The Godfather - Mario Puzo [21]
Johnny Fontane laughed. “Godfather, not all women are like the old Italian wives. Ginny won’t stand for it.”
Now the Don was mocking. “Because you acted like a finocchio. You gave her more than the court said. You didn’t hit the other in the face because she was making a picture. You let women dictate your actions and they are not competent in this world, though certainly they will be saints in heaven while we men burn in hell. And then I’ve watched you all these years.” The Don’s voice became earnest. “You’ve been a fine godson, you’ve given me all the respect. But what of your other old friends? One year you run around with this person, the next year with another person. That Italian boy who was so funny in the movies, he had some bad luck and you never saw him again because you were more famous. And how about your old, old comrade that you went to school with, who was your partner singing? Nino. He drinks too much out of disappointment but he never complains. He works hard driving the gravel truck and sings weekends for a few dollars. He never says anything against you. You couldn’t help him a bit? Why not? He sings well.”
Johnny Fontane said with patient weariness, “Godfather, he just hasn’t got enough talent. He’s OK, but he’s not big time.”
Don Corleone lidded his eyes almost closed and then said, “And you, godson, you now, you just don’t have talent enough. Shall I get you a job on the gravel truck with Nino?” When Johnny didn’t answer, the Don went on. “Friendship is everything. Friendship is more than talent. It is more than government. It is almost the equal of family. Never forget that. If you had built up a wall of friendships you wouldn’t have to ask me to help. Now tell me, why can’t you sing? You sang well in the garden. As well as Nino.”
Hagen and Johnny smiled at this delicate thrust. It was Johnny’s turn to be patronizingly patient. “My voice is weak. I sing one or two songs and then I can’t sing again for hours or days. I can’t make it through the rehearsals or the retakes. My voice is weak, it’s got some sort of sickness.”
“So you have woman trouble. Your voice is sick. Now tell me the trouble you’re having with this Hollywood pezzonovante who won’t let you work.” The Don was getting down to business.
“He’s bigger than one of your pezzonovanti,” Johnny said. “He owns the studio. He advises the President on movie propaganda for the war. Just a month ago he bought the movie rights to the biggest novel of the year. A best seller. And the main character is a guy just like me. I wouldn’t even have to act, just be myself. I wouldn’t even have to sing. I might even win the Academy Award. Everybody knows it’s perfect for me and I’d be big again. As an actor. But that bastard Jack Woltz is paying me off, he won’t give it to me. I offered to do it for nothing, for a minimum price and he still says no. He sent the word that if I come and kiss his ass in the studio commissary , maybe he’ll think about it.”
Don Corleone dismissed this emotional nonsense with a wave of his hand. Among reasonable men problems of business could always be solved. He patted his godson on the shoulder. “You’re discouraged. Nobody cares about you, so you think. And you’ve lost a lot of weight. You drink a lot, eh? You don’t sleep and you take pills?” He shook his head disapprovingly.
“Now I want you to follow my orders,” the Don said. “I want you to stay in my house for one month. I want you to eat well, to rest and sleep. I want you to be my companion, I enjoy your company, and maybe you can learn something about the world from your Godfather that might even help you in the great Hollywood. But no singing, no drinking and no women. At the end of the month you can go back to Hollywood and this pezzonovante, this .90 caliber will give you that job you want. Done?”
Johnny