Fairytales (26 page)

“Let me have room service.”

“Oui, Monsieur,
one moment…”

Again, a long … long wait…
“Bonjour, Monsieur,
what is your pleasure?”

My pleasure would be to have you tied to a tree in the rain this morning for not answering the phone for fifteen minutes. “In thirty minutes I want my breakfast to be in my room …
vous moi comprende?”

Stunned silence, then, “Of course,
Monsieur …
now what is your desire?”

“My desire is a large orange juice, two scrambled eggs with ham, toast and coffee.”

Americans! Their taste for food, like peasants.
“Oui, Monsieur
… will that be all?”

“Oui …
but remember … in one half-hour.”

An indignant sigh … “But of course,
Monsieur.”

Dominic got out of his clothes, went to the bathroom, bathed, and shaved. As he looked at himself in the mirror … he needed a haircut… and badly, well, that he’d forget about today. What was ahead of him, he didn’t relish. Getting into his jockey shorts, he heard a loud knock at the door … see, it’s thirty minutes, the knuckles were saying, as a reprimand. Quickly getting into his robe, barefooted, he opened it to a waiter, somber and arrogant, who wheeled in the breakfast table. He placed it in the center of the sitting room, then stood at attention. No
bonjour?
No nothing? This was the polite French? It apparently was the desk clerk who had told the order clerk, who told the waiter not to cater to the demanding, impatient American in room 1704.

Dominic sat down to breakfast which he ate without enjoyment. Finishing, he sat on the sofa and picked up the phone … again, silence … a long pause … and for this he was paying seventy-five dollars a day …
“Bonjour, Monsieur
… your pleasure?”

To get the hell out of this fine establishment, Dominic wanted to say, but instead, “Will you get me the American Hospital?”

“Merci.”

Dominic heard the ringing, then “American Hospital.”

“Yes … will you connect me with Mrs. Rossi’s room?”

“I’m sorry, but the phone has been disconnected.”

Dominic’s heart began to race, why was the phone disconnected? Was Catherine much worse? “Connect me with the floor nurse.”

“Oui, Monsieur.”

“… Miss Doumont here.”

“Yes … this is Mr. Rossi. Would you be kind enough to have someone go to my wife’s room and tell the nurse I would like to speak with her.”

“I am very sorry,
Monsieur,
but we are so busy.”

Goddamn it, he was getting to hate the French more by the minute. “Listen, I want to find out how my wife is … do you understand me?”

“Oui, Monsieur,
I understand, but there is no one who has the time … we are all very busy.”

Dominic bit his lip to keep from cursing, “Do you know how my wife is this morning?”

“No,
Monsieur,
since she has private nurses.”

He slammed down the phone, dressed quickly, put on his raincoat, a hat, grabbed his umbrella and left the room. Getting a taxi which took him across town unhurriedly, since by now the rain was coming down in torrents, he cursed under his breath … when he caught up with Roberto, he’d knock the hell out of him for putting them through this … but his anger was interrupted when the taxi came to a stop in front of the hospital. Paying the driver, he hurried into the building, shivering. Taking off his dripping raincoat and hat, depositing the umbrella in the receptacle, he walked rapidly to the elevator.

Once inside Catherine’s room, he found her awake and feeling better this morning. The medication had done its work and she was remarkably improved since yesterday, though far from recovered. The nurse took his coat and hat, putting them in the bathroom to dry, then he looked through the transparent tent where Catherine smiled wanly, “How are you, Dominic?”

“I’m fine, but how are you?”

“Much better this morning. Yesterday, I thought I was gonna die and then I was afraid I wasn’t.” She laughed, which started the coughing.

“Don’t talk, just rest.” He sat down. How did Mrs. Rossi sleep last night, he asked a French nurse that had replaced Miss Middings.

“She did quite well.”

“That’s good … has the doctor been here yet?”

“No, but I expect him … he is probably making his rounds now.”

Dominic sat, rubbing his hands together. Dr. Monet soon came in. “Good morning, Mr. Rossi,” he said with a slight accent.

“Good morning, Doctor, how is my wife?”

“We’ll soon see.” Picking up the chart, he looked. “Better, much better … her temperature has dropped, her respiration is more normal … pulse rate better.” Taking out his stethoscope, he placed the ends around his neck, pulled back the flap of the tent and said, “Good morning, Mrs. Rossi. You look better today.”

“I am,” she said.

That’s fine … now, can you pull up your gown so that I can hear what’s going on?” Putting the stethoscope into his ears, Dr. Monet pressed the instrument against Catherine’s chest … listened … then under her breast … listened. “Now, are you able to sit up?”

With the aid of the nurse, she lifted herself into a sitting position. “Try breathing in and out a little more deeply … do you have pain when you do that?”

“Yes, but not like yesterday.”

“Fine … now, you may lie back.”

“How long will I have to be in the tent? I hate it.”

“Probably another twenty-four hours, but we’ll take the intravenous away and you can have a soft diet.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

“You’re doing fine.”

“How is she?” Dominic inquired as Dr. Monet pulled the flap down again.

“Your wife’s recuperative powers are remarkable. Her lungs are much clearer this morning … but of course we were fortunate that she was hospitalized before it became too bad.”

“How long do you think she’ll be here?”

“Oh … I would say about a week … if she continues to improve as she is doing now.”

Thank you, doctor, for all you’ve done.”

“Not at all … I’ll stop by this evening.” He wrote out some added instructions and handed them to the nurse and was gone.

“Dominic?” Catherine called softly.

“Yes?” Dominic answered, coming to her side.

“Have you any news about Roberto?”

“Not yet. I wanted to see how you were first.”

“Dominic, I’m only sorry I’m an added burden.”

“Don’t worry about that, Catherine, just get well … now, I’m going to the police and see what they have turned up.”

“Please, God, they have good news … have you called the children?”

“Yes, last night. They’re fine.”

“You didn’t say I was ill, I hope.”

“I only told them you were in the hospital for a rest. That you’re worn out.”

“Oh, dear, I wish you hadn’t. I don’t want them to worry.”

“I made very light of it.”

“I’m glad.”

Getting his coat and hat, he put them on. “I’m going now … is there anything you want me to bring you?”

“No, Dominic … Dominic?”

“Yes?”

“Well, I want to thank you again for being so kind to me—”

He nodded uneasily. “Well, I’m going … I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

And he was quickly out of the room and down the hall, waiting for the elevator.

“M
ONSIEUR
ROSSI, WE BELIEVE
we have found the whereabouts of your son Robert.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, but he is an elusive little scamp,” said
Monsieur
Blum, the head of missing persons. “When first he arrived in Paris, he registered at a most disreputable hotel on the left bank. As is the custom in France, everyone must register with the police as I am sure you are well aware.”

“I take it he is no longer there?”

“Your assumption is correct … the next day he paid for his lodgings and left.”

“Where did he go?”

“To a rooming house in the Montmartre district.”

“Why didn’t you apprehend him?”

Smiling and tilting his head to one side,
Monsieur
Blum said, “As an attorney, you should know we had nothing to apprehend him for … his papers were in order. He had committed nothing … so on what grounds could we question him?”

“I guess I’m thinking like a father.”

“Natural, I can assure you … now, I’m sure you are anxious to see him.”

“Indeed …”

“Here is the address … however,
Monsieur,
I warn you, the lodgings your son has chosen may come as quite a shock, judging from having met you.”

“Nothing that one would do could shock me.”

“Perhaps … but prepare yourself.”
Monsieur
Blum handed the address written on a slip of paper which Dominic looked at, then put into his pocket and left.

It was a gentle, soft rain that now fell as the cab stopped in front of the building, where, undoubtedly, Bobby slept so peacefully at this hour of the morning in a rotting room he preferred to the mansion in which he had grown up. As Dominic got out and paid the driver, he looked up at the dirty crumbling facade. The shutters were closed on this dismal day … one hung unhinged, ready to fall, but flapped against the broken window patched with tape. Why? Dominic questioned himself. The feeling that somewhere … somehow … someway they, as parents, had failed Roberto plagued him. But why Roberto and not the others? The children had all been raised the same and showed no such hostility. He was no closer to the answer when finally in revulsion he opened the battered door and found himself standing inside the dark hall. At the end, beyond the stairs stood the form of a man.

“What do you want?” an old voice called out.

Walking toward the figure, Dominic asked, “Do you have a Robert Rossi living here?”

Narrowing his eyes and appraising him, the old man asked, “Who wants to know?”

“His father.”

He was the police … there was always that unmistakable look about them. “There is no one by that name.”

“I know differently … tell me what room he’s in.”

Again the old man denied there was such a person. Taking out a ten franc note and dangling it in front of the man’s eyes, Dominic asked again, “What room is the boy in?”

“You are not the police?”

“No.”

“Who are you?”

“A friend.”

He grabbed the money and told Dominic to go up three flights, turn left and it was the last room at the end of the hall on the right.

With each creaking step Dominic took, his anger rose. He stood staring at the decaying door. The paint was peeling and blistered. He would not give Roberto the dignity of knocking. Turning the knob, he found the door unlocked. Opening it, he stood, revolted … unable to move.
Monsieur
Blum had warned him, but for this he was not prepared. The room was oppressive with the smells of sweating bodies … stale smoke … rancid urine that came from the bidet in the corner. The only light in the dark room came from the cracks in the slatted shutters. Clothing lay strewn about and a bottle of Pernod stood on the floor near Roberto’s side of the bed where Dominic saw his son lying nude next to a young woman. He walked quickly to the bed, looked down at the sleeping bodies. No … Dominic was not going to be the understanding, appeasing father. He was feeling very Italian and very Sicilian. Throwing back the torn blanket, he grabbed Roberto by the shoulders and shook him. It was a frightened Roberto who woke up. When he saw Dominic, he screamed at his father.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The girl alongside of him sat up, trembling, pulling the cover up under her chin to hide her nakedness. “I’ll tell you what I’m doing here … but first, get that cunt out of here,” Dominic screamed back. He picked up the dress from the floor and flung it at her.

“What the hell gives you the right to barge in here and give orders … she’s not going.”

Dominic raised his hand ready to strike Roberto, then dropped it, but shaking his large fist, he said, “I’m warning you … keep still… now, get out of here and fast.” Quickly, the girl jumped out of bed, slipped into the flimsy dress, grabbed her coat which hung over a chair … as she did so, Dominic took out some francs and threw them on the floor. On the way out, she picked up the money and ran from the room, slamming the door after her.

“You’ve got a hell of a lot of guts calling her a cunt … like father, like son … I understand you’re living with one. Vincente wrote me all about it and why you left Mama for a slut…”

Dominic’s jaw tightened into a knot. Grabbing Roberto, he pinned him against the bed. “What’s holding me back from knocking the shit out of you, I don’t know … but you listen and listen carefully … don’t you mention my life … do you hear? and don’t press your luck, you ungrateful little bastard … what you’ve put your mother through, I
should
beat you to a pulp. She’s been frantic not knowing what happened to you.”

Roberto began to say, “What I’ve done! That’s a joke … what the hell did you …” but Dominic held him harder against the iron bed until he winced.

“I’m warning you, while I can still control myself … keep your mouth shut… now, get out of that bed and get dressed.”

“Why? What makes you think I’m going anywhere with you after coming in like the gestapo and rousting me—”

“Because I’m your father … that gives me the right … but more important, your mother is in the hospital because you sent her there.”

Roberto was stunned. “In the hospital?”

“Yes … goddamn it … you little bastard. Do you know what you put her through? How could you have done that to
her?”

“How could you have done what
you
did to her. You feeling a little guilty?”

Under his breath, Dominic said, “Listen, I don’t have to explain anything to you … it so happens whether we’re living together or not, your mother’s still my wife and unfortunately we had a son like you … let’s talk about you. All right, you hate me. I did a terrible thing because I wanted to be rich so I can understand how you would want to punish me. I did a lot of harm to you giving you a good life which makes me decadent. I have all the vices you find so reprehensible … but your mother, why her? You’re her favorite son … she loves you for the same reason you hate me, we don’t stand for the same things … okay, but you hurt her so badly she wanted to die … now, you little bastard, get out of bed. You’re filthy … get washed, you stink. I can’t stand the stench in here … I’ll wait downstairs … outside.” Dominic left, slamming the door and ran down the stairs. He couldn’t get out fast enough. The soft drizzle felt comforting against his hot face. Ten minutes later a disheveled Roberto stood, seething, at his father’s side without saying a word. Dominic hailed a cab … Roberto stared out the window in one corner, while Dominic stared ahead sitting in the opposite corner. The first stop was the barber where Dominic could have bet Roberto would rebel … as he was doing now, but a determined Dominic said if he had to tie him down he would get his hair cut. Dominic being a little bigger … a little stronger … and a little tougher when need be, Bobby submitted. While Dominic sat in the chair next to his son’s, he looked in the mirror. What the hell was he going to do with him? Was a psychiatrist the answer? He sure as hell knew Freud would be against the way he handled Roberto. He heard the voice inside his ear reprimanding him. What he should have said was, “Yes, Bobby, I understand your rebellion, your dislike of me. I represent the establishment, the decadent society, so wicked … the one that supports the charity wards and gives the poor back so much of what we were privileged to … easy come … easy go … the hell it was, I worked my ass off so you could have what I never had … and the funny thing is, I never hated my father, I loved him … how about that?” The thing that bothered Dominic was taking a good long look at his children … all of them came into view … the thought of Vincente so close to Roberto was more than a little disturbing. He looked up to him, trying to be like him, wanting to be a free spirit, but it went beyond that, Dominic reasoned. Vincente, from birth, had not been as robust as his brothers and wasn’t able to compete in sports as they did. Although Roberto could have been in their league, he hated sports. And Gina Maria, raised in a family of boys, was set apart, although they treated her with a special affection, she felt left out which Dominic knew must have made her frustrated and lonely many times. But it was Vincente, at the moment, that became his immediate concern … afraid that the same problems they were having with Roberto might make Vincente think of him as the rebellious returning hero.