The Deuce Read online

  I tried not to think about having to leave my home. I’ve never lived anywhere else, never wanted to.

  “The judge ruled in our favor,” Marie said smugly. “Your mother’s gotta sell the house.”

  “Is that keeping you up nights, Dad?” Denise asked. “Ripping off Mom’s childhood home must be breaking your heart. I wonder what you and Marie will think of next. Maybe you should just—”

  “This is none of your business, Denise,” Marie said.

  “Come on, guys, it’s their house,” Vinny pleaded to Denise and me. “It really isn’t our business.”

  “Not our business?” I said. When my family fights they are very explosive, me included. “Not our business?” I said again, in case he didn’t hear me the first time. “The house we live in? The house we pay the bills for? Are we talking about the same house? The one I broke my back fixing all these years? It’s my business, Vin, and yours too.” I was seething. I turned to Marie. “I bet you wish my mother lived there so you could have the judge put her out on the street.”

  “Yeah,” Denise said. “But Marie would have waited until it was winter to put her out.”

  Denise and I went back and forth, adding wheelchair and deathbed scenarios until Marie stood up.

  “Shut up, Denise,” she yelled.

  “Tony—” my father started.

  “Don’t Tony me, that wasn’t your house. Grandpa sold it to you and Mom cheap because you were married. He’d be turning over in his grave if he knew what you are doing.” I turned to Marie. “You really get off on this, don’t you?”

  “It’s half your father’s house,” she yelled. “Your mother—”

  “Don’t you talk about my mother!” Denise shouted.

  “Don’t tell me what to do!” Marie yelled back.

  Denise stood up, and so did Marie. I stood up and got in front of Denise, blocking her way.

  I won’t go into detail about the rest of the fight. To recap, Denise and I screamed at my father and Marie. They screamed back. Marie is from Brooklyn, making her heavy on the accent with a tendency toward finger-pointing. She got in Denise’s face, her index finger going a mile a minute to make her point. I was holding Denise back while she yelled at Marie. Grandma started crying, Vinny tried to calm everyone down. Denise and I both got mad at him, and I told him to stand up for something for once in his life. I felt bad afterward. He was just trying to keep the peace. Marie and my father stormed out, and Vinny and Christie left shortly after.

  Denise and I sat with my grandmother for a couple of hours. She understood how we felt about my father and Marie. She blamed Marie for the whole mess—my father had been blindly seduced, just being a man. Of course, it takes two to tango, but Italian mothers never grasp that. You’d think that after all these years, time would heal the wounds in my family. If anything, it’s gotten worse.

  We ate as much as we could; Grandma had cooked for a crowd. She put some leftovers in Tupperware and wrapped up some bread to go with it.

  I told Denise I was going up to Dave’s Tavern, our neighborhood bar.

  “I’ll come,” she said, getting her pocketbook.

  “No way, Denise. If you want to dress like that, go out with your friends. I’m not up to a brawl tonight.”

  She pulled a folded button-down white shirt out of her pocketbook and unrolled her shorts.

  “You took that off before you came in? Why do you do stuff like that?” I asked, shaking my head.

  “Because it aggravates Marie,” she giggled.

  “And Dad,” I added.

  “All the better.” She went into the bathroom to change. She came out with her hair pulled back into a ponytail at the base of her neck, the zigzag part gone, her shorts long and her shirt tucked in. All class. People have told us all our lives what a good-looking family we were. That’s Denise and me, good looking with an attitude to cover up our insecurities.

  We got to Dave’s about 10:30. The bar was empty for a Friday night. Most Staten Islanders spent their summer weekends down on the Jersey shore. Dave was bartending, and two or three locals sat at the bar. Dave’s bar has been in the neighborhood for over thirty years. His father, also Dave, ran it until a couple of years ago when he started having heart trouble. The bar was pretty big, with a regulation-size pool table and a bowling machine. A decent-sized kitchen in the back served club sandwiches, pan pizza, buffalo wings, and hot sandwiches until 2:00 a.m.

  Dave’s face lit up when Denise walked in; he was madly in love with her. She stopped to say hello to a few of the neighborhood guys playing pool, and I went over to the bar to see Dave.

  Dave is in his early thirties, never married, and looks like a biker. He wore a black T-shirt with a Harley Davidson emblem, a black leather vest, and faded torn jeans. He has friendly green eyes, and a harmless nature. He has the kind of facial hair never quite filled in. If I don’t shave every day, I look like a desperado.

  Denise came over, and Dave served us our drinks. I was drinking beer, alternating with vodka on the rocks. Denise was drinking Sea Breezes. We asked about Dave’s father, who recently had heart surgery. When Dave got busier, Denise wanted to talk about our mother.

  “I can’t believe she didn’t bother to call us. She’s never here, and she comes all the way in from the Poconos and not even a call. The last time we saw her was in March for Vinny’s birthday,” she said.

  I peeled the label off my bottle. “Why do you let her bother you?”

  “Because she let Dad ruin her life. She stopped living when he left. If it were me I’d never let him know he hurt me. I’d be out having the time of my life, whether I felt like it or not. Not her. She gave up everything—her home, her kids. How do you walk away from your kids? Who is she to make us choose between them? Not that either one of them cares about us.”

  “Yeah, they both stopped caring about us a long time ago. They were too busy getting off their next shot to see who they were hurting.”

  “Why don’t they hurt Vinny?”

  I shrugged. “Because Vinny’s Vinny. He’s the baby, the glue trying to hold it all together. No one wants to hurt him.”

  “They’re selling our house,” she said sadly. “Vinny doesn’t care. He wants to marry Christie some day and move to Jersey. None of them care that it’s our home. Where will I go when I want to come back? Where will you go?”

  “I don’t know. But we’re too old to still be together anyway,” I said.

  “Yeah, and too screwed up for relationships.”

  “That too.”

  We depressed ourselves with family talk until 2:00 and drove back to the house. Denise decided to stay over. She said she wanted to sleep in her old room. We never changed it—she moved back and forth often enough.

  We were pleasantly numb from the drinks and sat on the deck watching the boats and the bridge. It was actually chilly there, a cool breeze blowing in from the water.

  “Tony, do we drink too much?” Denise asked in a sleepy voice.

  “No, we drink socially,” I murmured. The lights from the bridge made it hard to see any stars. The moon over Brooklyn was shrouded in a haze.

  “Do you drink alone?” she asked.

  “I’m usually in the bar,” I said with a laugh. “Why?”

  “Every day?”

  I thought about that. “Do you?” I asked.

  “Just the weekends,” she said. “Well, Wednesday nights at the bowling alley.”

  “I didn’t know you bowled.”

  “I don’t. It’s ladies night, half-price drinks.”

  I mulled this over. I went to the bar on the mornings I didn’t collar. I used to take a collar to get a day off from drinking, but not in a while. Every day I find a way not to go home to my empty house—the house I’d have to leave soon. If I didn’t go to the bar, I’d come home sober. Then I’d have to look at how empty my life was. At least in the bar I wasn’t alone.

  3

  I woke up Saturday morning uncertain of the time—I sleep
odd hours and tend to get disoriented. It was freezing in my room, so I got up to shut off the air conditioner and jumped back under my blanket. I hadn’t heard the rain; the hum of the air-conditioning had blocked it out. I lay in bed listening to the sound. I could hear a foghorn. On days like this the fog would get so dense on the bridge that they had to close the upper level. I heard the soft ping of a buoy and another foghorn close by, probably a ship right offshore. I couldn’t remember what the weather forecast was. Maybe it would rain all day.

  The clock showed it was 10:15. A dark and overcast sky lured me back to sleep. The phone rang twice then stopped. I forgot Denise was there until I heard her yell. I figured it was Marie, throwing her next grenade. I sighed. I wished Denise would get married. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about her anymore. I pulled a pair of sweats out of my drawer; I was still freezing. I went downstairs to see what was up.

  Denise was wearing red plaid boxer shorts with a black top while doing the Cavalucci temper proud. She tossed out threats of bodily harm and property damage so unique that even I was impressed. This went on for a couple of minutes until she slammed down the phone. Since the phone is cordless and you have to press the “talk” button to shut it off, I could still hear Marie screaming.

  “Marie said to be home by 9:00 Monday morning because she’s sending an appraiser over,” Denise said. She shook her head. “I hate her.”

  “Me too,” I said. I really did hate Marie. I blamed her for everything that was wrong with my family. The way I feel is that if you break up a family, the least you could do is be nice about it. She enjoyed what she did to us. I knew my father was as much to blame. He was just stupid, but Marie was mean. Anger burned inside me. This woman was an outsider yet she affected our lives more than our parents did.

  “I hope I can make it home by 9:00,” I said innocently. “All kinds of things come up at work. I never know what time I’ll get home.”

  “Marie said if you’re not home by 9:00 she’ll make Dad throw you out of here.” She raised her eyebrows. “You’re not going to put up with that, are you, Tony?”

  “He’s already throwing me out of here,” I said. Who was Marie kidding? My father couldn’t throw me out. Now just out of spite I wouldn’t be home on Monday.

  We kids spent the rest of the weekend together. For once, Vinny stayed home without Christie. The rain changed our plans to work on the deck so we spent the afternoon lounging on the couch watching movies. The three of us rode over to Blockbuster and rented some family favorites on Saturday night. Return of the Jedi for me, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly for Vinny, and Fatal Attraction for Denise. Denise was in the mood to see it—she calls Marie a “bunny boiler,” kind of a pet name for her.

  We ordered Chinese food—chicken and broccoli, steamed dumplings, house lo mein, and sesame chicken—watched our movies until dinner, and played cards while drinking three bottles of merlot. I think all three of us knew we wouldn’t be together like this much longer and wanted to enjoy the time we had. We were all kind of sad about saying good-bye to a part of our lives we would never get back. We talked about when we were little—our home, baseball, St. Michael’s, and even Sister Bernadette (we all hated her). By the time the conversation swung around to the present, we were feeling no pain, laughing about all the sick things my parents and Marie have done to each other. It wasn’t funny, but we laughed all the same.

  Sunday morning dawned clear and bright, cooler than the past week and without the humidity. I showered and went downstairs to the kitchen, following the smell of the coffee. I poured a cup from the pot on the counter and stood by the screen door looking onto the deck. Vinny and Denise were both gone. I didn’t see a note and figured they hadn’t gone far. We always leave each other notes—“I stopped by” or “Pick up bread,” stuff like that.

  I went out to the deck with my coffee, breathing in the cool scent of the ocean. The sun was bright, dancing on the water. A Japanese ship was cruising through the Narrows toward the harbor. People were out along the beach waving as it went by. I looked to my left and saw the Staten Island Ferry making one if its daily treks to the city. I went back inside when I heard a car pull up and then Denise and Vinny laughing. They had gone to Montey’s deli for potato, egg, and peppers on rolls. Montey made the best around, and I ate two of them.

  Vinny had cleared the day with Christie so we could finish the deck. But I didn’t want to finish it now. All I was doing was raising the property value for Marie and my parents. Vinny hemmed and hawed until he talked me into it. “We have to finish what we started,” and “We were doing this for ourselves,” blah blah blah. I don’t know who he gets it from. Denise and I would have ripped the whole deck out just to spite Dad and Marie. But I love Vinny and I admit I’ll do anything for him, plus I was sorry I made him upset at Grandma’s. He didn’t feel the same way Denise and I did; he was moving on. He was looking ahead to a future with someone he loved, he had a good job, and things were happening for him.

  I was happy for him but sad for me. I would miss him. I loved it here, and I didn’t want to leave. I had hoped to be married now, raising my kids in my childhood home. I looked out at the view, trying to memorize it. Depression threatened at the edges of my mind, and I had to fight to shake it. I snatched up my tool belt and headed outside.

  My mother used to love gardening, and there were still signs of it in the yard. Every year roses, lilac, and my mother’s wisteria tree bloom along with a strawberry patch and an apple tree. They probably needed to be pruned. I never touched them yet they came back year after year. Denise makes apple pies in the fall, and we eat the strawberries; other than that, the garden’s on its own. There were roses in bloom now and other varieties of flowers I couldn’t name. Denise worked around the yard, pulling up weeds in the still-damp ground. She’ll never admit it, but there were some things she inherited from my mother.

  “Hey, Tony, who’s coming on the Fourth?” she called from the rosebushes.

  “Ask Vinny,” I called back. “He’s the party planner.”

  “Mom, Aunt Patty, Dad and Marie, Grandma, Mike and his girlfriend, Frank Bruno, and Sal Valente,” Vinny said. “You guys invite anyone?”

  “Not on your life,” Denise answered.

  Denise and I made it a practice not to bring anyone to family parties. Mike was Vinny’s best friend. Frank Bruno had been my father’s partner on the force. His wife was Caroline, and they have a daughter Nicole who they bring to every family gathering in the hopes that she and I would hook up. But Nicole is a spoiled daddy’s girl, and I stay far away.

  Sal Valente was a few years older than I was. His parents live across the street half the year, when they’re not in Florida. Sal had moved in their house a few years back when he divorced his lunatic ex-wife. At the moment he’s estranged from his children and devastated because of it. He was a good guy, very gullible, which was probably why he’d married that man-eater in the first place. Vinny brought us up to date on Sal’s situation while we worked. Sal was a fireman in Brooklyn. He loves to cook and garden, and he restores antique furniture on the side. I think he has a crush on Denise, but it’s hard to tell since he’s that nice to everyone. Denise helped him plant vegetables in the spring, and they were constantly talking about the progress of their garden. I’ll just be happy to have beefsteak tomatoes in August.

  We put the rest of the floor down on the deck. The navy warships had started to arrive for the Fourth of July celebration in the harbor. We all stopped to stare as the USS John F. Kennedy aircraft carrier passed under the Verrazano Bridge. It was a powerful, imposing ship. The USS Nassau and the USS Mount Whitney came through later on, along with some of the tall ships that were here for the festivities.

  At 3:00 we grilled steaks and burgers and boiled water for corn on the cob. We had potato and macaroni salad from Montey’s, and we ate on the deck admiring our work. We drank very little, a couple of beers, and I took a nap from 6:00 to 9:30.

  When I woke up it was dark and
everyone was gone. The house was warm because we’d been outside all day and never turned on the AC. Denise left a note saying she had gone back to her apartment and Vinny had gone to Christie’s. I threw a leftover cheeseburger in the microwave and ate it with some of the potato salad. I hurried through my shower and shave, knowing there might be traffic on the bridge from everyone coming back from the Jersey Shore.

  I left for work by 10:30. It took me forty-one minutes to get there, leaving me four minutes to change into my uniform. I barely made it to the muster room for roll call by 11:15. I heard Sergeant Hanrahan’s “Fall in!” as I entered.

  He got behind his podium. “Attention to the roll call. The color of the day is green.” The color of the day let us know a plainclothes cop from street crime, anticrime, or narcotics, who all work out of uniform. We often identify them by asking, “What’s the color of the day?”

  He gave out the sectors.

  “Rooney.”

  “Here.”

  “Garcia.”

  “Sarge.”

  Sergeant Hanrahan went on without any indication he was about to humiliate me in front of the ranks.

  “I have been informed by the CO that our command has not been answering back 84 to Central,” Sergeant Hanrahan said. When we arrive at a job we’re supposed to radio back to Central “I’m 84” or “I’m on the scene.”

  “In fact,” he continued, “the CO states that we are number one in the city for not answering 84.” He looked around to see if we were digesting this.