Bloodline (25 page)

For an instant Tina felt as if she should curtsy, but that passed. She stopped momentarily at the door, took a deep breath, remembered to hold her head up high, and started forward. Frau Schatte waited for her to get more than halfway across the room before she arose.

She was taller than Tina, nearly Amazonian in height. Her skin was pure alabaster and her eyes were icy blue. In her early forties, she was breathtakingly beautiful in a regal sort of way.

Tina thought despondently that, of the three women in the house, she was the homeliest of the bunch. She had not expected her day to start that way.

Frau Schatte held out her hand and smiled, and all Tina’s thoughts that the woman was an ice queen disappeared because her smile was warm and friendly.

“And so you’re Justina Falcone. You are really quite beautiful, my dear. Come closer. Now turn around. I must see what you look like. Yes, yes. Fine. Every inch the prima donna. All we have to do is get rid of those dreadful rags you’re wearing. That is,
if
you can sing.”

Tina felt flustered. “Thank you,” she said, stammering slightly.

“And how is my old friend, Carlo?” Frau Schatte asked.

“Signor Crivelli is fine, ma’am,” Tina said. “He said to send you his best regards.”

Frau Schatte laughed, a soft deep rumble that sounded like a cat purring.

“He wrote me that you have a very fine voice,” Frau Schatte said.

Tina made embarrassed sounds.

“Tell me, dear, how old are you?”

“Nineteen. Almost twenty.”

“I remember that age. So long ago. Tell me, has Carlo made love to you?”

Tina reddened. “No, ma’am,” she said.

Frau Schatte laughed. “He
is
old, isn’t he? He was my first. At least that’s what I told him. Men are such fools. They are always easy to trick. Well, come now, sing for me. What would you like to do?”

“I brought two pieces of music. ‘Tacea la notte placida’ and ‘Vissi d’arte.’”

“Verdi and Puccini?” the other woman said, raising an eyebrow. “Very ambitious.’”

“I grew up with them,” Tina said. “I mean, on the phonograph.”

“Ahh, the charm of the Italian family. Surrounded by music. Very well, I will accompany you. Begin.”

Tina made two false starts before settling down enough to sing. And then it was all so easy, easier than it had ever been with Signor Crivelli, who lived in the neighborhood, seemed to be one hundred years old, and had started giving her voice lessons as a favor to her father.

“He was once a fine musician,” her father had said. “He played at the Met.”

“Papa, he’s so old.”

“And so is opera. His ears still work. He can help you.”

There was no arguing with her father, and she had gone to Crivelli each Saturday for a few months, but he was very old and even his ears did not work very well anymore. Finally, he told her that she needed more instruction than he was able to give. From him came the name of Frau Schatte.

“She is a queer one,” he told Tina. “But she knows music. You have a voice. It will take someone stronger than me to make it grow.”

And now here she was, in Frau Schatte’s music room, singing, and it seemed to be just as it should be. There was no straining, no effort at all. It was as if the music wasn’t really coming from her but was emanating from somewhere else and her throat just happened to be the medium for presenting it. Then it was over.

Frau Schatte sat silently for a long time, looking over the sheet music on her piano. Then she smiled at Tina. “Very nice,” she said. “You will move in tomorrow. You will be staying here with me. Ordinarily, I have as many as three girls here, but as of right now, you will be the only one. You can have one afternoon off a week for personal business.”

Tina was flabbergasted. She tried to think of something appropriate to say, but the only thing that would come out was, “How much will it cost?”

Frau Schatte stared at her for a moment. “Spoken like a true prima donna. Never forget the money. It is the most important thing in a career. It will cost you a hundred dollars a month, and you must stay a minimum of one year.”

“A hundred dollars a month!” Tina exclaimed. She had not expected to be moving into Frau Schatte’s home as a lodger. After forcing a very reluctant Sofia to take one hundred dollars as her share of Tina’s winning raffle ticket, she still had four hundred dollars. She had thought this would be enough to finance a full year of lessons with Frau Schatte. Now she saw that her windfall was only a pittance; it would cover only four months of the teacher’s fees.

To Frau Schatte’s puzzled look, Tina said, “I had not thought it would be so much. Or that I would be moving in here. Couldn’t I just come in for regular lessons?”

“No,” the other woman answered bluntly, then softened her tone. “Dear Justina, you need more than just singing lessons. And yes, the money is a lot, but don’t be dismayed. It will cost me far more than that to take care of you. You must have food and new clothes and scores. You will need maid service and you will need money for your amusements and to pay for your abortions—all my girls have those. It is very expensive learning to be a prima donna. You must become accustomed to the very best. And of course you will need other lessons. What languages do you speak?”

“English and Italian.”

“No, my dear, you do not speak Italian. You speak Sicilian, a very different thing entirely. You sang those arias beautifully but your pronunciation was atrocious. You sound like a fishmonger. Then you must learn French and German. And your walk. You even have to learn to walk. When you crossed the floor in this room, you looked like a duck trying to imitate a turkey. That will never do, my dear. It will simply not do.”

Tina fought hard to hold back the tears. “I have only enough money for a few months,” she said.

“We have to have at least a year’s commitment. Otherwise I am not able to plan. What about your father? What does he do?”

“He’s a policeman.”

“Then money should be no problem. All police officers are rich now that we have this Prohibition.”

Tina bridled at the remark. “My father takes nothing he doesn’t earn. He is not rich.”

Frau Schatte sighed. “Well, think it over. Perhaps your father has some savings nobody knows about. Or maybe you can get a loan. Talk it over with your family and let me know. Within a week.”

She turned away, indicating that the interview and audition were over, and the brusqueness of her manner annoyed Tina, who said sharply, “I may be able to do it, but it will take more than a week.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I have obligations that I would have to take care of first,” Tina said, although the only obligation she could think of was giving two weeks’ notice at the dismal, depressing office in which she worked. “I will have to see when I might become free. I will let you know, either way, as soon as I can.”

Now that she had established who would be employer and who employee, Tina picked up her music and walked away, trying to remember not to meander like a duck imitating a turkey. At the door, she turned back and was surprised to see Frau Schatte smiling at her.

“A prima donna,” the older woman said admiringly. “You will be a real prima donna.”

*   *   *

N
ILO STOOD BEFORE
one of the antique mirrors in the outer office. Instead of his usual suit and silk tie, he was wearing tennis whites with a sweater tied in a careless fashion, which had taken him a full minute to get just right. He thought he looked perfect—like the spoiled youngest son from a wealthy family.

And if not that, at least a far cry from the wharf rat who sneaked ashore in this country nearly three years ago.

When he was satisfied with his appearance, he glanced at Betty, who smiled her approval, then walked toward the door to Maranzano’s inner sanctum. The regular pair of bodyguards nodded to him and then went back to reading their papers. Nilo walked into Maranzano’s office without knocking.

“Good morning, Don Salvatore,” he said. Maranzano glanced up from papers on his desk and grunted absentmindedly. He gestured with his head for Nilo to sit, and for five minutes Nilo watched the older man shuffle papers, occasionally scrawling his initials on a page. Finally, he shoved all the papers into a pile, as if formally done with them.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting that way,” he said, “but the bigger one’s empire becomes, the more paper one has to handle. Someday, Nilo, we will own a paper company and a printing plant and there will be jobs for everyone and everybody will need us and we will be rich.”

“Everybody needs us now,” Nilo said.
And you’re already richer than a hundred men. And I am richer than I ever thought I would be, if not as rich as I someday will be.

“Because of the stupid Prohibition, yes? For now. But sooner or later, America will see that this is foolishness and they will call an end to this ‘noble experiment’ of theirs. And when that happens, what will you do?”

Nilo looked at Maranzano in a way he had perfected: it was a shy sidewise glance as if the speaker were battling his modesty. “I will do whatever my don tells me to do.”

“Oh, Nilo, you are already an American politician. You belong in Tammany Hall, except they are all thieves and scoundrels there and I would not expose anyone I care for to those influences. We will keep doing what we are doing, Nilo. We will take the money from the liquor, from the gambling, from the other vices, and we will use it to move into honest businesses. And when, one day, this government in Washington says we must put all these bad people behind bars, we will say, what bad people? We are just honest businessmen trying to earn a dollar. Not like that stupid
gavone,
Masseria, with his expensive cigars and his horse-blanket suits, who will never know what hit him.”

Nilo nodded. He had heard the speech before.
He’s right. It’s just common sense to plan for the future. Still we live in the present. We should not forget to act here and now. That is really what puts bread and wine on today’s table, not plans for tomorrow.

“You look like a college boy,” Maranzano said. “Which reminds me. How are your lessons?”

“Sofia says she can teach me no more.”

“Your speech is excellent. You no longer sound as if you just got off the boat. And your reading?”

“I can read anything, Don Salvatore. Latin too.”

“Good. Read, read, read. You are still an uneducated street rodent. I will give you books. You read them, you learn things.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I heard you arranged for the Falcone girl to win the Mount Carmel prize drawing.”

Nilo nodded and tried to show no emotion. He had wondered how much Betty told Maranzano. Now he had his answer. She told him everything. “She needed the money for music lessons, and I felt I owed something to Tommy—he’s the young policeman—for not mentioning me to the police.”

“I have no problem with your generosity. After all, someone had to win. But did you let the family know the money came from you?”

“I couldn’t. My uncle, Sergeant Falcone, is a very hard man and does not approve of me. He would not have let her keep it.”

“Well, generosity has its place, but you should not give without the receiver knowing the gift was from you. Someday you may need a favor and it is good to have others indebted. Wait too long and no one will believe it was your gift. Always regard a gift as an investment in the future.”

Nilo’s brow wrinkled. “But how do I do that without involving Tina Falcone’s father?”

Maranzano smiled. “First, wait until she spends the money. She is a pretty girl?”

“Most beautiful, Don Salvatore.”

“Fine. Beautiful girls spend money as if it came out of a faucet; she will spend it soon enough. As soon as she does, then let word trickle out that it was a gift from you. Do not say it directly to her; that would be crude and impolite. Instead, have someone you know tell someone close to her. The story will get back. By the time it does, the money will be gone and it will be too late for this policeman father to do anything about it. Then, like it or not, he will owe you. And he will respect you for not having spoken yourself about your generosity.”

Nilo nodded. “As ever, you know the way.”

“Enough of your flattery. You think I am my secretary and you can work your will on me?”

Nilo blushed and Maranzano smiled, then stood behind his desk.

“And so. Now, we spend this beautiful day on a drive into Long Island? Is that your plan?”

“It is, Don Salvatore.”

“And will we come back richer than we left?”

“Not only richer but tanner,” Nilo said confidently. Maranzano laughed heartily, clapped an arm around the young man’s shoulders, and led him from the office.

Three hours later, they were driving east, along the narrow main road that traversed the south shore of Long Island. They had passed through look-alike town after look-alike town, and once, when the road passed right at the ocean’s edge, Nilo ordered the driver to pull over and he took Maranzano out onto a high sand dune that looked over the narrow beach.

Nilo pointed toward the east, where far out, almost at the end of eyesight, a long string of boats of all sizes bobbed up and down in the water. “Have you seen this before?” he asked Maranzano.

“This is what they call ‘Rum Row’?” Maranzano said. He had never been out here before to see it in person.

“Yes,” Nilo said. “Hundreds and hundreds of boats, all out there at the three-mile mark, all of them carrying European liquor that is legal in Canada to be smuggled into America.”

“Some of that liquor is ours,” Maranzano said.

“Yes. And small boats will pick it all up, and some will get past the Coast Guard and deliver it to shore. But half of it will be seized and dumped in the ocean. And our costs go up and our profit goes down.”

“You’re managing to ruin a beautiful day,” Maranzano said. As they walked back to the car, parked at the roadside, Nilo thought Maranzano did indeed look relaxed.

Maranzano’s new driver was leaning on the front fender, watching them. He was a coarse, thick-looking thug who insisted on wearing black leather gloves, even on the hottest days. Nilo thought there was something familiar about his face, but when he could not place it he decided it was his imagination.