The Family Corleone (37 page)

Sonny took the lighter from her and looked it over. He had to fiddle with it a bit before he figured out how it worked, and then he squeezed it between his thumb and forefinger and the top popped up, unleashing a blue flame. He lit Eileen’s cigarette and then his own.

Eileen found an ashtray on the night table beside the bed and settled it on the blanket over her knees. “And who were you in this dream, then,” she asked, “Johnny Weissmuller?”

The dream had already faded from Sonny’s memory. “I was in the jungle, I think.”

“With Maureen O’Sullivan, I don’t doubt. Now, she’s a great Irish beauty, don’t you think?”

Sonny inhaled a lungful of smoke and waited a second before he answered. He liked the light golden brown of Eileen’s eyes and how they seemed as though they were somehow lighted up in contrast to the fairness of her skin framed by her hair, which was tousled a little in a way that made her look like a kid. “I think you’re a great Irish beauty,” he said. He found her hand under the covers and entwined his fingers with hers.

Eileen laughed and said, “Aren’t you the Casanova, Sonny Corleone?”

Sonny let go of her hand and sat up straight.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“Nah,” Sonny answered. “Only I don’t like it, the Casanova remark.”

“And why’s that?” Eileen found his hand again and held it. “I didn’t mean anything.”

“I know…” Sonny took a moment to gather his thoughts. “My
father,” he said, “that’s what he thinks of me. I’m a
sciupafemmine
, a playboy. Take my word for it: It’s not a compliment.”

“Ah, Sonny…” Eileen’s tone suggested that Sonny’s father had a point.

“I’m young,” Sonny said. “This is America, not some village in Sicily.”

“True enough,” Eileen said. “Anyway, I thought Italians were expected to be great lovers.”

“Why? Rudy Valentino?” Sonny stubbed out his cigarette. “Chasing around after women is not considered manly among Italians. It’s a sign of a weak character.”

“And this is what your father thinks of you, that you have a weak character?”

“Jesus Christ,” Sonny said, and he threw up his hands in frustration. “I don’t know what my father thinks of me. I can’t do anything right. He treats me like I’m some
giamope
, him and Clemenza, too. Both of them.”

“
Giamope
?”

“Jerk.”

“This is because you run around after women?”

“It don’t help.”

“And does it matter to you, Sonny?” Eileen asked. She laid a hand on his thigh. “Is it important to you, what your father thinks?”

“Jeez,” Sonny said. “Sure. Sure it’s important to me.”

Eileen slid away from him. She found a slip on the floor beside the bed and pulled it on over her head. “Forgive me, Sonny…” she said, not looking at him. Then she was quiet a second, the patter of the rain the only sound in the bedroom. “Ah, Sonny,” she went on, “your father’s a gangster, now, isn’t he?”

Sonny answered with a shrug. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and looked around for his underwear.

“What do you have to do to gain the approval of a gangster,” Eileen asked, a sudden touch of anger in her voice, “kill somebody?”

“Wouldn’t hurt, if it was the right person.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eileen said. She sounded furious. An instant later
she laughed, as if she had just remembered that this wasn’t any of her business. “Sonny Corleone,” she said, and she watched his back as he pulled on his pants. “All this will get you is heartache.”

“All
what
will get me?”

Eileen crawled across the bed and wrapped her arms around him. She kissed him on the neck. “You’re a beautiful boy.”

Sonny reached behind him to pat her leg. “I’m no boy.”

“I forgot,” Eileen said, “you’re eighteen now.”

“Don’t make fun of me.” Sonny went about putting on his shoes with Eileen hanging on his back.

“If you don’t want your father to think of you as a
sciupafemmine
,” Eileen said, mimicking Sonny’s pronunciation of the word exactly, “then marry your sixteen-year-old beauty—”

“Seventeen now,” Sonny said, and he tied his shoelace in a neat bow.

“So marry her,” Eileen repeated, “or get engaged—and then keep that sausage in your pants, or at least be discreet.”

“Be what?”

“Don’t get caught.”

Sonny stopped what he was doing and spun around in Eileen’s arms so that he was facing her. “How do you know when you’re in love with someone?”

“If you have to ask,” she said, and kissed him on the forehead, “you’re not.” She held his cheeks, kissed him again, and then was off the bed and out of the room.

When Sonny finished dressing, he found her at the sink, washing dishes. With the light of the kitchen window behind her, he could see her body’s outline beneath the white cotton slip hanging loosely from her shoulders. She may have been ten years older than Sonny, and she may have been Caitlin’s mother—but hell if he could tell by looking at her. After watching her for only a few seconds, he knew what he really wanted was to get her back in the bedroom.

“What are you staring at?” Eileen asked, without looking up from the pot she was scrubbing. When Sonny didn’t answer, she turned to him, saw the grin on his face, and then looked to the window and
down at her slip. “Getting a show, are you?” She rinsed off the dish and placed it in the tub next to the sink.

Sonny came up behind her and kissed her on the back of the neck. “What if I’m in love with you?” he asked.

“You’re not in love with me,” Eileen said. She spun around, wrapped her arms around his waist, and kissed him. “I’m the floozy you’re sowing your wild oats with. You don’t marry a woman like me. You have some fun with her is all.”

“You’re no floozy.” Sonny took her hands in his.

“If I’m not a floozy,” she said, “then what am I doing bedding my little brother’s best friend—or ex–best friend.” She added, as if it were a question she’d been meaning to ask, “And what’s the story between you two?”

“You haven’t been bedding your little brother’s best friend for a long time now, for the record,” Sonny said, “and me and Cork—That’s why I came over here, to try to straighten things out between us.”

“You can’t be coming here by yourself anymore, Sonny.” Eileen squeezed out from between him and the sink and went to get his hat from the shelf beside the front door. “This was sweet,” she said, “but unless you’re with Cork, don’t come here again, please.”

“
Che cazzo!
” Sonny said. “I only came here after I went to Cork’s place and he wasn’t there!”

“Be that as it may,” Eileen said, holding his fedora over her chest, “you can’t be coming here alone, Sonny Corleone. It won’t do.”

“Doll face,” Sonny said, approaching her, “you’re the one dragged me into bed. I was only looking for Cork.”

“I don’t recall doing much dragging,” Eileen answered. She handed him his hat.

“Okay, so I admit,” Sonny said, and he tossed his hat up onto his head, “you didn’t have to do much dragging. But still, I came here looking for Cork.” He kissed her on the forehead. “I’m glad things worked out the way they did, though.”

“I’m sure you are,” Eileen said, and then, as if she just remembered, she returned to her earlier question. “What’s the story with you and
Cork?” she asked. “He won’t tell me a thing, but he’s moping around all the time like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.”

“We parted company,” Sonny said, “business-wise. He’s mad at me about that.”

Eileen cocked her head. “Are you saying he’s not running with you at all anymore?”

“No more,” Sonny said. “We parted ways.”

“How’d that come to pass?”

“Long story.” Sonny adjusted his hat. “Tell Cork I want to see him, though. This not talking, it’s—We should talk, me and him. Tell him I came looking for him to tell him that.”

Eileen watched Sonny. “Are you saying,” she asked, “that Cork is no longer in the same business as you?”

“I don’t know what business Cork’s in now.” Sonny reached around her for the door. “But whatever it is, we’re not in it together. We’ve gone our separate ways.”

“It’s one surprise after another today, isn’t it?” Eileen held Sonny by the waist, stood on her toes, and gave him a good-bye kiss. “This was sweet,” she said, “but it won’t ever happen again, Sonny. Just so you know.”

“That’s too bad,” Sonny said. He leaned toward her, as if to kiss her good-bye. When she took a step back, he said, “Okay, don’t forget to tell Cork,” and he left, pulling the door closed gently behind him.

Out on the street, the thunderstorm had passed, leaving the sidewalks washed clean of trash and dirt. The railroad tracks gleamed. Sonny looked at his wristwatch, trying to figure out what to do next—and he remembered, like a cartoon lightbulb turning on in his empty head, that he was supposed to be at a meeting in the Hester Street warehouse in a couple of minutes. “
V’fancul’
,” he said aloud, doing the quick calculations of distance and traffic and figuring, if he was lucky, he’d be about ten minutes late. He slapped himself on the forehead and then sprinted around the corner to his car.

Vito moved away from the desk and turned his back on Sonny when he came through the office door sputtering excuses. He fixed his eyes
on his fedora and jacket hanging off the metal hall tree and waited for Sonny to shut up, which didn’t happen until Clemenza told him to sit down and be quiet. When he turned around and looked out over the office again, Vito sighed in Sonny’s direction, making his displeasure obvious. Sonny straddled a chair by the door, his arms wrapped around the backrest. He looked eagerly at Vito, over the heads of Genco and Tessio. Clemenza was sitting on the file cabinet, and he shrugged when he met Vito’s eyes, as if to say about Sonny showing up late for the meeting,
What are you gonna do?
Outside, a thunderclap quickly followed a crack of lightning as another in a line of spring storms passed over the city. Vito spoke as he took off his cuff links and rolled up his sleeves. “Mariposa has summoned all the families in New York and New Jersey to a meeting,” he said, looking at Sonny, making it clear that he was repeating himself for his benefit. “To show his pure intentions, he’s holding this meeting on Sunday afternoon, at Saint Francis in midtown.” Finished rolling up his sleeves, Vito paused and loosened his tie. “It’s a good move on his part, bringing us to Saint Francis on a Sunday. He’s showing he doesn’t intend any dirty business. But,” Vito added, looking to Tessio and Clemenza, “men have been killed in church before, so I want your boys close by, all over the neighborhood, on the streets, in the restaurants, anywhere they can be reached quickly if we need them.”

“Sure,” Tessio said, his tone no more glum or somber than usual.

“That’s easy,” Clemenza said. “That won’t be no problem, Vito.”

“At this meeting,” Vito continued, turning to Sonny, “I’m taking Luca Brasi as my bodyguard. And I want you there as Genco’s bodyguard.”

“Sure, Pop,” Sonny answered, tilting his chair forward. “Sure thing.”

Clemenza’s face reddened at Sonny’s response.

“All you do is stand behind Genco and say nothing,” Vito said, speaking each word precisely, as if Sonny were a little stupid and he needed to speak slowly for his benefit. “Do you understand?” he asked. “They know you’re in the business already. Now I want
them to know that you’re close to me. That’s why you’ll be at this meeting.”

Sonny said, “I got it, Pop. Sure.”

“
V’fancul’!
” Clemenza shouted, raising a fist to Sonny. “How many times I gotta tell you not to call your father ‘Pop’ when we’re doing business? When we’re doing business, just nod your head, like I told you.
Capisc’?
”

“Clemenza and Tessio,” Vito said, not giving Sonny a chance to open his mouth, “you’ll be close by outside the church, in case we need you. I’m sure these precautions are not necessary, but I’m a cautious man by nature.”

Vito turned again to Sonny, as if he had something more to say to him. Instead he looked to Genco. “
Consigliere
,” he said, “do you have any ideas about this meeting, any guesses about what Mariposa will say?”

Genco juggled his hands in his lap, as if he were tossing around ideas. “As you know,” he said, turning slightly in his chair to address everyone in the room, “we had no advance word from anyone about this meeting, not even our friend, who wasn’t told until we were. Our friend has no knowledge himself of the purpose of the meeting.” He stopped and pulled at his cheek, mulling over his words. “Mariposa has smoothed out the last of the problems with the LaConti organization,” he said, “and now all that used to be LaConti’s is his. This makes his far and away the most powerful family.” Genco opened his hands, as if holding a basketball. “I think he’s bringing us together to let us know who’ll be calling the shots from now on. Given his strengths, that’s reasonable. Whether or not we can go along, that depends on what shots he wants to call.”

“And you think we’re going to find out at the meeting?” Tessio asked.

“That would be my guess,” Genco answered.

Vito pushed a stack of papers aside and leaned back on his desk. “Giuseppe is greedy,” he said. “Now that whiskey is legal, he’ll cry out how poor he is—and he’ll want money from all of us in some way. Maybe a tax, I don’t know. But he’ll want a piece of our earnings.
This is what we all saw coming when he went after LaConti. Now the time is here, and that’s what this meeting will be about.”

“He’s strong now,” Tessio said. “We won’t have any choice but to go along, even if he asks more than we like.”

“Pop,” Sonny said, and then immediately corrected himself. “Don,” he said, but the word obviously felt wrong to him and he stood up, exasperated. “Listen!” he said, “everybody knows Mariposa’s got it in for us. I say, why don’t we blast him, right there, in the church, when he won’t be expecting it. Bada boom, bada bing!” he yelled, slapping his hands together. “Mariposa’s out of the picture and everybody knows what happens if you go up against the Corleones!”

Vito looked at Sonny with an utterly blank face as the sound of voices in the room was replaced with rainfall on the warehouse roof and wind gusting at the window. Vito’s
capos
watched the floor. Clemenza pressed his hands over his temples as if to keep his head from flying apart.