New York_ The Novel - Edward Rutherfurd [349]
They chatted about the family. Paolo asked Salvatore about his love life, and then told him: “I can get you a real high-class girl, I mean one of the best. For free.” He grinned. “She owes us a debt. You want to try her?”
“I’ll think about it,” Salvatore said, but he had no desire to get mixed up with Paolo’s friends, and they both knew it. “Maybe I’ll find a nice girl and get married,” he added.
“Bene. Bene.” Paolo looked pleased. “You’ll invite me to your wedding?”
“Of course. How could my brother not be at my wedding?”
They talked about Angelo next, and how Uncle Luigi still wanted him to make more of his life.
“Maybe Uncle Luigi’s right, though,” said Paolo. “The kid could go to painting school or something. If you need money …”
Salvatore gazed at his brother, and felt a wave of affection. Behind the gangster—for that’s what his brother was—the old Paolo was still there. He wanted to do right by his family. He was trying to show his love, maybe receive love too. Salvatore reached over and squeezed his brother’s arm.
“You’re a good brother,” he said softly. “I’ll tell you if Angelo needs anything.”
They finished their steaks. Paolo ordered coffee.
“Can I ask you something?” Salvatore said.
“Sure.”
“Does it worry you, being on the wrong side of the law?”
Paolo paused before replying.
“Do you remember 1907, when Rossi lost all our father’s savings?”
“Of course I do.”
“And do you remember 1911, when Anna got killed in the factory?”
“How could I forget?”
“I remember too, Salvatore.” Paolo nodded, and suddenly a suppressed passion came into his voice. “I remember with anger. With bitterness. Because my family was poor, because they were ignorant, because they were losers, people dared to steal from them, to let them fry in fire traps.” He shrugged, furiously. “Why not? We were only Italians. Wops. Dagos. So I said to myself, I will not be a loser. I will do whatever it takes, but I will win.” He paused again, seemed to collect himself, then smiled. “Maybe I’ll get rich and marry and buy a big farm for us all. How about that, little brother?”
So then Salvatore understood his brother’s dream.
A party of four was just being seated at the table next to theirs. Salvatore glanced across. They were uptown people. There was a young man in his twenties, somewhat carelessly dressed, and a young woman, a typical flapper, he thought. By the look of it, the middle-aged couple with them were the parents of the young man. The father seemed like a Yankee Wall Street type, handsome and blue-eyed. The mother was wearing a pearl choker and a fur. She looked about nervously. Salvatore thought he’d seen her before. He tried to remember where.
“I just hope, Charles,” she said, “that there isn’t going to be a police raid. It would be so embarrassing.”
The young man laughed and told her not to worry, but she didn’t look too happy.
Then, to Salvatore’s surprise, Paolo leaned over toward their table.
“Forgive me, ma’am,” he said smoothly, in a voice Salvatore had never heard before, “but I think I can put your mind at rest.”
Salvatore observed with amazement. He had never seen his brother like this before. The Paolo he had known since his childhood, who still spoke with the hint of an Italian accent, had suddenly disappeared. In his place was an elegant man who sounded like an uptown lawyer.
“Oh,” said the lady, looking pleased, “I’d be so glad if you would.”
“Well,” Paolo smiled, “there are two reasons. The first is that, if the police were going to raid this establishment, I would already know about it. The second is that, two tables behind you, is the mayor of New York.”
Her husband looked at the table