the other way and obfuscated any investigation into the matter, dismissing it as a 'personal beef.' Luckily, Maria recovered after four months of surgeries and painful physical therapy, though she was out of work for over a year. Much to Joe's mixed apprehension and pride, she eventually received an assignment to complete her apprenticeship in 2008 and forced the union to admit their first two female journeymen in ten years.
Mario and Luigi both agreed to keep the circumstances related to the exam from Uncle Joe, as he would undoubtedly get into a physical confrontation with Slaughter. For this reason, they also assumed that Sal had not said anything to him, as neither had received an expletive-filled voicemail from him. Despite Luigi's perceived antagonism from Giuseppe, Mario knew that he was, with their cousin Maria, his favorite child. The older brother smiled inwardly; the Masciarelli men had a bizarre way of showing their love to each other, usually in the form of arguments, insults, cussing, yelling, and screaming. He had been Nonno Mario's favorite; the rest of the love belonged to Luigi, which resulted in the occasional quarrel between the elders, especially Mario Senior and Uncle Joe. The latter would attempt to control the situation rather than let Luigi fight the battle. While Mario himself would have preferred to drop John Slaughter's lifeless body in the East River, like Sal, he knew Luigi had every chance of passing. Unlike the internal union-sponsored training, which Slaughter had manipulated for decades, the master plumber exam was conducted independently – at the least the preliminary written part. A panel of experts, usually comprised of union plumbers, administered and evaluated the practical. If Slaughter or the union good ol' boys planned to screw Luigi out of his master plumber license, it would be at this step. He promised Luigi that he would ask a few of his Army buddies who had taken and passed the written and practical for notes and pointers.
After lunch, Mario drove Luigi back to Bensonhurst and then went to his remaining plumbing jobs in Bay Ridge and Brighton Beach. The younger plumber texted Daisy to let her know that he would not be able to meet her for lunch or in the evening for the week, as he was tapped last-minute to take his master plumber written qualification. At the same time, Luigi received an email from the testing service confirming his exam for May 2, 2014 at 8 am in Gowanus. He resumed studying of the precise measurements for pipefitting depending on the job, type of pipe, and materials involved in addition to the endless EPA and New York State regulations that made his eyeballs roll back into his head. Shortly before five o'clock, his iPhone jingled and displayed his girlfriend's name as the inbound caller. Grinning, Luigi pressed the green telephone key and reclined against the worn pillows on his bed.
"Hey, sweetie," he greeted her tiredly.
"Sweetie, what's this about an exam? Your master plumber exam?!" demanded Daisy in a mixed tone of delight and trepidation.
"Yeah. I walked into work this morning, and my boss and the union rep surprised me with a request-cum-demand that I take the master plumber exam next week. It's, uh, two parts. Next week's the written; if I pass it, then I take the practical exam a few weeks afterward. If I pass both, then I get my master plumber's license with the state. It kinda means that I can do my own thing without having to get approval from a boss or another higher up."
"That's amazing, Luigi! Are you happy about it? Also, a week seems a bit … sudden. Is everything okay?"
Luigi smirked at his lioness's perceptiveness. Nothing gets past her, does it? "Yeah, it's sudden." He sighed, then added, "Actually, it kinda worries me. Normally, it's the applicant who makes the decision to apply to take the exam. Then the 'board' – really, the union – decides if you're eligible, and if so, you schedule the exam. Most candidates have weeks, if not months to prepare for it. It's not an easy exam to pass; I know of guys who failed it twice, even three times. And they had months! I have a week."
"Why a week? That doesn't seem fair. Did your union rep or your boss explain the rationale?" she asked.
"Well," he began uneasily, "see, that's the thing, sweetie. My boss, Sal, him, I trust – he wouldn't give his consent unless he thought I was ready. But the union rep, he's … a real piece of shit. He and my family have a longstanding grudge that's well-earned. That guy's represents – pardon the pun – everything that's wrong with the old union: he's sexist, racist, homophobic, incompetent, and a generic jackass. I … I don't know if I can do this, Daisy. That guy's just itching for me to fuck up."
"Let me ask you a question," said Daisy. At Luigi's welcoming hum, she continued, "Do you want the master plumber's license? If you're on the fence, then as I see it, there's no real risk. So what if you fail – that piece of shit gets a second's victory which he'll jerk off on for thirty seconds more. You just risk your ego. But if you really want it, then you strike me as a guy who will get what he wants."
He raised an eyebrow at the imagery. "Colorful, if a tad disturbing. I'd rather not visualize John Slaughter in any compromising position, grazie. And how do you know that about me?"
"You didn't bail after I ordered you that Cowboy Cocksucker," she replied flatly.
Starting to laugh and cough on his saliva at the same time, Luigi reached for the half-full glass and gulped down some water to end his body's reaction. "Touché," he gasped, still coughing.
Once he regained control and was able to breathe normally, Daisy concluded, "So, really, it's up to you, sweetie. Fuck him."
"Daisy?"
"Hmm?"
"Ever thought about giving advice as a profession?"
"Yeah," she answered with an audible grin, "it's called jurisprudence. I charge two hundred fifty bucks per hour."
"Jesus, you're steep! And all's I got is my plumber's salary!" he retorted jokingly. "Do you accept any other form of payment? Y'know – cheaper air conditioning, free pipe replacement, or a renovated bathroom?"
"Well, that depends."
"On?"
"Whether the guy who comes to put in a full-size bathtub has a nice ass … among other attributes."
A slow, lascivious grin spread across his face. "A nice ass, huh? And which other attributes would please you, Ms. Abravanel?"
"Hmm," she purred into the speaker, "well, he's got to have a runner's body and, most importantly, a well-developed … mustache. It has to … measure up."
"Well, I wouldn't want to brag," preened Luigi. "But I have a very full, distinguished mustache."
"I'm glad to hear that," she replied throatily.
Facing flushing red, the plumber closed his eyes and whimpered – he prayed – silently. In the past month, their telephone calls had necessitated cold showers and visualizing all kinds of people – Mario, Donald Trump, Michael Moore, Rosie O'Donnell – in their underwear. His daydreams had become progressively lewder, imagining her soapy form in an antique bathtub, sometimes in his shower at home, him tied to her bed once, another with her bent over the couch. He heard a feminine chuckle at the other end and narrowed his blue eyes. She was teasing him, the cat-faced minx. Fine; two could play this game. He leaned into the phone and spoke in a breathy voice, "I'm glad that you're glad, sweetie. I think my mustache would be a … perfect fit for such a curvaceous body."
It was her turn to whimper and growl at Luigi's low chortle. Bastard. Yet she loved it when he answered her unspoken challenge. Over the past three months, she knew that he would not cross the line unless she explicitly invited him; nonetheless, Daisy was oblivious neither to his attraction, nor his growing desires. One might have argued that she was leading him on, goading his body into a pit of raging fire; on many occasions, Tatanga called her a "cock-teaser," and some of her friends in high school chided her for "talking without following through, as men couldn't help it." Later in therapy, the motherly, fifties-something psychologist helped her realize that she was testing the waters to see if she felt safe enough to become intimate. Like many young women, she succumbed to external pressure to 'please her man' rather than trust her instincts; had she done so, all of the previous men with whom she had a sexual relationship would have failed the test. However, instead of manipulating or lecturing her, Luigi habitually used the reverse uno and met her on the same playing field while maintaining a respectful distance.
Daisy heard him speak again in a soft, though normal tone, "Voi che per gli occhi mi passaste 'l core e destaste la mente che dormia, guardate a l'angosciosa vita mia che sospirando la distrugge amore."
"It sounds beautiful, but I could only pick out a few words here and there. I guess my Spanish and Portuguese didn't help much," she responded lightly.
"Well, it's actually thirteenth-century Tuscan poetry. Very different than the Italian spoken today. I had to memorize it when I was in school. I took Italian all through grade school until I went to Brooklyn City. I took roughly two years of French there, but I've forgotten most of it. Anyway, um, it means, 'You, Lady, who through your eyes have pierced my heart and awakened the sleeping mind, look at my anguished life, which Love destroys amid sighs.'"
Luigi could hear the beam on the phone. "É um belo poema! And did you get an A for it?"
"Close, A minus. Father Rigassi and Signora DiCicco marked me down for a slight pronunciation error. I always got marked harsher than everyone else because I was more or less a native speaker and I was being prepared for the city exams."
"Well, you say it beautifully, Luigi. Truly. You're a man of many talents. I like that."
"Thank you, sweetie. I … You really think I can do this? The exam, I mean?" he asked uncertainly.
"Yes."
"Then I better get to studying. Daisy, I … You really have awakened my sleeping mind, y'know? I won't let you down and I won't let myself down."
"I know, sweetie. You've awakened me, too. I'm here if you want to meet for breakfast. And good luck."
Though still early in the evening, and after ten minutes of 'saying good night,' they hung up to let Luigi study for Friday's exam. Over the next several days, weekend included, Luigi lived at his old wooden desk with several binders and textbooks of notes strewn about the surface and at its foot. Some of them were courtesy of a couple of his brother's Army buddies who, like the Masciarellis, disliked Slaughter and wanted to see "the Sarge's kid brother take the candyass motherfucker down a peg or two." Mario, Peach, and Rospo brought him bagels, lunches, and dinners from his favorite Chinese, Thai, and Greek restaurants. To keep Giuseppe from knowing about the exam and thus committing attempted or premeditated murder, Mario made an excuse to The Family that both he and Luigi were still angry about the Rigassi Situation and would be unable to attend Sunday dinner. Surprisingly, Uncle Joe did not utter a single objection; he weakly and unenthusiastically expressed his hope that they would come by the following Sunday. That night, despite Peach's pleas for him to come to bed with her, Mario slept in his Lazy-Boy, constantly side-eyeing the light escaping from Luigi's closed door. Yoshi came by late Monday afternoon to force Luigi out of his room to shoot hoops at nearby Gravesend Park. Mario had apparently given him the 'Cliff Notes' about the spur-of-the-moment master plumber exam and that 'fucking prick Slaughter,' whom Yoshi came to loathe by reputation over the years. The plumber enjoyed the game and beating the shorter Japanese for the fifty-sixth time, as the physical activity helped clear his mind. Although he was a bit miffed at losing, Yoshi promised to come back on Thursday afternoon, experimentation and uptight PI permitting. Since Mario, Peach, and Rospo were gone during the day, Luigi decided to change spaces and brought an overflowing green backpack of textbooks and notes into the Bern Dibner Library at the NYU Tandon School of Engineering. Soon after his arrival, he received a text from Miles stating that he had reserved a study room for the next three days. Shaking his head, Luigi texted back as a joke, "Stalker much, Miles, lol?"
On Wednesday afternoon, Daisy coaxed Luigi for a quick bite at an adjacent Peruvian restaurant. She noticed that he was very quiet, almost withdrawn, though he never let go of her hand, even to eat, as if he was conveying his anxiety and heightened emotional state through touch. Once outside of the restaurant, his body collapsed into hers, shaking faintly. Stunned, she enfolded his quivering form. "It's okay, è bene, huh?" He nodded uncertainly. "What's got you so frightened, Luigi? Please tell me."
Luigi pulled away to gaze down at her. His face wore the anxiety of a week's worth of cramming, analyzing, overanalyzing, and stress. "Daisy, I … It's been so long since I've done anything of value. I'm so … I can't fuck this up. I just can't! I … I know nothing about running a business or about business law! That's my Uncle Joe and Mario! They can talk business like two old paysans! Me, I'm just a fuckin' geek! I can do math forever, measure anything! Fuck, no wonder Slaughter agreed to this!" he shouted and began to pace apprehensively. "Minchia, I need a cigarette…"
Daisy seized his hand and firmly turned him toward her. "Luigi!" Slowly, he raised his terrified blue eyes to her amber orbs. "Don't let Slaughter win! On every exam, there are questions that you may not know, and that's okay." Pausing, she breathed, "God, this whole thing's fucked up. But I know you can do this. What do you need to pass?"
He took a cleansing breath. "Seventy percent."
"And there are how many questions?"
"One hundred."
"Business law aside, can you answer seventy correctly?"
He stopped to consider the question, then answered, "Yeah. Yeah, I think so."
"Then you pass. Fuck him."
Smiling faintly, Luigi nodded. "F-fuck him. Yeah, I like that. I mean, not literally, but …"
His emotionally charged rant was interrupted by dark rosy feminine lips covering his; he relaxed into the kiss as the wrinkles that had etched themselves on his cheeks disappeared, and his demeanor became lighter. Once he became calmer, Daisy broke away and worked her slender fingers into his wild brown hair. "That better than a cigarette, plumber?"
Still bewildered, he replied, "Yeah, yeah, that'll … y'know, work."
"Luigi, this guy Slaughter sounds like a real piece of work. Whatever he did, he's got you in a tizzy. But know that people are watching and will have his ass if he tries anything. I'm sure your brother's watching."
"Yeah, that's kinda what I'm afraid of, Daisy. Slaughter, he … he did something awful to my cousin Maria. I mean, I'm used to the homophobic insults toward me because I'm not a macho man. I don't give a shit. But he … he put her in a situation which caused her to break her back and hip. It cost her a year off her apprenticeship. I mean, she eventually became a plumber in spite of his bullshit. She's the hero, not me. I'm … I don't like confrontation, and I don't want to fight. Had I been in her shoes, I'm not sure I could have gone back." He moved his head and face away from Daisy, ashamed of his admission.
"Hey," she called out, using her fingertips to stroke his cheek. "Luigi, whether you want to admit it or not, you are confronting him by taking the test. I assume you agreed?" He nodded once, still refusing to look her in the eye. "Then you did it willingly. You committed to it. Ask yourself why." Several moments passed as the Brooklyn traffic whizzed, honked, and screeched by them; the plumber and the lioness stood motionless, though the green-vested man continued to vibrate uncontrollably. Finally, Daisy pivoted his face toward hers with a gentle, yet firm hand and broke their taciturnity. "Here's my theory. Aside from the fact that you're deserving, you wanted justice for your cousin and for yourself. You could have told them to go fuck themselves and carried on as if nothing happened. You know you're smart enough to pass that exam, even under the time constraint, so you went for it. You're afraid to fail because that, to you, would mean failing Maria and your family. Well, sometimes, confrontation is needed to right a wrong. You're doing what we Jews have been doing for millennia – accepting shit terms and pissing people off when we still prevail." Luigi cracked a hint of a grin at the last comment and pulled her into a hug, kissing the crown of her head. "You will prevail, Luigi Masciarelli," she whispered against his chest. Wordlessly, he responded by kissing her forehead and pressing his head against hers.
The sun peaked out of the clouds as Luigi nervously dressed in a comfortable green tee-shirt, blue jeans, and tennis shoes. Shortly before seven o'clock, he came downstairs for a quick bite to eat when he found Mario and Peach already dressed and making eggs, toast, coffee, and bacon. "Mangia," Mario said to his brother, gesturing to the empty chair across from Peach and next to his while turning off the stovetop. Hungry and uneasy, he slowly sat down on the wooden chair and helped himself to two strips of bacon, a piece of toast, and a cup of coffee. Mario and Peach exchanged a brief concerned look at the younger brother's noticeable lack of appetite. The elder brother took his chair and put a strong, reassuring hand on Luigi's shoulder. Then his blue eyes widened at the color on his arm and he lifted the sleeve with a thick finger.
"When did you get that?" he asked, pointing to the tattoo. Peach tilted her head to get a better look at the thunderbird.
"Huh?"
"You got a fucking tattoo, bro."
"Uh, yeah," Luigi finally replied, chewing on one of the pieces of bacon. "You've got a few."
"Yeah, but that's different!" Mario traced the thunderbird and the recognizable colors of the FDNY shield. "It's aight, I guess. Just don't show Uncle Joe – he'll shit a brick. Three, probably."
Luigi burst out laughing, nearly choking on his piece of bacon; Mario joined in, putting his hand on his little brother's back and sipping his coffee. Peach watched the scene of brotherly love, reveling in the sense of peace and comfort that seemed to come in rare moments to the Masciarelli household. Between the laughter and coffee, Luigi gradually ate more, much to Mario's relief. At 7:25, Peach gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek for good luck, and the brothers proceeded to the parked company truck outside. Mario and Luigi hopped into the driver's and passenger's sides respectively to make their way to downtown Brooklyn. As Mario negotiated the morning traffic, Luigi checked his iPhone to find several messages from Yoshi, Miles, Daisy, his boss, and even Lucas wishing him osu and good luck for the upcoming exam. Inhaling deeply to manage the growing number of butterflies in his stomach, Luigi tucked his iPhone away and stared out of the windshield. Mario side-glanced at his brother and murmured, "It's okay, bro. You got this. If Slaughter tries to fuck with ya, he'll end up in a fuckin' Newark landfill. I fuckin' guarantee it." Ten minutes before the start of the exam, Mario pulled into the parking lot of the testing center. His fingers tremoring, Luigi unbuckled his seat belt and got out of the truck. Mario did the same, flanking his terrified brother up to the door. Just before Luigi entered the building, he stopped him and said, "Weeg, no matter what happens, screw Slaughter and the fuckin' union. Just be your brilliant self. I'll be here when you get out of there." Luigi hugged his brother and disappeared into the center.
At the front desk, he presented his New York driver's license for identification and signed release forms. The testing proctor, a small blonde woman in her fifties, guided him to a series of wooden lockers and instructed him to put his coat, iPhone, watch, and any other electronics inside. He did as directed, and she showed him to a small room with five cubicles. Inside each cubicle was a computer, a number two yellow pencil, and a few sheets of blank paper. She requested him to sit at the one closest to the door, as he was the only one testing that morning. Once seated, she read the instructions: the written exam consisted of one hundred, multiple-choice questions; he was not allowed books, notes, or a calculator, and could not leave the room for any reason. Then she announced that the four-hour time limit had begun. Making sure that the computerized exam was operating correctly for Luigi, she retreated to her space at the front of the room while he concentrated on the exam. The first fifteen questions were surprisingly journeyman-level, so he was able to answer them rather quickly. Then next thirty questions pertained to testing, traps, simps, and the installation and measurements for commercial, school, and residential lavatories, boilers, and pipes: "What is the maximum distance allowed between pipe supports for plastic DWV piping that is installed horizontally?" (Forty-eight inches) and "Bell traps, S-traps, and _ are prohibited from being installed in any new plumbing installations." (House traps.)
Forty-five questions down, fifty-five to go.
Luigi quietly rejoiced as the next twenty questions were mathematical and financial in nature: "What head of water will produce 35 PSI?" Using his plain paper and pencil, he made division notes that looked like gibberish, as he did most of the actual calculations in his head:
H/Pres-ft = 35/0.434 = 80.65.
For other questions, such as those pertaining to interest or cost, the plumber did not bother to write anything down and simply calculated the percentage in his head. At question number sixty-three, he put his pencil down and stretched his arms and legs, checking the overhead clock – 9:05 am. At that point, the proctor came by and kindly offered him a paper cup of water, which he gladly accepted, and he continued with the exam. The mathematics section concluded with the following problem: "A plumber calls and needs to order a section of glass pipe, but he is unsure of how to order this expensive pipe. He tells you that he is using 45° bends and he has an offset of 38 inches. What is the length of pipe you need to order?" Luigi rolled his eyes; like the fucking journeyman would call his boss to ask about this kind of shit, he thought sarcastically. A forty-five degree bend was standard practice, so all he needed was the glass constant – 1.414 x 38 inches = 53.73 inches.
He took a final sip of the remaining water for the last thirty-five questions on New York state and federal policy and regulations. The first ten questions began with designing toilets according to American Disabilities Act guidelines and various federal regulations for housing and urban development. Luigi began to sweat and tapped his pencil anxiously at the seventh question, unsure of the answer. He circled "c" and went on with the subsequent batch of ten questions about New York State regulations regarding special wastes: "The Department of Environmental Protection may prohibit the discharge of any corrosive liquids, including but not limited to _ or other harmful chemicals that destroy or injure a drain, sewer, soil or waste pipe, or create noxious or toxic fumes or interfere with sewage treatment processes or may require that such liquids be neutralized or treated prior to discharge in accordance with the Department of Environmental Protection regulations." (Spent acids). Luigi shuddered at the last question and answer.
Fifteen minutes later, he wiped his sweaty forehead and stared at his completed question one hundred. At the corner of the screen, the blue "submit" button alternatively beckoned and taunted him. He was certain of ninety percent of his exam answers, with the remaining unsure ten percent from a nagging math error or guessed response. He eyed the clock one last time – 10:17 am. Taking a deep breath, he clicked the submit button and was brought to a home screen. The test proctor came up behind him to verify that he had completed the exam. The test was automatically scored; Luigi sunk in his chair when he read the ensuing information:
Masciarelli, Luigi New York Master Plumber Written Assessment 05/02/2014 98 - PASS
The proctor gave him a warm "Congratulations" and told him that he would receive a print-out of the results for the City Department of Buildings, who would schedule the practical exam once they receive his official score report and his LIC42. Giddy and tired, Luigi exited the building where he spotted Mario sleeping inside the still-parked company truck. Striding confidently to the passenger side, he tapped on the window to rouse his snoring older brother who snapped awake and unlocked the door.
"Aren't you supposed to be working?" he inquired with a raised eyebrow.
"Sal gave me a half day. I'll go after lunch. Well?!"
"Well what?" deadpanned the younger brother.
Mario began to talk back, but he refrained and pointed at Luigi, "You … You passed, didn't you, you sonofabitch?!"
He grinned and handed the results to Mario who read them eagerly. "Wait, what the fuck? Which two fuckin' questions did you miss?"
Still grinning, he shook his head and shrugged. "Fuck if I know."
"Oh, you sonofabitch!" Mario ran out of the cab and gave his brother a bear hug. "Ahahaha! Fuck that piece of shit Slaughter!" he shouted to a nearly empty parking lot. "You Italian Bensonhurst sonofabitch! Tomorrow night, we go out! You, Peaches, and me. Some place fuckin' nice, y'know!"
"Hey, now," interjected Luigi, "Let's not get too excited. I still got the practical to pass."
Mario put his arm around his younger brother's shoulder. "Yeah, and in three weeks, you'll ram that piece of black steel pipe up Slaughter's fat ass. So? C'mon, let's get that fuckin' LIC42 done and sent!"
The rest of the morning was spent on the telephone for both Mario and Luigi, firstly to Sal to announce that the latter had passed the written exam with a ninety-eight percent, and they were on their way to notarize the LIC42 and pay the money order fee for the practical exam, secondly to Peach who enthusiastically proposed a Saturday evening party at a restaurant of Luigi's choice, and finally, to Yoshi and Miles who were cordially invited to the celebration. Privately, Luigi texted Daisy his score and desire to mark the occasion one on one. He had considered inviting her to Saturday's gathering; however, given their recent discussion about family, the plumber wanted to keep their budding relationship lowkey until she felt comfortable meeting Mario and Peach. Under two minutes from his original text, Daisy happily texted a "CONGRATULATIONS, SWEETIE!" and promised a fancy dinner at her place. She suggested the following Friday, as she had final exams the week afterward. Next, he texted Lucas who replied, "You sly little fucker! Congrats! Dinner tonight at 7!" and reimbursed him the five-hundred-dollar fee through a cash app on his iPhone. As for The Family, both Mario and Luigi agreed not to say anything until the latter had passed the practical exam. Despite Luigi's consternation at lying to Giuseppe, Mario assured him that he alone would face the elder's wrath, and that he needed to focus on doing well.
Later that evening, Luigi made up an excuse to Mario, Peach, and Rospo that he needed some air after a week of heavy revising. Leaving the red brick house and walking a bit down 62nd Street, he spotted a blue 1967 Ford Mustang and a grinning Lucas at the wheel. Returning the smile, Luigi hurriedly ran across the street and joined him in the passenger seat.
"Hey, congratulations, my man! You predictably destroyed that fucker!" said Lucas as he slid on his trademark Raybans and dusted off his cream-colored blazer and purple polo shirt.
"Yeah, even with a week's time. Was that your idea?"
"Actually, no, I had nothing to do with that. I was still in Den … uh, LA – just got back to that horseshit. It was that fucking idiot Slaughter. Pulled some union rule out of his ass and blackmailed Pichler with it. Threatened to shut the whole thing down. I guess New York regulations require a certified master plumber on the job. But hey, it was whatever. We all knew you'd pass," he replied. "What's that fuck's problem, anyway?"
"Slaughter hates the Masciarellis, Uncle Joe especially," voiced Luigi. "The guy's an incompetent shit."
Lucas started the engine and pulled out into the street. "I'd believe it. Last week, we had a conference call – well, Pichler and Slaughter did, I just wall-flowered – I must have burned a year's worth of brain cells listening to that stupid prick. It was fifteen minutes of my life that I'll never get back." He suddenly turned left, circled the block, and maneuvered the mustang next to the curb adjacent to the Koopa Bar.
As the Manhattanite parked and turned off the engine, Luigi stared at him hotly. "We're celebrating at the fucking Koopa? What the hell is this?"
Taking a deep breath, he countered, "Not my idea of fun, Weeg. And we're absolutely not celebrating at the fucking Koopa. I hate this place as much as you do. But my … business partner and his ass-kisser want a word. It'll take ten minutes tops."
"Want a word with who? Me?"
Mutely, Lucas exited and locked the mustang, then marched to the glass door of the Koopa. Grudgingly, Luigi followed, with the taller man holding the door open for them. The two men entered the bar, where John Bowser was wiping the bar counter and, toothpick in his mouth, arranging various bottles of liquor. In a red booth toward the back sat Fat Tony Morano, smoking a Cuban cigar, dressed in a mustard-colored track suit. The fat man used a portly hand to wave them over to his spot. Once they were a few feet from him, he pointed gingerly to Luigi and gestured for him to have a seat. Lucas stood at the corner next to Fat Tony, placing his hands behind his back. The young plumber hesitated momentarily, as if debating whether to walk out of the Koopa or accept the invitation. In order to avoid a potentially dangerous confrontation, Luigi chose the latter option and took a seat directly across from Tony.
"Luigi, come stai? Tutto va bene?" asked Tony pleasantly.
"Va bene, grazie. E tu, Tony?"
"Va bene, va bene, grazie. 'Ey, John," he called out to the bartender several feet away, "could you get us an espresso?" The bartender nodded and, from the lower shelves, set out two small cups and saucers, which he moved closer to the espresso machine at the end of the bar. As he waited for their coffee, Tony puffed on his Cuban and continued the conversation. "So, I hear that you met up with the cousins in Colorado. They were okay?"
"Uh, yeah," began Luigi timidly, "Yeah, they were very nice. I learned how to ski."
"Good for you. I heard the Rockies are very good for skiing this time of year. I've never been, but I've always wanted to go to Vail, Aspen, Steamboat Springs, you know." Tony looked up expectantly as Bowser presented the coffees, serving Tony first and Luigi second. Luigi noticed a small biscotti placed on each saucer. Bowser poured a small amount of amaretto in Tony's espresso and, after hesitating for a moment, did the same for Luigi's coffee. He then left the men to their conversation. Tony took a sip of the espresso and nodded his approval to Bowser. "For a fuckin' mick, you do make a good espresso." Luigi followed Tony's example, eyes widening a touch at the alcohol, yet finding the taste pleasant. "Have a bite of the biscotti, make sure it's good," invited Tony. Dunking the stiff cookie into the coffee, Luigi bit into it, tasting the chocolate and almond along with the sweet bitterness of the drink. "È molto buono."
Tony took a bite of his and acquiesced, "Si, è buono." They ate and drank in a semi-comfortable silence, though Luigi attempted not to wrinkle his nose at Tony's hygiene difficulties, a mixture of body odor, onions, and garlic causing him to cough every so often. Several minutes later, Tony spoke again, "I hear that you passed the written exam for the master plumber's license."
Luigi glanced questioningly at Lucas who subtly encouraged him to answer the wiseguy's question. "Um, yeah, I did. This morning, I scored a ninety-eight percent. The Building Department and the union will tell me when the practical will be in the next few days, I'd imagine."
Taking a leisurely sip of the amaretto coffee, Tony resumed puffing on his cigar, as Bowser inched closer to the conversation by pretending to wipe down the counter nearest Luigi and the soldier. "That's when you show the union boys how to construct their little bullshit black steel pipe, right? You know, kid, you'd be doin' me a huge favor by humiliating that little fuckboy cocksucker Slaughter." At the mention of the business representative's name, Luigi's head snapped to an attentive stare. "I know he's got a beef with the Masciarellis that goes way back. Let's just say that he's … a pain in my ass, too. A ninety-eight percent within a week's time is a no-lube ass-fucking. Keep it up, and you'll earn my respect." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick card envelope and pushed it toward Luigi. "A celebratory gift for you, cugino. G'ahead."
Somewhat suspiciously, he drew the envelope closer to him with his fingers and opened the flap to reveal four tickets. "Subway Series," he heard Tony explain, "Tuesday the 13th. There're four good seats at Yankee Stadium – one for you, Mario, Peach," he glanced at the growl from Bowser at the mention of his ex-sister-in-law's nickname, "and a guest. G'ahead, enjoy the game."
"Thank you," said Luigi, accepting the tickets. Who would he invite?
"Now, I hear you and Lucas here are gonna cruise the town. Enjoy the coffee and have fun tonight, kid." With that, Fat Tony waddled up from the booth and gazed down at his second cousin, "Don't do anything I fuckin' wouldn't do, eh?" Slapping a firm, fat hand on Luigi's shoulder, he shuffled out of the Koopa.
Bowser eyed both younger males, especially Lucas who threw a patented, New Yorker fuck-off expression at him. Sitting down in Fat Tony's place, the man in the purple polo and cream-colored suit giggled and high-fived his friend. Grabbing a piece of the biscotti, Lucas shifted his head back and forth to indicate that the cookie was decent as Luigi sipped his coffee with an external calmness. Internally, however, his mind was in overdrive, analyzing the wiseguy's every word and gesture, including the gift of baseball game tickets. Why was Fat Tony suddenly so nice to him? Even Bowser served him amaretto instead of mocking him with a Shirley Temple. Lucas rubbed Luigi's shoulder as Bowser observed the scene under the guise of arranging glasses and dishes for the Friday night rush. "Shall we, Luigi?" he asked.
Nodding, Luigi downed the rest of his amaretto coffee, slid out of the booth with Lucas, and, as Bowser scrutinized the pair, left the bar, tickets in hand. Once in the blue mustang, Lucas grumbled, "Fuckin' Subway Series?! Cheap asshole!"
Luigi regarded him with twinkling blue eyes. "So I take it you're not interested?"
Pulling into 18th Avenue traffic, Lucas shook his head. "Nah, I got something on the 13th. Plus, I'd rather not have to suffer Sergeant Major Dickerson, if you know what I mean? I already lost fuckin' brain cells on Slaughter." Leering at his friend, he probed, "What about the suntanned hot piece of ass that you're fucking? What's her name? Daisy?"
"Man, what the hell?" cried Luigi while Lucas laughed heartily.
"Weeg, stop being such a fucking prude. All men need their dicks massaged – whether you're hetero, homo, or bi. See Dick. See Dick run. Dick needs some action. Even yours, Weegie, King of the Geeks."
"You're an asshole," grumbled the passenger.
"But you know I'm right," chortled Lucas. "Besides, enjoying life's important. And there's a fine line between pain and pleasure." He paused, his voice faltering a little. "It's best to enjoy the pleasure part as much as possible."
Turning to face him properly, Luigi frowned and inquired, "You okay?"
Running water and terrified gasping echoing in his mind, the taller man flashed a forced smile and answered, "Of course, man! My bestie just fuckin' owned the union and is about to become New York City's first master plumber-cum-techie!"
Although he did not quite believe his former best friend's words, Luigi decided to drop the subject for now. "So where are we going?"
Lucas grinned. "I was thinking about taking you to Boston or Washington for a weekend of fun, but I figure Sergeant Major Dickerson is home and waiting, so I know of a decent Greek taverna in Bushwick. That's incidentally the only reason why I go to that shithole. By the way, did you get your passport yet?"
He shook his head. "No, it hasn't arrived. I applied right before we left for Arizona, so it should be here in the next week or two. Why do you ask?"
"Because I want to take you abroad. Part capital building, part vacation. If you're going to be a SCADA badass, Weeg, you gotta see the world."
"Well," began Luigi, fidgeting in his seat, "that's the thing. I really don't know the tech shit. I want … I want to take a few college classes, maybe go back and get my degree. Y'know? I see that being a master plumber will definitely help with credibility, but I also want to be an engineer."
The purple man shrugged. "Weeg, that's great! Yeah, take a few classes between June and August. Then we can go international. It'll give us time to prepare while we're waiting for your license and passport. Just tell me where you want to go, and it's a done deal."
"There are a couple of classes at Brooklyn College that …"
Blinking rapidly, Lucas stared harshly at his friend as he turned onto Albany Avenue. "Wait. Wait. You-You're fucking kidding me?! Brooklyn College? Whose fucking bright idea was that?! Your old pal Omaya's? Luigi, I love you, truly I do, but sometimes, your self-confidence is lower than the sewer, and your vision is that of Mister Magoo! Jesus, you just took and passed the New York Master Plumber exam with a goddamn ninety-eight percent – in a fucking week, I might add – and you're interested in fucking Brooklyn College? No. Nope. Non. Νegatory. Όχι. Not a fucking snowball's chance in hell!"
"Well, I'm kind of limited as where I can apply," retorted Luigi in exasperation. "Most of the summer school admissions begin in February or even earlier. And they limit it to high school students."
"Luigi, you have to learn that rules are flexible for special people. You and I are special. You have the brains, and I have the green. Money talks. That admissions process, Weeg, is for assholes with no connections or those who come from Ching-chong-wing-wong or East Fuck-me, Vishnustan. It's so the university and Board of Regents can feel good from jacking off to 'diversity and inclusion.' In reality, cash levels the playing field for guys like you and I. The education is the same, but the name matters. When you go abroad with me, if you've got Stanford or Berkeley on your resume, it's more impressive to a billionaire investor than Brooklyn-fucking-College or even NYU. No, you're better than that. Get Giuseppe Masciarelli's voice out of your goddamned head." At the green light, he proceeded northbound on Albany. "Now, I know you like California. It appeals to you. It's relaxing, which is what you need. Give Stanford's or Berkeley's program a look-see, then choose which one you want. Personally, I'd choose Stanford for the name recognition, but Berkeley's just as good for tech. An added bonus is the titty factor – Berkeley's liberal, so bra-burning means more titties. Long term as a master plumber, you'd need to stay in New York, but if you were to do well, you could go to Princeton or Penn. They're more forgiving of non-traditional students in industry. In a few years, you can go back to Cali."
They passed the rest of the drive to the restaurant in silence, Luigi mulling over Lucas's words in his head. He begrudgingly admitted that the Manhattan snob had a point. While at Brooklyn City High, he observed how the administration kowtowed to the rich parents – Lucas's father included – and ignored or scapegoated the more scholastically talented, yet economically disadvantaged students like him and Éclair. On more than one occasion, he was told by the principal that he was "wasting his time" and that "a firefighter's son did not have a prayer of being admitted to MIT or Harvard." Luigi never told anyone; there was no point, as Mario Senior was gone, and no one else was left to care. He did destroy that exam, and though he still had the practical left, in all likelihood, he'd pass that part, too. Lucas arrived at the Greek taverna, parallel parking his mustang across from its blue and white awning. They both exited the car and walked quickly to the other side. Entering the establishment, the hostess immediately sat them in the patio area, as it was still warm and sunny outside. Lucas greeted her and several of the staff in Greek, introducing Luigi briefly, and ordered a falafel-mezze plate and frappés for each of them. They clinked glasses and enjoyed the iced milk coffee, hummus, warm pita, and falafel against the twilight of a Brooklyn Friday night.
Maybe Stanford wouldn't be so bad.
